Page 4 of What Goes Around

“I thought you were different,” he said, voice low and flat. “I had real feelings for you. But I didn’t know you at all… did I?”

Each word from his mouth was like a dagger to my soul.

“Nick,” I whispered. “I can’t do this without you. I—” My voice broke before I could finish.

He looked at me for a long second, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight. “Go home, Ashley.”

I didn’t argue. What was the point? Everything was too raw, too broken. But even as I turned away, a small, stubborn part of me whispered that I’d fight for him. I didn’t care what it took, I’d make him see the truth.

By the time I reached my car, I could feel eyes on my back, following me like shadows. The judgment clung to me, even after I shut the door and gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

When I finally drove away, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep the car straight. My phone buzzed nonstop, texts, missed calls, notifications piling up faster than I could ignore them.

Payton’s mother: You should be ashamed.

Mara (coworker): Wait, is it true?

Unknown number: Homewrecker.

My stomach churned. My life, my name, was unraveling in real time, one notification at a time.

When I got to my apartment, the tears wouldn’t stop. I dropped my phone on the counter, the sound echoing in the quiet, and let out a sob that tore through me. My knees buckled. I slid down the cabinet until I was sitting on the cold floor, shaking.

Another notification pinged.

I should’ve ignored it. But curiosity, or masochism, made me reach for the phone.

It was a screenshot of text messages, between Thomas and me.

Except they weren’t mine.

The words stared back at me, surreal and unbelievable.

Ashley: I think about you too. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it.

Thomas: We can’t do this. You’re with Nick.

Ashley: Then don’t marry her.

My heart stopped. My hands went numb.

None of it made sense. None of it.

The two weeks after the wedding were the longest of my life.

At first, I thought people would realize the truth, that it was all some misunderstanding, that Thomas had panicked, that someone had twisted things. But no one did. Especially not after those screenshots spread everywhere.

It was like someone flipped a switch and, overnight, I became the villain in everyone’s story.

My personal info, my workplace, my photos, everything, was plastered across the internet. I deleted my social media accounts, but it didn’t matter. People found me anyway.

Then the packages started coming.

Blood. Razor blades. A dead rat. Obscene images with my face photoshopped onto them.

Every delivery made my heart race, my skin crawl. I started jumping at every knock, every shadow outside my window.

My boss called the next morning. “Ashley… maybe you should take some time off,” she said carefully. “Just until things settle down.”