Page 44 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

Not without making this whole thing collapse.

So I stay.

I smile like I’m not unraveling.

She props up her phone and FaceTimes Samantha, squealing as she shows off the ring and launches into a story I’ll never forget, no matter how hard I try.

Dinner by the water. A dance on the sand. A trio of musicians. A perfect sunset. Aidan kneeling. Saying things like “You make me whole” and “I want to do forever with you.”

By the end of it, I’m not even listening.

All I hear is the echo of glass on tile. The sound of Cole walking away.

And the roar in my chest that feels too much like heartbreak to be anything else.

15A

EMILY

It’s been an hour.

The house is quiet, except for the soft hum of my mother’s voice drifting in and out of the dining room. She’s still admiring her ring under different lights, tilting her hand this way and that like she’s in a jewelry commercial, each sparkle confirming some new chapter in the fantasy she’s built for herself.

In another life—maybe even just a year ago—I would’ve been happy for her. I would’ve leaned in, asked for the full proposal story again, held her hand and gushed about the dress. But now, all I can feel is resentment. Because she got everything she wanted.

And I might’ve just lost the one thing I didn’t know I needed.

I haven’t moved from the couch. The soup has gone cold on the tray beside me, untouched. My fingers are still curled around the cushion like I’m bracing for impact.

Down the hall, a door slams.

Then—voices.

They start low, sharp around the edges. Cole’s voice carries first, hot and strained.

“…you didn’t even think to tell me?—”

Aidan answers, too calm. That measured, press-ready tone he always uses when he’s trying to win a crowd.

“It’s not about you, Cole. This is bigger than your?—”

“You don’t get to talk to me about bigger.”

The volume rises, both of them pushing over each other now. It’s impossible to make out everything, but fragments slice through the quiet like shrapnel.

“…years of pretending…”

“…always your image—never the truth?—”

“…you should be grateful.”

Then a loud thud, the sharp crack of something heavy colliding with the wall or floor. My body jerks. My pulse skids out.

I want it to end. I want Cole to walk out of that room, climb the stairs two at a time, and knock on my door like he’s done every night since that first kiss. I want him to look at me—really look—and say something, anything, that makes this make sense.

But instead, the house goes still again.

Seconds pass.

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