My fingers tremble as I punch Celeste’s number into my phone. The highway sprawls endlessly in both directions, the emptiness around me swallowing every ounce of courage I have left. All I feel is isolation—a vast, crushing sense of being utterly alone.

“Sienna?” Celeste answers almost immediately, her voice sharp with worry. “Habibti, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“He left me,” I manage to whisper, my throat tight with humiliation. “Jonah left me stranded on the highway.”

“He what?” Her tone becomes an urgent stab. “Where are you right now?”

Peering into the pitch-black surroundings, I search for any sign of familiarity. “I don’t know. Somewhere in between the city and… some rural area.”

“Share your location with me. I’m coming to get you.”

“Celeste, it’s late. It’s past midnight—”

“I don’t care,” she interrupts firmly. “You’re eight months pregnant and standing alone on the side of the road. Share it immediately.”

Reluctantly, I send her my location. The next twenty minutes stretch out like an eternity. I lean against the cold metal of the guardrail, eyes blankly following the taillights of passing cars. My thoughts wander through the mosaic of my life with Jonah, replaying memories of moments that once felt like love.

I remember the first time we met during my freshman year at college. Jonah had stormed out of the academic office, clutching a piece of paper, his expression clouded with frustration. I couldn’t look away, struck by his presence and wondering why I’d never noticed him before.

When the paper slipped from his fingers, instinct took over. I picked it up and stepped toward him, holding it out. “Are you okay?” I’d asked. That singular moment had felt so profound, I’d convinced myself it was destiny.

Back then, I believed it was love at first sight—a collision with someone fated to be in my life. What truly captivated me, though, was his kindness. He carried himself with an aura of calm strength. I thought he’d protect me, care for me always.

And he does protect someone with everything he has. It’s just not me.

Blinding light snaps me out of my thoughts as Celeste’s car screeches to a halt on the shoulder. She leaps out, still in pajamas beneath her oversized coat, her hair hurriedly tucked into a silky scarf.

“Oh, sweet girl, look at you.” Her arms engulf me, and the moment she pulls me close, I shatter. The tears pour freely as I clutch her like a lifeline.

“I can’t take this anymore,” I sob, my voice muffled against her shoulder. “I can’t… I can’t stay with him anymore.”

“Come on. Let’s talk in the car.”

She buckles me into her passenger seat, cranking the heater until it blasts warmth that feels almost foreign after standing in the relentless chill. When my breathing finally evens and my tears subside, she glances my way. “Tell me what happened.”

If this had been earlier—weeks ago, maybe—I would’ve deflected. I would’ve shaken my head, pretending none of this was worth discussing. But something inside me broke tonight. There’s nothing left to hide.

Starting with the meteor shower, I unfold every excruciating detail. How Jonah didn’t hesitate to pick Vivienne over me, leaving me alone on the side of the road. How Vivienne had the audacity to text me afterward, thanking me for “sending him to her.”

I shove my phone at Celeste, showing her the message. She takes one look, her knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. “That venomous little snake,” she hisses.

“Everyone adores her, Celeste. My parents, Jonah’s family—they’ve all decided she’s this helpless angel in need of saving. Every time I try to bring up her manipulation, I’m dismissed as selfish or jealous. Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s just me—”

“Stop,” Celeste cuts me off with steel in her voice. “Don’t you dare let them twist this around. I’ve been watching Vivienne for years—the way she conveniently creates emergencies, the way she clings to Jonah under the guise of innocence. This isn’t in your head.”

“But…what if this time she really was sick?”

Celeste pulls the car to the side of the road, abruptly slamming it into park. She turns, her gaze locking firmly with mine. “Sienna, who is Jonah married to? You or her?”

“Me.”

“And yet, she’s the one calling him with every little problem.”

Her words hang in the air, cutting sharper than anything I’ve felt tonight. She’s right. Vivienne’s every inconvenience sends Jonah rushing to her side. Meanwhile, I’ve managed an entire household, balanced bills, hosted countless events—all while nurturing the child growing inside me. And what do I get in return? Silence. Indifference.

“I loved him,” I whisper, as though the confession itself might finally chase the ache from my chest.

“I know you did, habibti. But love shouldn’t break you like this.”

The rest of the drive unfolds in quiet contemplation. I watch the occasional car flit by, my thoughts tangled with the lives of those inside. Are they warm and safe, surrounded by love? Are their homes illuminated with kindness rather than betrayal?

The sight of my house looms closer as we turn onto the street, its windows ablaze with light against the darkness. My stomach knots with unease. Beside Jonah’s car in the driveway, I see Vivienne’s unmistakable white sedan. A lump forms in my throat as I catch sight of two figures, sitting far too close, silhouetted in the living room window.

“She’s in my house,” I whisper, the disbelief scorching my voice.

“She’s in your house,” Celeste confirms grimly.

My trembling hands fumble with the house key, too shaky to fit it into the lock. Celeste takes over, unlocking the door swiftly.

What lies beyond feels worse than I could’ve imagined.

There’s Vivienne, curled up on my couch, swathed in my pale silk pajamas—the ones Jonah had brought me from his business trip. Her head rests on his shoulder, while his arm drapes possessively around her waist. The picture they paint together is one of intimacy, affection. Belonging.

The betrayal pierces through me like shards of glass. Choking on my tears, I can barely breathe beneath the weight of agony. Jonah looks up, his expression flickering with brief embarrassment before smoothing into apathy.

“Sienna, you’re back.” His voice is calm, as though nothing about this image is worthy of explanation.

Words lodge in my throat as I stare at them, my feet cemented to the floor. Jonah rises, crossing toward me with an outstretched hand.

I recoil, retreating step by step, shaking my head in silent refusal. Whatever he intends, I don’t want his touch.

“Sienna…” he starts, his tone imploring.

I force the words out, laced with venom. “You seemed quite comfortable taking care of her panic attack.”

“She was shaken. I couldn’t leave her alone in that state,” he explains, as if his actions hold no alternative.

“So, naturally, you brought her here. To my house.”

Vivienne rises then, sidling up to Jonah with delicate precision. Somehow, the way she hovers by his side feels more wife-like than anything I’ve shared with him in months. Her tone is soft, apologetic. Another perfectly choreographed act.

“Oh, Sienna, I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to impose. I just… I was so frightened after the attack, and then when I got sick and ruined my dress—Jonah was kind enough to lend me something of yours…”

“My clothes,” I bite out.

She glances down feebly, drawing the fabric closer. “I can change immediately, if you prefer. I just didn’t want to go home alone tonight—”

“Then call your family. Or literally anyone else. Surely Jonah isn’t your only resource in this world.” My words cut as sharp as I feel, though inside, my dignity crumbles further with every second.

“Sienna, don’t,” Jonah warns. “Vivienne doesn’t have anyone else. You know her circumstances.”

Every excuse in his arsenal spills out effortlessly, well-practiced over years of defending her at my expense. Poor Vivienne—the orphaned damsel. Poor Vivienne, who needs my husband’s protection so urgently that I simply don’t register as a priority.

“Do you hear yourself?” I snap, gesturing wildly. “Your wife is eight months pregnant, stranded at the side of the road because you chose another woman! Do you even see how absurd that is?”

Jonah runs a hand over his face, exasperated. It’s a gesture I once took as weariness—something that would compel me to soften. But tonight, it only hardens me.

“Sienna, you got home safe. Stop creating drama out of nothing.”

His words feel like a final blow, tearing through the last fragile fibers holding me together.