Chapter 4
It starts with a notification—
just one.
A tiny, innocent ping that slices straight through the fragile quiet of my loft.
I almost don’t look.
After three sleepless nights and one hollow morning, the last thing I need is more proof that the world keeps spinning without me.
But habit wins.
It always does.
I unlock my phone.
And the universe decides to be cruel.
There they are.
Sarah. Jane. Rebecca.
My former inner circle, the girls who once swore we’d grow old together drinking overpriced rosé and complaining about men we should’ve never trusted.
In the photo, they’re all bathed in golden rooftop light—skin glowing, hair perfect, cocktails raised.
And in the middle of them, like a glittering parasite, is Nova.
Her red dress catches the sunset like she curated the weather for her own entrance.
Another ping.
Another post.
Another angle of the same rooftop party.
Nova leaning into Sarah’s shoulder.
Nova laughing with Jane.
Nova twirling Rebecca around like they’ve known each other for years instead of weeks.
My thumb freezes mid-scroll.
My breath catches in a way that shouldn’t still be possible after all the things that have already broken this month.
They didn’t just move on.
They replaced me.
The loft suddenly feels too tight, too small, like the walls are inching closer with every filtered photo that slides across my screen.
My heartbeat stutters in my ears.
It wasn’t long ago that I stood in those same spots, wearing those same dresses, smiling those same smiles…before everything fell apart.
Before Owen slipped away.
Before the whispers started.
Before I stopped being convenient to stand next to.
Another photo loads.
Nova holds up a champagne flute, grinning like she’s celebrating a victory.
And maybe she is.
Because she has everything now—
the career spotlight,
the invitations,
my friends,
and, apparently, my entire former life curated into neat little moments she can post under soft filters and smug captions.
I tell myself it shouldn’t hurt.
That I don’t need them.
That I’ve survived worse.
But the truth settles heavy and honest:
this is what exile looks like in the digital age—
not loud, not dramatic, not punctuated by slamming doors.
Just a party you weren’t invited to.
A carousel of faces that used to turn toward you.
A rooftop full of laughter uploaded for the world to see,
except you’re no longer part of that world.
My phone buzzes again.
Another notification.
Another reminder.
This time, I don’t open it.
I drop the phone onto the couch and press the heel of my hand against my sternum, trying to ease the sudden ache blooming there.
But some wounds don’t bleed.
They just quietly hollow you out.
And as Nova’s perfect smile lingers on the inside of my eyelids, one truth digs in deep—
they didn’t lose me.
They let me go.
And never looked back.