Updated Mar 21, 2026 • ~10 min read
SUMMER – ONE WEEK LATER
I haven’t left Rose’s apartment in seven days.
She’s been patient.
But this morning, she throws open the curtains.
“Get up.”
“Rose—”
“No. You’ve wallowed long enough. You need a job. You need income. You need to start rebuilding.”
“No one’s going to hire me. I’m blacklisted.”
“In your parents’ social circle, maybe. But the world is bigger than that.”
She’s right.
I know she’s right.
But I’m terrified.
“What am I even qualified to do?”
“You have an art history degree. You worked in galleries. Start there.”
“The gallery world is small. Everyone talks.”
“Then do something else. Waitress. Bartend. Retail. I don’t care. But you need to get off my couch and start living.”
She leaves for work.
I sit there.
Staring at the want ads she left on the coffee table.
Finally, I pick one up.
SUMMER – MIDTOWN GALLERY
I’m standing outside a small contemporary art gallery.
They posted a job for gallery assistant.
Minimum wage. No experience required.
Perfect for someone whose life just imploded.
I go inside.
A woman in her fifties looks up. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here about the gallery assistant position.”
“You have a resume?”
I hand her the hastily printed copy I made at the library.
She scans it.
Her eyebrows rise.
“You worked at Chen & Associates?”
My stomach drops.
“Yes.”
“They’re high-end. Why are you applying here?”
“I… needed a change.”
She studies me.
“You’re Summer Chen.”
Oh god.
“Yes.”
“I heard about what happened. With the Lancaster wedding.”
Of course she did.
Everyone did.
“I understand if you don’t want to hire me—”
“Why would I care about your personal life?”
I blink. “What?”
“Can you work a register?”
“Yes.”
“Can you talk to customers without being rude?”
“Yes.”
“Can you show up on time and not steal from me?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’re hired. Eight dollars an hour. Four days a week. Starting Monday.”
I stare at her.
“Really?”
“Kid, everyone’s got a messy past. You owned up to yours. That’s more than most people do. Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t. Thank you.”
She waves me off.
“Go fill out paperwork with Linda in the back.”
I do.
When I leave, I’m shaking.
First step.
Tiny.
But real.
THEO – ONE WEEK LATER
Adrian’s throwing me a “dodged a bullet” party.
I don’t want it.
But he insists.
“You need to get back out there. Show everyone you’re fine.”
I’m not fine.
But I go.
The party’s at some rooftop bar. Loud. Crowded.
Everyone congratulates me.
“Better you found out now than after the wedding!”
“Can you imagine if she’d trapped you?”
“Good riddance!”
Each comment is a knife.
Because the truth is…
I miss her.
Not the real her. The liar.
But the version I thought I knew.
The quiet girl who smiled at me over coffee. Who talked about art. Who made me feel safe.
That Summer never existed.
Adrian appears. Hands me a drink.
“Blake’s here.”
I tense. “Why?”
“I didn’t invite her. She just showed up.”
Of course she did.
Blake approaches. Perfect hair. Perfect dress. Perfect smile.
“Theo. I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Of course. Being cheated on is awful. I should know.”
The irony isn’t lost on me.
“Blake, you’re the one who cheated.”
“I know. And I’ve regretted it every day since. We were good together, Theo. Before I messed it up.”
“What are you doing?”
“Apologizing. And asking if maybe… we could get coffee. Catch up.”
“No.”
“Theo—”
“You cheated on me. Summer cheated on me. I’m done with women who lie.”
“I’m different now—”
“I don’t care.”
I walk away.
Leave the party.
Adrian follows. “You okay?”
“I want to go home.”
“Come on, man. You can’t let this break you.”
“I’m not broken. I’m just… done. With all of it. The social games. The expectations. The fake relationships.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Focus on work. That’s real. Numbers don’t lie.”
He looks like he wants to argue.
But he doesn’t.
JAX – TWO WEEKS LATER
I’m tattooing a phoenix on someone’s back.
Ironic.
Rebirth. Rising from ashes.
I feel like ash.
Marco’s watching me.
“You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The brooding artist thing. You’ve been doing it for two weeks.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You haven’t dated. Haven’t gone out. You just work and go home.”
“So?”
“So it’s not healthy. You need to move on.”
“I am moving on.”
“By avoiding everything? That’s not moving on. That’s hiding.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“Jax, you won’t even walk past her old building. You changed your entire route.”
He’s right.
I have been avoiding anything that reminds me of her.
“She lied to me for two years, Marco. How am I supposed to just get over that?”
“You’re not. Not quickly. But you can’t let her destroy you.”
“She didn’t destroy me.”
“Didn’t she?”
I don’t answer.
Because maybe she did.
Felix calls from the front. “Jax! Walk-in asking for you specifically.”
I sigh. Set down my tattoo gun.
“Take five,” I tell my client.
I go to the front.
A girl in her early twenties is waiting. Long black hair. But not Summer.
“Hi. I’m Rose. Summer’s sister.”
My blood runs cold.
“I don’t want to talk about Summer.”
