Married to my mysterious man

(Lyra’s POV)

“Lyra… we need to talk.”

Those four words were the sharpest knife I had ever felt, slicing through the soft hum of the restaurant’s warm lighting, the flickering candles between us, through me.

My lips parted before my mind caught up. “Talk?” My voice sounded smaller than I intended, almost childlike. My fingers tightened around the base of my wine glass, the chilled surface biting into my palm. I tried to smile, tried to steady myself, because this was supposed to be the night. Our night.

Five years. Tonight marked five years of love, of sacrifices, of building toward something I thought was unshakable. He had told me to dress up, to meet him at the very restaurant where we’d had our first date. I had chosen my black dress, the one he always said made me look like the world had disappeared when I walked into the room. I had done my hair just the way he liked it, soft curls grazing my shoulders. My chest buzzed with anticipation the entire day.

I had been so sure.

This was going to be the night he asked me to marry him.

But when I looked into Ethan’s eyes across the table, the words he had just spoken twisted everything inside me. His face was unreadable, his brown eyes heavy, almost guilty.

I forced a laugh—thin, fragile. “You sound serious. What is it?”

He didn’t laugh with me. He didn’t even smile. His fork rested abandoned on the plate, untouched. His hands fidgeted, restless, like they were searching for an escape.

“Lyra,” he said again, and my name cracked in his throat. “I don’t think… I don’t think this is working anymore.”

The clinking of dishes, the low murmur of other diners, the jazz music floating from the corner piano—everything blurred into static. My ears rang, my heart stuttered, and for a moment I swore the ground tilted beneath me.

“This isn’t…” I shook my head, swallowing down the panic clawing up my throat. “What do you mean this isn’t working? Ethan, we’ve been together for five years. Five.” My words came out sharper, desperate. “We—this—” I motioned between us, “this is supposed to be forever.”

He winced, leaning back as if my words physically struck him. “I know. And I thought it was too. But I… I can’t do this anymore. I don’t think I love you .”

The air left my lungs in a hollow rush. My hand trembled so violently that the wine in my glass rippled.

“You don’t love me?” My voice cracked, breaking the words into pieces.

His jaw tightened. “Not enough to marry you.”

It felt like someone had slammed a sledgehammer into my chest. The irony cut so deep I almost laughed again. I thought you were going to propose to me. I had rehearsed what I would say, how I’d cry, how I’d throw my arms around him. Instead, I sat frozen while my world collapsed in the middle of a restaurant filled with clinking glasses and laughing couples.

I blinked hard, because tears burned behind my eyes, threatening to spill. I wouldn’t let them fall here, not in front of him. I straightened my shoulders, forcing the mask I wore with my patients when they unraveled in front of me. But inside, I was the one unraveling.

“Why now?” I whispered, each word like shards of glass on my tongue. “Why on our anniversary?”

“Because,” Ethan exhaled, rubbing his face. “I couldn’t lie to you anymore. You deserve the truth. You deserve someone who can give you everything, not half of himself.”

My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might be sick. Half of himself? I had given him everything, my time, my patience, my love, my dreams, five years of my life. Every broken piece of me, every hopeful one too.

“And what about me?” I whispered, bitterness bleeding through. “What am I supposed to do with this truth, Ethan? Just… fold it up and carry it home in my purse like a party favor?”

His eyes flickered with guilt. He opened his mouth, but I raised my hand, cutting him off. “Don’t. Don’t you dare tell me you still care about me. Don’t you dare tell me I’ll ‘find someone better.’” My voice wavered but grew sharper, louder. Heads turned from nearby tables. I didn’t care.

“You could have told me months ago. A year ago. But you let me hope, Ethan. You let me dream. You let me believe that tonight would change my life, and it did, it just destroyed it instead.”

His silence was the cruelest confirmation.

I felt the tears finally break free, hot trails down my cheeks, no longer containable. I grabbed my purse with shaky hands and stood, my chair scraping loudly against the hardwood. I left him there, sitting in the ruins of what he had chosen to burn, and walked out into the night air that stung my face.

The cold hit me like a slap, the city lights blurring through my tears. My heels clicked angrily against the pavement as I walked, walked, anywhere but home. My chest heaved, sobs tearing through me in waves I couldn’t stop.

I had spent years studying trauma, helping patients recover pieces of themselves they thought they had lost forever. But no training prepared me for this. For the way love could hollow you out, leave you raw and exposed, and still expect you to keep breathing.

By the time I reached my apartment, my mascara had smudged, my curls hung limp, and my hands trembled as I unlocked the door. The silence inside greeted me with cruel indifference. The apartment looked exactly the same, but nothing felt the same. The framed photo of Ethan and me on the bookshelf seemed to mock me. I turned it facedown with a shaky breath, choking on the sob that threatened to escape.

My phone buzzed. Zyra.

I almost didn’t answer, but she wouldn’t stop until I picked up. With a shaky swipe, I put her on speaker.

“Lyra? Where are you? How did it go? Oh God, don’t tell me he didn’t—”

“He broke up with me,” I whispered, collapsing onto the couch. My voice cracked. “On our anniversary, Zyra. He—he said he doesn’t love me enough to marry me.”

There was silence for half a second before Zyra’s sharp inhale filled the room. “That son of a—” She cut herself off. “Stay right there. I’m coming over.”

“No—” My protest was weak, barely formed.

“Yes. Don’t argue with me. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

The line clicked dead, and I sat staring at the shadows on my ceiling, waiting for her.

When Zyra finally burst through the door, a whirlwind of auburn hair and leather jacket, she didn’t say a word. She dropped her bag, marched straight over, and pulled me into her arms. That was all it took for the dam to break completely. I sobbed into her shoulder, my body shaking as she rubbed my back.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” she whispered fiercely. “He never did.”

I laughed bitterly, the sound broken. “Then why did I give him five years of my life?”

“Because you loved him. That’s not weakness, Lyra. That’s proof of your strength. But now you’re done. You’re free. And we’re not going to let him destroy you.” She pulled back, cupping my tear-streaked face with her hands. “Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up, and you’re going to start over. Tonight? We’re going to forget he ever existed.”

I sniffled, managing a weak smile. “How do you suggest we do it ?”

Her grin turned mischievous, dangerous. “We’re going to the club.”

My eyes widened. “Zyra—”

“No arguments. You need this. You need to feel alive again. And I promise, no matter how broken you feel right now, I’m not letting you drown in it. Not tonight.”

Her determination was a lifeline. And though my heart still felt like shattered glass, I nodded.

Because maybe she was right. Maybe, for one night, I could let myself forget.

I didn’t know then how one reckless choice would change everything.

That by morning, I wouldn’t wake up in my bed at all.