Page 28 of American Beauty

I hit send. Nothing. Not even a delivered status.

I try again. Nothing––like it’s going into space.

Blocked.

The word slams against my skull, pounding out the only truth that matters now.

Alex Sebring

The man I love.

The man who told me I was his favorite.

The man who called me his American beauty.

The man who kissed me like he never wanted to stop.

Dumped me by text.

And blocked me.

My heart doesn’t just ache—it shatters. Piece by piece, crack by jagged crack, until all that’s left is a hollow shell and the unbearable weight of disbelief.

I press my fists to my temples, trying to hold myself together, but it’s too late. Everything is breaking. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. Just the broken sound of air slipping past the knot in my throat.

No. This can’t be how it ends. He doesn’t even know I’m coming back. He ended us without even knowing that I’m on my way to him.

The cruelty of it stings sharper than anything I’ve ever known. No one––no one––has ever hurt me like this. Not even Robin.

I reach for my phone again, but my fingers slip, and it tumbles to the hardwood with a sharp clack. I stare at it for a beat, chest heaving, then lunge for it and hit the first name my brain can conjure through the fog.

It rings once. Twice.

Violet picks up, her voice bright and loud. “Well? What did lover boy say? Should I start writing my maid-of-honor speech now?”

Her words slice straight through me—and it’s my undoing. I crumple to pieces. The sobs come fast and brutal, loud and gasping and broken.

“Magnolia!? What’s wrong?”

My attempts to speak are nothing more than uncontrolled sobbing.

“I’m coming, Mags. Give me fifteen minutes, and I’ll be there.”

The call ends, but I stay right there on the floor, phone in hand, pain choking every breath. I rock back against the wall, curling into myself like I can block it all out.

Fifteen minutes stretch like hours. When the door bursts open, Violet comes in like a storm—ready to fight, to fix, to do whatever is needed. But when she sees me, her whole body softens.

She drops to her knees beside me. “Magnolia––”

“Vi.” It’s all I can say before the next wave crashes over me, and I fall into her arms.

She holds me like she’s trying to squeeze the pieces back together. Her fingers stroke my hair, and I cling to her like I’m drowning.

“I don’t understand what happened.”

She rocks me like a mother holding her child. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”

But how do you figure out someone vanishing from your life in a single text?

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