The message stares back at me like it’s daring me.
Ethan: Really, Luca?
That’s all he says. Two words and a name. No context. No curiosity. Just accusation. Ownership disguised as disappointment.
My fingers are shaking. I can feel it in my wrists, up my arms, settling behind my eyes. I haven’t cried yet. I think that’s what scares me most.
I type.
I delete.
I type again.
This time, I don’t soften it.
Me: You don’t get to say his name like that.
Me: You don’t get to look at a photo taken without my consent and decide you’re entitled to an explanation.
Me: You lost that right the moment you let another woman speak to you like you were still hers.
I pause. My chest is pounding now. I can hear my own breathing, loud in the kitchen. The microwave beeps, long forgotten. I don’t turn i
