The Post That Ended Us

Social Feeds

My body shook uncontrollably. My teeth sank into my lip, hard enough to draw blood, as I opened the user's profile with trembling hands.

Only a blank page was shown. The notification read, 'You're unable to view the user's profile due to their preference.'

She blocked me, or specifically, the account I was using right now.

The account "Witchy_Mona_1" belonged to my best friend, Ramona Jones.

We were roommates for four years. Food, clothes, secrets—we had shared everything.

Aside from Luke, she was the second person I was closest to.

During our freshman year, I introduced Luke to her.

Never did I expect myself to bring a snake into my life.

I forced myself to calm down, logged out, then logged back in with an alternate account no one knew about.

Then, I searched her username again. This time, her profile opened.

Countless feeds flooded me as if they had been anticipating me.

One photo showed a man's hand resting on a swollen belly. The caption read, 'The baby is kicking! He put his hand on my belly, and his eyes turned red when he said this was the fruit of our love.'

I couldn't ignore the familiar scar.

The next photo was taken at the sunny beach. A man was carrying a little boy on his shoulders. Only half his face was shown, but there was a faint, indulgent smile on his lips.

The caption said, 'Our first trip. With him by my side, I'm not afraid of anything.'

The familiar jawline. The familiar curl of lips. I had kissed them countless times. I remembered every tiny detail.

I didn't care about my aching heart. I kept scrolling down to read the other posts.

Every photo and caption fit certain events of Luke.

On Labor Day three years ago, he had told me he was away for a field visit. In reality, he had taken Ramona for a prenatal checkup.

On my birthday two years ago, he said his flight had been delayed and that he could not make it back in time.

But the truth was, Ramona's son had a fever. He was taking care of the boy in the hospital.

On our wedding anniversary last month, he gave me a diamond necklace.

He gave her a Porsche. The caption said it was his reward for all her hard work.

What chilled me to the bone was the revelation of their marriage certificate being the real one.

I yanked the drawer out and dug up my marriage certificate.

It was signed and sealed by the official. We even took a photo after that to immortalize the beginning of our happy marriage.

Suddenly, I recalled the graduation party.

That day, everyone was excited about their future. Ramona and I had a drinking contest. Since I was a lightweight drinker, I passed out soon after a few drinks.

The next morning, I woke up in a hotel room with a splitting headache.

Luke was sitting beside the bed, his eyes bloodshot. He held my hand tightly and apologized. "Bianca, I was drunk last night and failed to take care of you. I'm sorry."

Back then, I thought he was apologizing for indulging me in drinking.

Come to think of it, he was not apologizing for that. Rather, he apologized for sleeping with my best friend in the next room when I was unconscious.

After the party, Ramora cried to me that her heart was broken and she wanted a change of scenery.

I even sent her to the airport. I was reluctant to let her go, so I wrapped her in my arms for a long time, reminding her to take care of herself.

It turned out she never left.

She was in another city, pregnant with my husband's child. She had received his care, built a family with him, and mocked my ignorance online.

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