After the Fall

9 years

In her tiny apartment, which could barely fit more than a bed, a small table, and a single chair, Brena sat in front of her laptop, tying her hair up into a messy bun. The place was humble, and she’d hardly call it cozy, but it was the best she could afford for now. The paint on the walls was chipped, the floor creaked in a few places, and the view from her single window looked out at a brick wall. But it was her own space, her own beginning.

She took a deep breath, looking at the email open on her laptop. The words were still surreal to her: Congratulations, Brena! We are pleased to offer you a position as a cleaning staff member at The Regent London.

“A five-star hotel,” she muttered to herself, letting the words sink in. “A five-star hotel… who would’ve thought I’d end up there?”

She smiled, still surprised by her good fortune. Sure, it wasn’t a glamorous job, but it was a job. And in a place like The Regent, it was more than just a paycheck; it was an opportunity.

“Alright, Brena,” she whispered, patting her own cheeks to pep herself up. “This is it. A fresh start, new people, new routine… Just you, the fancy hotel, and some cleaning supplies.”

She leaned back in her chair, her mind already racing with plans. She’d have to be punctual, make a good impression, learn the hotel’s routines, and maybe even work her way up someday. Maybe she’d get the chance to meet people who could open doors for her. Not that she’d expect much; she was realistic, after all.

“Even if I’m just cleaning floors,” she mused, “at least I’m doing it somewhere that matters. And at least I’m doing it on my own.”

The determination in her voice surprised her. Brena had never thought of herself as particularly resilient or strong, but perhaps this was what starting over looked like. It wasn’t glamorous or easy; it was about taking the small wins, even if it meant spending hours scrubbing floors. It was about showing up, day after day, to build something better.

Just then, her phone buzzed with a message from her friend back home.

“How’s London? Are you doing okay?”

She quickly typed back, her fingers flying over the screen: “I got a job! It’s not much, but it’s a start. I’ll be cleaning rooms at a fancy hotel.”

A moment later, the reply came: “You’re amazing! I knew you’d find something. Keep going, Brena. You’ve got this.”

Brena smiled, feeling a bit lighter. She closed her laptop and took a moment to look around her cramped apartment. Yes, it was small, and yes, it was a bit shabby. But somehow, she felt a strange pride in it now.

“Here’s to fresh starts,” she murmured, raising an imaginary toast to her empty room. “Let’s see what London has in store.”

As she closed her laptop, Brena reached for her phone, intending to unwind a bit by scrolling through i********:. She hadn’t checked it in a while, given the mess her life had become. But now, with the new job lined up, maybe she could slowly reconnect. Social media had always been a reminder of everything she’d left behind, but she figured a quick scroll couldn’t hurt.

The app opened, and her heart froze as the very first post on her feed stopped her in her tracks. There, front and center, was a photo of an ultrasound—Leo’s post. The caption read: "Our little one on the way. Can’t wait to meet you!"

The words stung like a slap. Her ex, who she’d spent five long years with, was now expecting a baby with the woman he’d married just a month after breaking up with her. Just as her day had started to look brighter, fate seemed to have other plans.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, clenching her phone tightly. She felt an anger rising, mixed with a kind of sad acceptance. “First he leaves me, then he marries someone else, and now they’re having a kid… Leo, you really didn’t waste a second, did you?”

Her thumb hovered over the block button. She could cut him off right now, erase him from her online life the same way he’d moved on so easily in real life. But somehow, she couldn’t do it. She’d imagined this moment so many times—telling herself she’d let him go for good—but now, staring at that ultrasound, it was harder than she’d ever expected.

“Just block him, Brena,” she whispered to herself, torn between the weight of the memories and the need to let go. “He’s out of your life now. He chose that path.”

But her finger stayed frozen. With a frustrated sigh, she shook her head, deciding instead to log out entirely. Blocking him felt final, like admitting that he’d won, that he’d moved on and left her behind. So instead, she pressed the logout button.

“There,” she muttered, more to herself than to the empty room. “Goodbye, i********:. Goodbye, Leo.”

In a way, it felt freeing—like she was choosing to leave that chapter behind, even if she couldn’t quite sever all ties.

Brena bit her lip, staring at her phone screen. The temptation to just create a fresh i********: was strong; it’d be a clean slate, free from the past she was trying so hard to leave behind. But then another thought popped up—she remembered her very first i********: account, the one she’d used before she’d ever even met Leo. The idea of going back to it felt oddly comforting, like revisiting a version of herself that hadn’t yet gone through so much heartache.

With a curious glint in her eye, she took a deep breath and logged into her old account. As the familiar profile loaded, a wave of nostalgia washed over her. She scrolled down and found herself staring at photos she’d taken almost a decade ago during a family trip to Canada.

“Wow,” she whispered, tilting her head as she clicked on a photo of her younger self, bundled up in a thick winter coat, grinning in front of a snow-covered mountain. “Nine years ago... Brena, you were such a little show-off back then. Always updating social media about every tiny thing.” She couldn’t help but chuckle, swiping through photo after photo of her teenage self.

As she clicked around, she noticed the old DMs were still there, too. It was mostly messages with friends, filled with silly inside jokes and emojis they’d spammed each other with. A smile crept onto her face as she read through them, the messages capturing a simpler time.

