Updated Nov 26, 2025 • ~7 min read
One week later, the truth came out.
Lizzie saw it on Ruby’s phone—she’d thrown away her own devices, unable to stand the constant notifications. Her best friend’s expression had been a mixture of fury and vindication as she showed Lizzie the headline.
“WEDDING SCANDAL UPDATE: No Baby After All”
The article detailed how Maddie’s “pregnancy” had conveniently ended in a “miscarriage” at exactly six weeks. Too early for most testing. Too convenient for most people to believe.
The comments section was vicious.
“She LIED to steal her sister’s man”
“This is so sick”
“Both of them are trash. They deserve each other”
Public opinion had shifted dramatically. The initial “true love conquers all” narrative had soured into something ugly. People were calling for boycotts of Richardson Industries. Oliver’s stock was plummeting. Maddie had been forced to make her social media private after receiving thousands of death threats.
Lizzie felt nothing.
Or rather, she felt everything, but it was locked so deep inside her that it couldn’t touch her surface. She’d perfected the art of numbness over the past week, moving through her parents’ house like a ghost.
“He’s trying to reach you again,” Ruby said, scrolling through the article. “Gavin called me. Oliver wants to meet.”
“No.”
“He wants to apologize, explain—”
“Ruby.” Lizzie looked at her best friend with dead eyes. “What could he possibly say that would matter? Sorry I fucked your sister? Sorry I humiliated you internationally? Sorry I believed her lie and didn’t trust you enough to tell you the truth?” She laughed bitterly. “There’s nothing he can say. Nothing that will fix this.”
Ruby set down her phone. “You’re right. But maybe you need to hear it anyway. For closure.”
Closure. Such a pretty word for such an ugly concept. As if hearing Oliver grovel would somehow seal up the wound, make everything better, let her move on.
Lizzie didn’t want closure. She wanted revenge.
But that would require engaging, and she was done engaging. Done with all of it.
“I’m leaving,” she announced.
Ruby blinked. “What?”
“I’m leaving the city. Today. I can’t stay here, Ruby. Every street has a memory. Every restaurant we went to, every park we walked through. And the paparazzi—” She gestured vaguely toward the front of the house, where reporters still camped out. “I can’t live like this.”
“Where will you go?”
“Upstate. There’s a cottage for rent near Woodstock. I saw the listing last night. Middle of nowhere, no neighbors, no one to recognize me.”
“For how long?”
Lizzie met her eyes. “As long as it takes.”
She’d already made up her mind. The past week had clarified everything with brutal precision. She couldn’t heal here, surrounded by reminders of Oliver. Couldn’t rebuild while the world watched her every move. She needed solitude, silence, space to fall apart without cameras documenting each piece.
“What about your job?” Ruby asked.
“I quit this morning. Email.”
“Lizzie—”
“I have savings. Enough to last six months, maybe longer if I’m careful. And I can freelance. Take on design projects remotely.” She stood, suddenly energized for the first time in days. “This is good, Ruby. This is right. I need to disappear.”
Ruby looked like she wanted to argue, but something in Lizzie’s face stopped her. Instead, she pulled her into a fierce hug.
“Call me,” she whispered. “Every day. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning. Call me.”
“I will.”
“And if you need me to come up there, to bring wine and terrible movies and help you commit minor property damage—”
“You’ll be my first call.”
They packed quickly. Lizzie didn’t have much she wanted to take—most of her belongings were contaminated by association with Oliver. She left behind the furniture they’d chosen together for their apartment, the books he’d given her, the jewelry from their anniversary. Took only clothes, toiletries, her laptop, and a single photo of her family from before everything fell apart.
Audrey helped her load the car, her face tight with worry. “Mom’s not handling this well,” she said quietly. “Seeing you leave…”
“I know. But I can’t stay for her. I have to do this for me.”
Her older sister nodded, understanding but sad. “Call her sometimes, okay? She’s lost both daughters in different ways. It’s killing her.”
Guilt twisted in Lizzie’s gut. But she pushed it down, hardened herself against it. She couldn’t carry everyone’s pain along with her own.
Her father walked her to the car. Austin hadn’t spoken much since the wedding, his jaw perpetually tight, his eyes distant. Now, he pulled her into a hug that smelled like coffee and old spice and safety.
“You’re stronger than you know,” he said roughly. “Don’t let them take that from you.”
“I won’t.”
“And Lizzie?” He pulled back, his hands on her shoulders. “When you’re ready—and only when you’re ready—come back and show them exactly who you are. Show them they didn’t break you.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
The drive north was long and quiet. Lizzie kept her phone off, knowing that if she turned it on, she’d see messages from Oliver, from Gavin, maybe even from Maddie. She wasn’t ready for that. Might never be ready.
The cottage appeared just before sunset, nestled at the end of a winding dirt road. It was small—one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen that opened into a living room with a fireplace. The windows looked out onto dense woods, and the nearest house was three miles away.
Perfect.
Lizzie unpacked in silence, putting away her few belongings, making the bed with sheets that smelled like nothing—no memories, no associations. She opened all the windows despite the cool evening air, letting the forest sounds in: birds calling, wind in the trees, the distant rush of a stream.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She’d turned it on for GPS and forgot to turn it off again. Against her better judgment, she looked at the screen.
Fifteen missed calls from Gavin. Eight from her mother. Three from blocked numbers that were probably Oliver.
And one text from a number she didn’t recognize:
I know you probably hate me. You have every right to. But I need you to know the truth about what happened. About Oliver, about the pregnancy, about everything. Can we meet? Please? – M
Maddie.
Lizzie stared at the message for a long time, her thumb hovering over the delete button. Part of her wanted to know—wanted to hear Maddie’s justification, her excuses, her explanations. Wanted to understand how her little sister, the girl she’d protected and loved and encouraged, had become the woman who destroyed her.
But a bigger part knew that nothing Maddie said would make it better. Would only make it worse, in fact, because there was no good reason for betrayal this complete.
Lizzie deleted the message. Blocked the number. Then she turned off her phone, removed the battery, and buried it in the bottom of her suitcase.
Let them wonder where she was. Let them panic, let them search, let them feel the helplessness of reaching for someone who wouldn’t reach back.
She was done being available for their guilt, their explanations, their attempts at redemption.
The sun set fully, plunging the cottage into darkness. Lizzie didn’t turn on any lights. Just sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and stared out at the black forest.
This was her life now. Isolation and silence and slow, painful healing.
It would have to be enough.
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