I can’t believe this is happening. Two weeks. It’s only been two goddamn weeks since Noah shattered my world, and here I am, curled up on the couch, staring at the TV screen like some pathetic masochist. The live stream of his wedding—his wedding to her—plays out in high definition, every pixel a knife twisting in my gut. There they are, Noah and that bitch from high school, the one who made my teenage years a living hell. She bullied me relentlessly—tripping me in the halls, ...