One DM from an old friend read:

"Omg Brena remember when we stayed up all night watching horror movies? Literally thought I’d see a ghost in the bathroom the next day!"

And another:

"Can’t believe you made us try that weird Canadian food never trusting you again lololol!"

Brena laughed under her breath. “I really did drag them into all my crazy ideas, didn’t I?”

As she scrolled further, something strange caught her eye. There, at the bottom of the list, was a DM request she’d never opened. It was from a name she didn’t recognize, dated years ago. For some reason, it hadn’t been opened or read, like a little time capsule waiting to be discovered.

“Well, that’s… odd,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow. Her finger hovered over the message. Curiosity bubbled up, but she hesitated, her mind racing with questions. Who would’ve messaged me all those years ago? And why didn’t I see it back then?

Taking a deep breath, she glanced around her empty room, as if someone would be there to give her advice. Then, she let out a small laugh.

“Alright, Brena,” she whispered to herself, “you’ve come this far down memory lane… might as well see where it leads.”

Brena's fingers hovered over the DM, her heart racing as she read the message in disbelief. The sender’s message was simple but almost too surreal to be real.

Excuse me, do you happen to be missing a keychain? I found one on the street, and it had the name ‘Brena’ on it. I’ve been messaging everyone named Brena just to see if I could find the owner. I saw your post about being in Canada, so I thought maybe it could be yours. Let me know.

Her jaw dropped as she read the words over again, letting them sink in. Nine years ago, she thought, her mind spinning. This message is from nine years ago.

She closed her eyes for a moment, piecing together the memory. The keychain! It was a small, handmade trinket her late mother had gifted her, carved from a piece of wood and carefully engraved with her name. She’d always treasured it, and when it went missing during her trip to Canada, she’d been heartbroken. It was the only personal memento from her mother that she had carried everywhere. She’d spent hours retracing her steps, even filing a report with the tour group leader, but the keychain had never shown up.

Now, here it was, resurfacing after all these years, in the form of a DM from a complete stranger.

“Unbelievable,” she whispered, shaking her head as she read the message again. She couldn’t believe this person had even gone so far as to try to contact every ‘Brena’ they could find. And that he—whoever he was—had noticed her posts from Canada and made the connection.

She glanced around her room, feeling an overwhelming mix of emotions. This small, forgotten message carried so much weight. Her fingers hovered over the reply box, but she stopped. What could she even say to a nine-year-old message? Would the person even remember sending it? Or… were they possibly someone significant who she was supposed to meet and didn’t, someone who had seen her at her best, years before she lost herself in the pain of a relationship that didn’t work out?

With a shaky breath, she laughed a little, mostly out of disbelief.

“Here I am,” she said, almost to the ghost of herself in that photo, “finally starting over, and this... this piece of my past just shows up out of nowhere. Life, you’ve got some timing.”

Brena stared at her screen, eyes wide in disbelief as she read and reread the message. The words blurred as memories of her mother came rushing back, stirring up feelings she hadn’t let herself fully process in years. The handmade keychain had been her mother’s last gift to her, something small but irreplaceable. She could still remember her mom carefully carving her name into it, working on it late at night so it would be ready for her trip.

But now, there it was—a message that could potentially bring that precious piece of her past back. She needed that keychain, needed to have it in her life again, to hold onto that tangible memory of her mother.

Her hand shook as she clicked on the profile picture next to the DM, her mind still reeling. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but something familiar about the username now struck her.

As the profile loaded, she froze. Her heart skipped a beat, and she leaned closer to her phone as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Dante Jan Marteen. Verified with a little blue checkmark next to his name. Twenty million followers.

Brena’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the screen, her mind struggling to reconcile this version of Dante with the image of a stranger who had once messaged her. This wasn’t just anyone. This was Dante—the Dante who was plastered on billboards around the city, the football sensation everyone seemed to know, with fans all over the world.

“No way…” she muttered, half in shock, half in awe. “This can’t be the same Dante.”

She squinted at the profile picture—a polished headshot of Dante, looking as serious and composed as he did on television. His intense gaze and defined jawline were unmistakable. She clicked through his latest photos, each one racking up millions of likes and thousands of comments. The photos varied from action shots on the field to magazine cover spreads, capturing every side of him in a way that felt both familiar and distant.

And here he was, famous and adored by millions, casually sitting in her DMs from nine years ago, asking if she’d lost a keychain. It was almost comical, like something out of a bizarre dream.

“Dante… found my mom’s keychain?” she said out loud, her voice filled with wonder and disbelief. She still couldn’t wrap her head around it. How had she missed this? How had she not noticed that one of the world’s most famous athletes had been the one trying to contact her?

In a daze, she clicked on his message history again, reading the words once more, as if somehow it would make more sense the second time around. But it didn’t. If anything, it only felt more surreal.

Her mind raced as she considered her options. Could she even respond to him now? What would she say? The idea of messaging a famous football star about a nine-year-old DM was laughable, yet the pull to reclaim that piece of her mother was undeniable.

For a few moments, she just sat there, her fingers hovering over the message, torn between the absurdity of it all and the unmistakable feeling that maybe, this was her chance to reconnect with something she thought she’d lost forever.