Page 82 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

“How did the parents not know?”

“When is he suspending his show?”

I can’t breathe.

Tears slip down my cheeks before I even realize I’ve started crying. The remote sits uselessly in my lap, but I don’t reach for it. Ishouldturn it off. Should stop listening to the headlines dissecting my life like it’s entertainment.

But I can’t look away.

It’s like watching a car crash I caused. One I tried to swerve around, but couldn’t. One I never walked away from.

This was supposed to blow over quietly. Fade into the background like every other scandal. But now it’s on every screen, in every living room. Now strangers say my name like a punchline, like a warning.

And worst of all, there’s no way to correct the story without making it worse.

I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders and stare at the screen, heart pounding, face hot with shame. Every second feels like an hour. Every word like a slap.

I should be angry.

But all I feel is exposed.

35

EMILY

Justin

Delete my number.

Don’t ever contact me again.

The stares come from every direction when I walk into my usual campus café on Thursday. Even the Uber driver who dropped me off kept giving me confused looks through the rearview mirror at every stoplight.

“What can I get for you this morning?” the waitress asks, pen poised.

“I’ll have two cinnamon lattes.”

She raises a brow. “Is one of those for your stepbrother?”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll also have two plain bagels with honey almond butter.”

“I’m just asking.”

“I’d also appreciate a side of syrup,” I add, glancing around as the entire café dips into an awkward silence. The two women at the table next to me are practically leaning over their plates to catch every word.

“You know what?” I shake my head. “I’ll take everything to go.”

35A

COLE

The damage from a scandal burns in layers.

First comes the initial hit—the public fallout, the headlines, the gut-punch humiliation. Then the second wave: silence, shame, the replay of every choice that led to this. But the worst part—the deepest part—is how long it takes to heal.

Because the healing process isn’t quick. It isn’t clean.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it, I forgot to insulate me and Emily from the burns first.

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