Chapter 9

During my time with family in Boston, I maintained a facade of happiness. I kept myself deliberately busy, filling every hour with activities, leaving no room for unwanted thoughts. And no, I didn't unblock Aiden, despite his demands. Still, Maya and other friends diligently provided updates. Apparently, Aiden and his friends spent days in Aspen. For some reason, he began posting constantly on Instagram—a stark contrast to his usual months-long silence. Sometimes it was videos of him skiing black diamond runs, sometimes lavish dinners and all-night parties, but mostly group photos of everyone laughing in the snow, filled with smiles and inside jokes. Even though I desperately wanted to avoid it, people continued sending me screenshots. Everyone kept asking why I wasn't in Aspen with him. I deflected their questions, offering vague excuses about family obligations in Boston. While Maya bluntly called Aiden a player, everyone else offered knowing glances, hesitant to voice their thoughts. I knew why. In every group photo, he and Madison were practically inseparable. That spot beside him—it had been mine for years.

Each time I saw these posts, I maintained a neutral expression, but my heart ached. He was my first real love, someone I had genuinely cared for deeply. Late at night, I allowed myself to break down, feeling the unfairness of it all. But then I'd remember his cruel words and mentally chastise myself. Over and over, I'd repeat, "Brooklyn, have some self-respect. Don't make yourself even more pathetic." Just hold on. Get through this. Things would get better.

We went a whole month without contact—the longest period since we met. Distance and time were supposed to be great healers, and I'd navigated the worst of it. Just when I'd almost stopped thinking about Aiden altogether, he called from a new number, his voice bridging the continent.