He drops to his knees beside me and pulls me against his chest, and I let him hold me in a way I haven't allowed since before New York. His heart pounds against my ear, fast and furious, and I know he's seen the posts too.
“Why is she doing this to us?” I sob, clinging to him.
“I don’t know, baby. We need to go home," he says into my hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Now."
I nod against his chest, unable to form words.
The drive is silent except for my ragged breathing. Devon keeps one hand on my thigh, his thumb stroking back and forth like he's trying to remind me he's here. I stare at my phone screen, watching the comments multiply.
I shouldn’t, but it’s like watching a car crash, isn’t it? You can’t look away.
She really thought she could keep him?Desperate vibes tbh.Imagine being cheated on AND publicly humiliated.
Ouch.Fuckingouch.
At home, Devon guides me to the couch and wraps a blanket around my shoulders like I'm a trauma victim. I suppose I am.
"Give me your phone," he says. "I'm blocking her on everything."
I hand it over without argument, watching him work through my accounts with fury in his grim expression. Instagram. Facebook. Twitter. He screenshots every post, every comment, every tag, adding them to our shared folder of evidence.
"I'm reporting the posts," he mutters. "Defamation. Harassment. Whatever sticks."
But I know it won't matter. The damage is done. My author name—the identity I've spentyearsbuilding—is now associated with scandal and humiliation. My pen name means nothing with my real identity attached to it. I feel raw and exposed, like a wire that’s been cut mid-power. The readers who fell in love with my friends-to-lovers stories will now picture me as the pathetic wife who couldn't see what was happening under her nose.
Too hot for her.
The words echo through my skull, finding their home among all the other cruel things Mila has said over the years.
You're so brave wearing that—I could never get away with it.
Did you really think he'd stay?
"Done." Devon sets my phone on the coffee table. "She can't contact you through any platform now. And I've taken screenshots of everything for the police."
"The comments are still there." My voice sounds hollow. "People are sharing it."
“Fuck them. They don’t know a single thing about us, Jade.”
I pull the blanket tighter around myself. "What about your gym? Her yoga classes?"
"I'm calling them first thing tomorrow. With the restraining order pending and this—" He gestures at my phone. "She's got to go.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe this nightmare will end, but I can’t.
Right now, all I can think about is that caption:When your husband's other woman shows up pregnant.
Pregnant.
"I need a minute," I whisper. "Alone."
Devon's face falls, but he nods. "I'll make us some tea."
I escape to the bathroom with its white tiles and soft purple lights—and lock the door behind me.
The mirror is waiting.
I don't want to look. I've spent years learning to avoid my reflection when I'm vulnerable, knowing what my brain will do with the image. But tonight, I can't help myself. Tonight, I need to see what everyone else is seeing.
