Page 82 of Selfish Desires

“I guess...we all feel that way sometimes.” My eyes dropped to my hands. “It's a part of life.”

Stephen listened, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he stared at his coffee cup. “You're right.” He nodded. “It's just tough sometimes, you know?”

And I did know. And though my heart ached for him because, in a different universe, we could've been kindred spirits finding solace in each other's company, it was not meant to be. Not when my heart belonged to another.

“Just remember this. That girl? She sounds fucking stupid. Her loss. Your gain to know now rather than waste your time.”

Stephen sputtered out a laugh. “Thanks, Wendy.” He massaged his temple. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right.” I nudged his shoulder with mine, and we shared a warm smile. “I think I’m going to call it an early day.”

“Yeah? Everything okay?” Stephen raised an eyebrow.

“Everything’s fine. I’m just tired, you know?” I locked eyes with Stephen, hoping he’d understand.

“Of course.” Stephen downed the remainder of his coffee. “Want some company? It’s a nice day out. We could take a walk?”

If it were any other day, I’d probably say no, but something about Stephen’s warmth and the kindness swimming in his deep eyes poked my mind to say yes. “That sounds great. Give me five minutes, okay?”

“You got it. I’ll be here.” Stephen spread his long arms out, emphasizing his point.

Stephen's eyes followed me as I sauntered across the cafe and disappeared into the back to gather my belongings. I said a quick goodbye to Marissa without her questioning my decision before returning to Stephen.

He was now looking out the front window near the restaurant’s entrance, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of afternoon light. “Ready?” he asked as I approached.

“Yeah,” I replied, mustering up a half-hearted smile. We walked side by side, our steps synchronized in a comfortable rhythm.

We strolled along the narrow streets of our quaint little town, exchanging small talk about the weather and our favorite places to frequent lately. Anything to keep the noise at bay.

“Can I ask you a question?” Stephen walked half a step ahead.

“Sure.” I kept my eyes glued to the uneven pavement under my feet.

“Are you and Vincent still together?” He slowed his pace, knowing the question brought me to a halt.

“No. I mean, maybe.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

Stephen remained silent, his eyes locked on mine as if he were searching for something—understanding, empathy, or maybe more. His hand landed on my shoulder, a comforting gesture that felt surprisingly natural.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I didn't mean to pry.”

“It's okay,” I looked away from his empathetic gaze and focused on a small pebble by my foot instead. “It’s just…difficult. Everything with him was always difficult the more I think about it.”

Stephen nodded his understanding without pressing any further. We continued our walk in silence, the only sound being our synchronized footsteps on the cobblestone streets and the distant hum of early traffic. I guess I hadn’t been paying attention and following Stephen almost blindly as he steered us to an unknown excursion. When I finally paid attention, my eyes met brick walls on either side of us, and that was when I realized we were in an alleyway.

“Stephen,” I began, my voice wavering slightly with unease. “Where are we?”

“Just a shortcut,” he reassured me, his hand still on my shoulder. “Oh, before I forget. I’ve wanted to give you these, but you know how time can get away from you.” Stephen reached into his jacket, pulling out an oversized white envelope, holding it out for me.

“What’s this?” I took the envelope with a shaky hand, my pulse going into overdrive.

“Open it. You’ll see.” Stephen popped his shoulders, hands clasped behind his back.

I peeled back the top flap and pulled out a thin stack of photographs I hoped to never see again. They were the black and white photos Vincent had shown me the night he came clean about everything.

My blood ran cold. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I sifted through each picture: Vincent fucking that woman, solo candid images of me doing various things, another of Vincent and me, and finally, one of Vincent alone with red letters spelling LIAR across his face.

“Why?” I forced the single word out.

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