A Fractured Heart
1345 Words
Selene slouched by her old window, chin in hand, watching the clouds do their slow-motion parade across a washed-out sky. The sun was basically fighting for its life out there, breaking through in these thin, sad little rays that barely lit up the garden. Everything outside was changing; heck, the whole world was spinning off its axis—but this room? Total time capsule. Same faded flower wallpaper, shelves packed with books she’d dog-eared as a kid, those ridiculous lace curtains her mom had insisted on. Honestly, it felt like she was sitting in a museum of herself. Only, her heart wasn’t playing along. It thudded in her chest, all heavy and offbeat, like it didn’t quite belong to her anymore.
That whole awkward thing with Raymond? Still gnawing at her. The guy was supposed to be a jerk, wasn’t he? But nah. Turns out he was…what? Sincerely? Maybe even a little raw around the edges. She hadn’t expected to feel sorry for him, or whatever this weird sympathy was. Still, what was she supposed to do with a future she’d never picked? Settle for a polite stranger when her heart was somewhere else?
Her phone buzzed, yanking her out of her head. Eddy. Of course.
Can we talk? Please. I miss you.
God, her thumb just hovered there, frozen. Part of her wanted to just block him, dodge all that mess. But another part—the sad, stubborn bit that refused to give up—ached for him. Wanted to hear his voice. Maybe she just wanted to believe love could pull off a miracle, even now.
She sent the message before she could overthink it.
Come by the garden at 2.
The hours dragged. She wandered the property like a ghost, retracing old Sunday strolls with her dad. Every tree, every twist in the path, every mossy stone—loaded with memories. Her dad’s deep laugh bouncing through the branches, her kid self darting ahead, and her mom’s hand squeezing hers. Now, all of it felt faded, like she was remembering someone else’s dream.
By the time two o’clock rolled around, she was already in the garden, parked on that rusty iron bench under the explosion of cherry blossoms. Pink petals floated down, sticking in her hair, blanketing the ground. The breeze smelled like dirt and flowers and maybe something sweeter. Something that could almost be hope, if she squinted.
Gravel crunched. She looked up.
There he was.
Eddy.
Honestly, he looked annoyingly good, with the same messy brown hair and those hazel eyes holding a truckload of guilt. He shuffled over, all awkward, hands jammed in the pockets of that beat-up jacket he never learned to retire.
"Selene," he started, stopping just close enough to make her heart thump, but not close enough for comfort.
She just stared. Didn’t bother getting up. Didn’t trust her knees, anyway.
"I’m so sorry," he blurted out. "I should’ve been there. I should’ve fought for you."
She shot him one of those raised-eyebrow looks. "Funny, you vanished right when I actually needed you."
Eddy jerked like he’d been slapped. “Yeah, I panicked, okay? Your dad died, all that legal crap—everything was just nuts. I had no clue what the hell I was supposed to do.”
Selene’s voice was barely more than a hiss. “Yeah, well, it was nuts. And guess who got tossed overboard?”
He dropped, almost begging at her feet, clutching her hands like she was the last life raft left. “I love you. Always have. You know that. Screw all of them—let’s just bolt. You and me. Fresh start, wherever you want. I’d give you anything.”
And damn, a piece of her wanted to say yes. To tear out of there, erase her whole stupid past, and run ‘til her lungs gave out. Forget about family, about money, about being the golden child. Just—gone. Free. Then Raymond’s boring, careful words nudged in: I can promise you respect.
She yanked her hands away like he’d burned her. “Do you love me enough to just tell the truth?”
Eddy’s face went all weird, pinched, and scared. “What do you mean?”
She stood up, arms folded tight. “Frida. I know.”
Boom. That did it. His face went paper-white, eyes wide. “Selene, it wasn’t—”
“Don’t. Just… don’t. I saw the texts, Eddy. The stupid late calls. She was my friend. My best friend.”
He wouldn’t even look at her, just stared at the floor. “It was a mistake. I swear, it meant nothing.”
Her throat burned, but she wouldn’t let herself cry. No way. “You can’t sleep with my best friend and call it nothing.”
“We were drunk. It just… happened. But I stopped it, I swear. It’s nothing compared to you.”
She let out this ugly, bitter laugh. “Stopped after I caught you. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
He tried to grab her hand again, desperate. She backed away. “Please, Selene. We can fix this.”
She shook her head, hair falling in her face. “You broke it. I can’t just slap a Band-Aid on and pretend.”
Silence.The kind of feeling that makes your skin itch from the inside out. Somewhere, a branch creaked, leaves jittering like they were nervous too. Not even the birds bothered chirping—guess they got the memo.
“So that’s it? You’re picking him?” Eddy’s voice sounded weirdly small, all pinched and sharp around the edges, like he was about to lose it.
She squared her shoulders and stuck her chin up, classic Selene when she’s barely holding it together. “No, Eddy. I’m finally picking me. I need air. I need out.”
He spun away, fingers digging through his hair like he could just yank out the pain. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
She shrugged, her voice barely there. “But you did.”
He just kept walking, slow, shoulders caving in, like gravity finally remembered him. She stood planted, arms hugging her ribs, cherry blossoms raining down, heart in splinters, scared out of her mind about whatever came next.
That night, Selene ended up in the kitchen, hugging a mug of chamomile like it was her last defense. Lights were dim, the room smelled like bread and the lavender soap her mom swore by. Her mom just stared, worried lines everywhere.
“You saw Eddy,” her mom said, not even a question.
Selene just nodded. “It’s over.”
Her mom’s hand found hers, squeezing like she could glue the pieces back together. “It hurts, I know. You did the right thing.”
Selene tried to smile, but honestly, it barely twitched. “I don’t feel brave.”
“Brave isn’t about not hurting. Brave is hurting and doing it anyway,” her mom said, like she’d practiced it.
That line stuck in her head for hours, echoing around the quiet house. She wandered the halls, dragging her fingertips along old, faded wallpaper. Her dad’s study still smelled like leather and dust and old regrets—where he’d signed away her future, all for the stupid family name.
Later, curled up like a comma in bed, she cracked open her journal. She Scribbled about Eddy, about Raymond, about how love could grind you down to nothing, and about how the truth, ugly and raw, sometimes patched you up. She wrote until her hand went numb, spilling out every last bit of anger and grief and, who knows, maybe a drop of hope.
Sun finally broke through in the morning, making the garden sparkle like overkill. She wasn’t fixed. Not by a long shot. But she felt a little less likely to fall apart.
She grabbed her phone, thumb hovering, then dialed Mr. Lorne.
“Tell Mr. Smith I’ll see him again.”
Not a yes. Not a no. Just... maybe.
And hey, for once, maybe it was enough.
- Writer
