Three days passed in a haze after that surreal night she spent at the police station, and as expected, the raw ache in her chest refused to subside.
If only I could stop thinking about him.
She kept on living the events in her mind, ashamed of the vulnerability that came with opening her heart to someone. She questioned her judgment, replaying every shared glance, every word, and every touch. Was any of it genuine? Or was her time with him altogether one big fat embarrassing lie?
It felt as if she were transported back to her theater class at drama school playing the heroine of her own story. But instead of seeing the story through to the end, the curtains fell while she was still getting acquainted with the hero—a hero who happened to be engaged. Someone else's man.
What a pathetic excuse of a man he was.
