Page 87 of American Beauty

We’re standing here, both gutted, both raw—and somehow, we’re not part of the same story.

I pull my phone from my pocket and go to the last message from her. “Did you send this breakup text to me?”

She takes my phone, eyes widening. “I did not send this to you.”

The shit just keeps getting deeper.

“I called you the second I saw this message. I must’ve called you a thousand times, Magnolia. No answer. Straight to default voicemail every time. No replies to my texts, nothing. You disappeared on me.”

“Oh fuck.” If regret had a face, this would be it. “I blocked you.”

Disbelief floods through me. “Why would you do that?”

She fetches her phone from her purse and begins reading. “This relationship isn’t working for me. I’ve had time to think about this, and I’ve made some decisions. I need a woman in my bed every night. My sex drive can’t handle the distance between us. If I don’t end this relationship now, I’ll end up cheating on you, and I don’t want to hurt you in that way. I need a woman who’s wife material. And that isn’t you. Don’t call or text me again. That would only make this worse. This relationship is over.”

She looks up from her phone, her voice shaking at the edges. “I called you. Over and over. After I got that message, it was obvious you’d blocked me. So I blocked you back.”

How could she believe I’d do that? “I didn’t send that message. I would never say those things to you, not in a million years. And I never blocked you.”

Her laugh is short, bitter. “I called your office when you wouldn’t answer. Courtney told me you wouldn’t take my calls.”

My stomach drops. “Courtney said that to you?”

She nods. “Yeah. And she wasn’t polite about it either. After that… I blocked you for good.”

Fucking Courtney. What has she been up to? I’m mad as hell I have to tell Leilani she was right about her.

“I never told her not to put your calls through. Not once.”

Her mouth presses into a thin line, and she fumbles with her phone, unlocking it with shaking fingers. “I’m unblocking you and calling you right now.”

We listen in tense silence.

No ring. It dumps straight to voicemail.

“That’s what it started doing after I got your breakup text.”

I drag a hand through my hair, groaning. “Let me say it again, favorite, I didn’t send you a breakup text or block you.”

Her eyes snap to mine, something raw flashing through them.

For a beat, something flickers—something soft—and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. It’s not much, but I catch it. And in that sliver of a moment, I see the shift––the part of her that still knows me.

She blinks hard, shoving the emotion down, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen it.

“Show me your blocked numbers.”

I hand my phone to her, a sharp breath escaping her lips. “That’s my number… blocked.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and it cuts me down to the bone.

“I didn’t do this.” My voice is rough, desperate. “I swear to you. I don’t have a clue how this happened.”

Her eyes, wide and wounded, lift to mine.

“Show me my contact in your phone.”

I hand over my phone without hesitation, offering her full access—proof I have nothing to hide. She wastes no time navigating to my contacts, her fingers sure even though her hands are still shaking.

After a beat, she stiffens. “Alex… the number saved under my name isn’t mine.”

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