She Outshines All the Starlight

Barbara couldn’t listen any longer. Every word from Jerry’s mouth felt like a slow, deliberate carving into her heart—a torture she could barely endure.

The world spun. One thought crystallized in the chaos.

Had Jerry been rotten from the very beginning?

He’d hung up the phone at some point. Now he picked up his discarded jacket from the floor and draped it over her shoulders.

Barbara stiffened, recoiling instinctively from his touch.

But Jerry didn’t press further. His attention was already stolen by his phone.

He didn’t even seem to register their closeness, didn’t realize she could see the screen clearly.

Intimate messages to Claire pierced her vision. Barbara turned her head away, unable to look.

Jerry fiddled with his phone for another long moment before tossing a casual sentence her way.

“Sweetheart, something came up at the office. Can’t stay. I’ll have the driver come get you. I’m heading out.”

With that, he strode to his car. The Lamborghini roared to life and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

It never even occurred to him whether she was safe out here in the middle of nowhere.

After all, he’d already left Claire waiting at the airport for forty minutes.

But he couldn’t be blamed, really. It was Barbara’s birthday today. He’d spent so long coaxing her, convincing her to wear the lace and come out here with him.

Watching the taillights vanish, Barbara let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh.

One sentence looped endlessly in her mind:

*Jerry, when did you start to rot?*

She drifted back to her apartment like a ghost. The blast of central heating did nothing to thaw the ice in her bones.

The room was pitch black, filled only with the sound of her choked sobs.

Her phone lit up on the coffee table—a vibrating rectangle of light.

She didn’t want to answer. But the caller was stubborn, insistent on reaching her tonight.

Taking a few shaky breaths, Barbara finally pressed accept.

Grant’s voice, familiar and warm, filled the silence.

“Barbara… will you marry me?”

“I know about you and Jerry… but I truly don’t care. I’ll wait for you. However long it takes.”

Barbara gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her nails dug into her palm, the sharp pain a counterpoint to the suffocating ache in her chest.

“Grant, I…”

Her voice was a dry rasp. “I will. I do.”

“But… are you really sure you don’t mind?”

“Jerry and I… it’s been so many years…” Her words faded to a whisper.

“Silly. I told you. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Grant’s voice was impossibly gentle.

“Loving you, waiting for you… it’s all my choice. My own wish.”

“I’ve waited ten years already. What’s a little more?”

*Ten years.* The words hit her like a physical blow, a sledgehammer to her ribs.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Hot tears spilled over, tracing burning paths down her cheeks.

She nodded fiercely into the phone, her voice thick with tears. “Okay… Give me two weeks. Just two more weeks to wrap things up here. Then we’ll get married. And never be apart again.”

Two weeks from now was her birthday. Seven years ago, on her most wretched birthday, Jerry had swooped in like a savior, pulling her from the fire.

She was someone who believed in finishing what she started. She’d use that day to say a final goodbye to Jerry.

Whenever he’d started to rot, she’d been tangled with him for seven whole years. A few more days wouldn’t change anything.

“Married? To whom?”

Jerry’s voice was a thunderclap, exploding right behind her, making her ears ring.

She jumped violently. The phone slipped from her grasp, hitting the floor with a sickening crack, the screen shattering.

She whirled around. There he stood, having appeared out of nowhere.

They’d been together for seven years. But in that moment, he felt utterly alien. Utterly repulsive.

She fought to keep her voice level. “My mother is pressuring me to go back home and get married.”

To her surprise, Jerry laughed.

“Barbara, baby… are you still mad at me?”

He strode forward, producing a delicate velvet box from behind his back and presenting it to her like a prize. “Look. Do you like it?”

Barbara took it coldly and set it on the side table without a word.

“Why so cold?” His voice held a thread of displeasure. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

He moved silently, coming up behind her, his hands reaching to circle her waist.

Barbara jerked away, spinning to face him, her body trembling uncontrollably.

She hated him. Hated his touch. Hated the faint, lingering scent of his cologne—the same one Claire always wore.

She looked at him, her gaze icy. “Jerry, what does it matter how expensive the things you give me are?”

“Tell me—what have you ever given me that could compare to what you’ve given Claire?”