Page 164 of What Goes Around

I didn’t hate him.

I had expected anger. Or bitterness. Or at least some dramatic release. Instead, I felt finished. Not numb. Not broken. Just done.

I thought about the girl I had been before. The one who loved him without question. Who trusted him. Who believed in futures that didn’t protect her. And then I thought about who I was now. A woman standing alone in her own apartment, in a city she had chosen, in a life she had built herself.

Nick hadn’t destroyed me.

He had simply belonged to a version of me that no longer existed.

I walked to the window and looked out over Boston, lights scattered across the city, thousands of lives moving without any connection to mine. No one here knew our history. No one here defined me by him.

I didn’t need closure from him. I didn’t need answers or apologies. I had already survived what mattered.

Quietly, almost without thinking, I said his name once, just to release it.

“Goodbye, Nick.”

Chapter 52: The Pregnancy Brand

Over the next month, Apple turned her pregnancy into a brand.

Every day there was something new. Maternity hauls. Soft pastel dresses with captions about “embracing womanhood.” Flat-lay photos of baby socks and tiny shoes. Videos of her resting a hand on her stomach, smiling into the camera, talking about how excited she was to meet her baby. How grateful she felt. How everything finally made sense.

She posted nursery inspiration. Vitamins. Healthy recipes. “What I eat in a day while pregnant.” She filmed slow walks, careful smiles, teary gratitude. She talked about how much she already loved her baby. How she could not wait to meet “them.”

“I already love you more than anything,” one caption read.

“This little soul saved me,” another said.

Her followers adored it. The comments were endless. Hearts. Blessings. Congratulations. People telling her she would be an amazing mother. People thanking her for being “so brave” for sharing something so personal.

I watched it all from my phone, scrolling in silence.

I didn’t comment. I didn’t like. I just observed.

Then came the crying video.

Her face was bare. Eyes red. Hair pulled back. Soft instrumental music underneath.

“I lost the baby,” she whispered. “I need time to heal. I need privacy. I hope you can understand.”

“I don’t even know how to breathe,” she said, tears sliding carefully down her cheeks. “But I know I have to keep going.”

She thanked her followers for their support. She said she did not know how she would ever recover from something so painful.

The comments flooded in again. Sympathy this time. Broken hearts. Messages about strength, angels, healing.

And yet.

The same day, she posted stories. Quotes.

“Some pain changes you forever.”

“Healing is not linear.”

“God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.”

“I will survive this.”