BOUND BY ONE NIGHT

Chapter 20

Lavender’s POV

I used to believe disappointment had boundaries, that at some point, a person couldn’t break any more than they already had. That was naïve, because every time I thought I’d hit the bottom, life handed me a shovel. Aunt Tracy’s apartment smells like vanilla candles and warmth, a stark contrast to the coldness I left behind.

I set my bag down, careful not to let my exhaustion show on my face, but Aunt Tracy sees through masks the way some people read weather. “You look tired, petal,” she says, watching me with those soft, sharp eyes.

“I’m okay,” I lie. “Worked a double shift today.”

The flower shop has become my refuge, sunlight on petals, the wet scent of soil, the gentle chaos of customers who don’t know me and don’t care to. I like it that way. Every bouquet wrapped is one more minute I’m not thinking about him. Or what I’ve lost.

We sit on her couch. The cushions dip with familiarity, the kind of safety you only feel when someone chooses you… even after the world doesn’t.

Not like my mother. The memory hits before I can stop it. Her voice, sharp as splintered glass:

“I raised you to respect yourself! And you go and ruin your life for a man who would never claim you?”

“Mum, it wasn’t like that”

“Oh? Did he propose? Did he fight for you? Or did he toss you aside the second he was done with you?”

There had been no room for explanations. No room for heartbreak. Just judgement, thrown like stones at someone already bleeding. She’d pointed to the door, to the world outside, with a finality that tore something inside me.

“You made your bed, Lavender. Now lie in it somewhere else.”

Aunt Tracy was the only one who didn’t demand answers. She opened her door and simply hugged me, as if that alone could keep me stitched together. I blink back the memory and sip my tea chamomile, liquid calm, though calm feels like a fairy tale at this point. Aunt Tracy turns on the TV, flipping through channels. She pauses on the evening news, not that I’m listening.

Until I am, the anchor woman smiles brightly, unaware she’s about to detonate the last working piece of my heart.

“and now to business news. The long-anticipated union between Alexander Robinson and Cassandra Morgan has officially been announced ” My breath stops. The remote slips from Tracy’s fingers and clatters to the floor, forgotten.

On screen, Alex, in his immaculate suit, jaw set in confidence. Cassandra clinging to his arm, showcasing a diamond large enough to blind the truth.

Engaged, He’s engaged. The room tilts. Air becomes a luxury my body forgets how to access.

“He… he’s…” My voice tears itself apart. “He’s getting married.”

Aunt Tracy’s hand flies to her chest. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Pain punches through me sharp and sudden right beneath my ribs. I clutch the fabric of my shirt, nails digging into my skin. All the hope I never admitted to having splinters inside me. Because apparently, a part of me, a foolish, desperate part, had believed that what happened between us meant something. That even if I ran, he would at least… notice.

Fight, Care. But no.

He moved on publicly, beautifully, perfectly.

I try to breathe around the pressure in my chest, but the world is shaking, my bones trembling with grief too heavy to hold. I feel a surge of nausea, then dizziness so intense I swear gravity tilts sideways. Tracy grabs my shoulders. “Lavender? Talk to me. Sit down, love....”

But I can’t. My legs buckle beneath me. Cassandra is laughing on TV, elegant, victorious, while my vision blurs into meaningless shapes. A stabbing pain radiates through my abdomen fierce, wrong, terrifying. Something is happening, something inside my body, something I can’t control.

The tea mug drops. The sound shatters like glass, like me. My knees hit the floor. Tracy follows, arms wrapping fiercely around me.

“Breathe, Lavender. Look at me. Look at me!”

I want to. But my mind is spiralling, collapsing under the weight of everything I can’t handle. My mother’s rejection, the one night that ruined everything, the man who walked away without ever looking back. Tracy’s voice becomes a faint echo.

Lavender.

Lavender.

Lavender.

I cling to the sound of my name, the one thing I still own. But the darkness steals it anyway. The last thing I hear:

“Help! Somebody please, call for help!” And then, nothing. Just a silent, merciless black.

A future can disappear in a single television broadcast. Well, mine just did.