“Good. Because I’m not here to talk about her. I’m here to apologize.”
“For what?”
“My family. We pushed her into that engagement. Controlled her whole life. Made her feel like she had to be perfect or lose us. I’m not excusing what she did. But I wanted you to know… it wasn’t all her fault.”
“She’s an adult. She made choices.”
“She did. Bad ones. But she made them because she was terrified of disappointing people. Of not being enough.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because she loves you. Really loves you. And I think you loved her too. And maybe… maybe one day, when you’re less angry, you can remember that the girl you fell for was real. The lies were survival. Not malice.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No. It doesn’t. But it makes it human.”
She leaves.
I stand there.
Hating that her words made sense.
SUMMER – THREE WEEKS LATER
I’m working at the gallery.
It’s boring. Quiet. Safe.
Exactly what I need.
A customer approaches. Older woman. Kind face.
“Excuse me, can you tell me about this piece?”
It’s abstract. Blues and grays. Chaotic.
“It’s called ‘Aftermath,'” I say. “The artist painted it after a personal crisis. It’s about the messiness of rebuilding. How nothing’s clean or perfect. But there’s beauty in the chaos anyway.”
She smiles. “You have a good eye.”
“Thank you.”
She buys it.
My boss, Janet, nods approval.
“You’re good with customers. You should do more than just register work.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking about expanding the education program. Gallery talks. Artist meet-and-greets. You interested?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. We’ll start small. But you’ve got talent, kid. Don’t waste it.”
It’s the first compliment I’ve received in weeks.
I almost cry.
SUMMER – FRIDAY NIGHT, ROSE’S APARTMENT
Rose is getting ready for her gallery opening next week.
The one where everything was supposed to explode.
It already did.
But the opening is still happening.
“You’re coming, right?” she asks.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Theo might be there. Jax might be there. Our parents definitely will be.”
“So? It’s my night. I want you there.”
“Rose—”
“Summer, you can’t hide forever. At some point, you have to face people.”
“Not yet.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. When I’m ready.”
She sighs. “Fine. But you’re coming to the afterparty. That’s non-negotiable.”
“Deal.”
She studies me.
“You look better. Less dead inside.”
I laugh. “Thanks?”
“I’m serious. A month ago, you were a zombie. Now you’re… functioning.”
“Is that the bar? Functioning?”
“For now, yeah. Baby steps.”
She’s right.
A month ago, I lost everything.
Now I have a job. A place to stay. A sister who forgave me.
It’s not much.
But it’s something.
JAX – ONE MONTH LATER
I’m at a bar with Felix and Marco.
Actually socializing.
Progress.
“You seeing anyone?” Felix asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not ready.”
“It’s been a month.”
“So?”
“So you’re allowed to move on.”
“I am moved on.”
Marco snorts. “You still have her picture in your phone.”
“I haven’t deleted my photos. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means you’re not over her.”
Maybe I’m not.
Maybe I won’t be for a long time.
But I’m trying.
That counts for something.
THEO – ONE MONTH LATER
I’m in therapy.
Adrian’s idea.
“You’ve been through trauma twice now. Talk to someone.”
So I am.
Dr. Morrison is patient. Non-judgmental.
“Tell me about Summer.”
“She lied. Cheated. Humiliated me.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Betrayed. Stupid. Worthless.”
“Do you think you’re worthless?”
“No. But she made me feel that way. Like I wasn’t enough. Like I’m the kind of person women cheat on.”
“Two women cheated. That doesn’t make it a pattern about you. It makes it a pattern about your choices.”
“What does that mean?”
“You chose women who weren’t authentically interested in you. Blake wanted status. Summer was trapped by family obligation. Neither chose you for you.”
The words land.
“So what do I do?”
“Next time, choose someone who chooses you back. For real reasons. Not obligation or status or fear.”
It sounds simple.
It’s not.
But it’s a start.
SUMMER – ONE MONTH LATER, NIGHT
I’m lying on Rose’s couch.
Scrolling through old photos.
Jax and me. Laughing. Happy. Real.
I miss him.
God, I miss him.
But I don’t reach out.
He doesn’t want to hear from me.
And I don’t blame him.
Rose appears. “Still stalking your own past?”
“Pathetic, right?”
“Little bit. But understandable.”
“You think he’ll ever forgive me?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. What you did was pretty unforgivable.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”
“You asked.” She sits beside me. “But here’s the thing. People can surprise you. Maybe one day, when you’re both healed, there’s a chance. Or maybe there isn’t. But either way, you have to move forward.”
“How?”
“Keep working. Keep building your life. Keep being honest. And if he comes back, great. If not, you’ll survive anyway.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
“I’ve been in therapy for years. Mom and Dad’s control issues affected both of us. I just rebelled louder.”
“I should have rebelled too.”
“You did. Just in the messiest way possible.”
We laugh.
It feels good.
To laugh.
To breathe.
To exist without drowning.
One month ago, I lost everything.
Today, I’m still here.
Broken.
Rebuilding.
But here.
And that’s enough.
For now.
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