The Party Was a Celebration Built on My Ruins
Delaney’s backyard looked like a magazine spread.
White and gold balloons.
Streamers everywhere.
A dessert table that looked like it cost more than my monthly rent.
In the center was a giant box designed to release either pink or blue balloons.
The moment everyone would film to prove they were happy.
Delaney held court wearing a flowing white dress that showed off her bump.
She looked radiant.
Glowing.
Everything I was supposed to look like.
She spotted me immediately and rushed over.
“Oakley! You came! I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Of course I came,” I said, because what else do you say when you’re bleeding internally?
She hugged me.
Her stomach pressed against mine.
Something inside me cracked a little more.
Then she asked, too casually, “Where’s Mason?”
“Work,” I said.
Delaney’s smile tightened.
“On a Saturday? Poor guy works so hard.”
It sounded sympathetic.
But her eyes had something else in them.
Almost… amusement.
The party moved forward like a machine.
Games.
Predictions.
Gift opening.
People squealing over tiny onesies like the universe hadn’t just taken mine away.
Every laugh hit me like a knife.
I couldn’t do it anymore.
I slipped away from the crowd and went to the garden area behind the yard.
A bench tucked behind rose bushes.
Finally, quiet.
I sat down and closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest.
That’s when I heard two voices.
One of them made my blood turn to ice.
Mason.
My husband.
The man who was supposed to be in Riverside “for work.”
“You’re sure she doesn’t suspect anything?” he asked.
And Delaney laughed.
“Please,” she said. “She’s so wrapped up in her own misery, she barely notices when you’re in the same room.”
I opened my eyes.
Through the bushes, I saw them standing close.
Too close.
Then Mason kissed her.
Not an accident.
Not a friendly peck.
A deep, familiar kiss.
The kind that comes from repetition.
My legs moved before my brain caught up.
I pushed through the bushes, thorns catching my dress, and I heard my own voice like it belonged to someone else:
“What the hell is going on?!”
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