Page 114 of The Games We Play
“What happened?” she asked, her voice warm but firm. “If you want my advice, I need the full story.”
I picked up a sprig of baby’s breath, tucking it into the daisies as I spoke. “He was married. Never told me. I was at his house, in his flannel and my underwear, when a woman showed up and served him divorce papers.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sandy turned toward me fully, her hand landing flat on the counter, those bright blue eyes locked onto mine.
“Exactly,” I muttered. “So I left because I was pissed.”
“And? What else?” she prodded.
I tilted my head, confused. What else?
“If it was just a secret hook-up, two people having fun,” she said, “why was him being married in the past such a dealbreaker? What made you run before knowing the full story?”
I stared at her, stunned. I didn’t think about it like that.
I turned back to the bouquet, rearranging it even though it didn’t need it. The flowers became a stand-in for the chaos I felt in my chest.
“I was hurt,” I admitted. “Betrayed. Embarrassed. My head was spinning and I didn’t know what to believe.”
“Because?” she prompted.
I’d already known but refused to say it to someone else out loud.
“Because I was falling for him,” I whispered, throat tight. “And I was scared. I felt stupid for catching feelings for someone I was only supposed to be hooking up with.”
I slammed a final flower into place a little too hard. A few petals drifted off like casualties to my anger.
“But that doesn’t excuse him,” I added quickly. “He didn’t call. He didn’t text. And when he finally did, it was like nothing had even happened.”
Sandy reached out, her fingers curling gently around my arm.
“No, it doesn’t excuse him,” she said softly. “But maybe… maybe you weren’t just running because of what he did. Maybe, deep down, you were looking for an exit because you didn’t know how he felt about you.Maybe sabotaging it felt safer than waiting around to be disappointed.”
Her words hit me like a freight train.
My head tilted back slightly, eyes fluttering shut. The rush of reality was nearly too much for me to bear.
Sandy watched me for a long moment, her fingers still resting on my arm, grounding me.
“You know,” she said quietly, her eyes softening, “you remind me a lot of myself at your age.”
I blinked, surprised. “Me?”
She nodded, pulling her hand away and reaching beneath the counter for another roll of brown paper. “I was twenty-six, working in my aunt’s flower shop. Thought I had it all figured out. I met this super cute guy through a supplier. He wascharming in that dangerous kind of way. Said all the right things. Made me feel seen in a way I didn’t even realize I was craving.”
Her smile faded just a little. “We dated in secret for months. Not because we had to, but because I didn’t want to ruin the fantasy by letting the real world in.”
She glanced at me. “Sound familiar?”
I nodded, heart tight. Too familiar.
“One day, I showed up at his place with cinnamon rolls, his favorite.” She gave a small laugh, full of regret and old wounds. “And when he opened the door, he was… holding a toddler.”
My mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.”
“Turns out, he had a child, which he conveniently forgot to mention. I was humiliated. I left without a word and never looked back. Didn’t even give him the chance to explain. It hurt too much.”
She paused to lay out more paper, her fingers still calm and steady. “But here’s what I learned later. He wasn’t a bad man, Penelope. He had his reasons. And I’d gotten so wrapped up in my hurt that I never gave myself the chance to hear the full story. I let pride drive the getaway car.”
