Helen handed him her phone, showing a long screenshot. “Lawrence, your sweet ‘sister’ isn’t just a perfect ballerina, she’s a star at writing, too. Take a look at this. It’s packed with all those cozy stories about you two growing up together. Every word just nails Bonnie to the wall for everyone to see. Sometimes I honestly wonder if you ever cared about Bonnie at all. Otherwise, why would Hannah be so sure of herself?”
Lawrence took the phone, barely able to hold it steady. Every word Helen said felt heavy, like rocks dropping into his ears, grinding away until it hurt just to pay attention at all.
The article was full of memories about him and Hannah, lined up like facts. Only Lawrence knew what was real and what wasn’t. Yes, he had always treated Hannah like a sister, maybe tried too hard because he felt guilty for what her mom went through. Was it really wrong to look after her like family?
The rest, though—the so-called love letters, secret peeks, all those confessions and jealous fights, those sudden kisses and lingering hugs after some supposed moment of truth—none of that happened. Not a single thing. It was all made up.
He understood why Hannah might write something like that.
There was a sour metallic taste in his mouth. He wanted to explain, but nothing came out. This one article was enough to convince everyone that he and Bonnie had never really been in love at all.
He never realized words could cut this deep.
He felt dizzy, the world tilting around him. He was gasping for air, like a cornered animal with red, desperate eyes, already wounded and just waiting for the next blow.



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