Jamie
606 Words
The glow from the gallery showing had barely begun to fade when the shadow of the past stretched across Damian’s doorstep.
Three days after the auction, Justine and Damian were returning from a late dinner, their fingers still intertwined, the air between them thick with the comfortable hum of a settled relationship. But as they rounded the corner of the hallway, the laughter died in Justine’s throat.
A woman stood in front of Damian’s door. She was striking in a way that felt polished and sharp—wearing a tailored slate-grey coat, her blonde hair falling in a perfect, expensive sheet. She looked like she belonged in a boardroom, or perhaps a high-end gallery, but certainly not standing there like a ghost from a life Damian had tried to bury.
Damian stopped so abruptly Justine nearly stumbled. His hand, usually so warm and steady, went cold.
"Jamie?" The name left his lips like a jagged piece of glass.
The woman turned, her expression unreadable—not apologetic, but expectant. "Hello, Damian. It took a lot of asking around to find your new place."
Justine felt a cold sinkhole open in her stomach. She knew that name. Jamie was the one Gale had described in hushed, angry tones—the woman who hadn't just left Damian, but had shattered his world by cheating on him with his then-best friend before moving away.
"What are you doing here?" Damian’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble. He hadn't let go of Justine’s hand, but his grip was now a reflex, rigid and tight.
Jamie’s eyes finally flicked to Justine. She didn't look at her with malice; she looked at her with a clinical, soul-crushing curiosity, as if Justine were a placeholder she was prepared to ignore.
"I’m back in the city, Damian. Permanently," Jamie said, her voice smooth. "I realized I made a monumental mistake. I think we need to talk. Privately."
The word "privately" hung in the air like a physical barrier.
Justine looked at Damian, waiting for the dismissal, waiting for him to tell this woman that her time had passed. But Damian didn't speak. He was staring at Jamie with a haunted, hollow intensity that made Justine feel suddenly invisible. The "Steady Anchor" was swaying in a storm she hadn't seen coming.
"I... I should go," Justine stammered, the words tasting like lead. She began to pull her hand away.
"Justine, wait—" Damian started, but his eyes didn't leave Jamie’s face. He didn't move to stop her.
Justine didn't wait for the second "wait." She turned and fled toward the elevator, the sound of her own heartbeat drowning out the closing of the doors.
The Decision
Back at her flat, Justine paced the length of her living room. The amber bowl sat on the sideboard, glowing under the lamp, a reminder of the "new beginning" they had supposedly built.
She felt a toxic mix of hurt and fury. Part of her wanted to call Gale, but she knew Gale would be at Damian’s door in ten minutes with a bottle of gin and a list of insults. This wasn't a job for Gale. This was about whether the life Justine had built with Damian was made of stone or just wet clay.
She had two choices:
Wait for him to come to her and explain why he looked like he’d seen a goddess instead of a traitor.
Confront the situation head-on before Jamie could weave her way back into the cracks of his heart.
- Writer
