Chapter Ten: Repeating History
940 Words
I used to love my job. It kept me just busy enough to ignore the fact that my personal life was on fire.
Wake up. Chase scandals. Expose secrets. Rinse. Repeat.
Rich people’s drama always felt safer than my own. But today? Not even a cheating billionaire or a PR crisis can save me from yesterday’s emotional ambush.
“You need to end it,” my mom had said.
“No,” I’d shot back, like that one word was strong enough to hold back an avalanche.
“You don’t want to end up like me, Adrianna.” She only ever used my full name when she was mad—or when she was right.
And that’s when I made the mistake of asking the question that didn’t need an answer.
“What’s so wrong with ending up like you?”
Cue dramatic silence. The kind that echoed with all the things I already knew.
She had me young. Unmarried. Loved a man who didn’t—or couldn’t—stay. And when he died, we got nothing. Not a name. Not a dime. Just a life she had to build from scratch.
And now I’m out here… pregnant. Alone. Trying to act like I’m not halfway to repeating history.
So no, today’s exclusive can wait. Let the world burn. I’ve got generational trauma to dodge.
“So what’s the plan?” Jenna’s voice pulled me back to reality, casually barging into my train of thought.
“Try to finish this article and hit publish,” I said, pretending to be focused.
She raised a brow. “You know what I mean.”
I sighed. “I haven’t told him yet.”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “I don’t care. I’m just proud to be a godmother.”
Liar. That’s her way of saying, I’m with you, no matter what.
“I know, you have never proven to be reliable”
“I know. You’ve never exactly been reliable,” I said, aiming for sarcasm but missing the bite.
Jenna didn’t flinch. “Rude. But fair.”
She dropped into the chair across from me like she had nothing better to do—because she didn’t. Not when I was spiraling.
“I brought snacks,” she said, pulling a chocolate bar from her bag like it was some kind of peace treaty.
“You think sugar can fix generational damage?”
“No, but it can shut you up for five minutes. Eat it.”
I took it. Begrudgingly.
Silence hung between us for a beat. Then she leaned forward.
“So. Eric.”
I groaned. “Do we have to?”
“Yes, because you’re clearly not going to do anything unless someone shoves you.”
“I’m working on it.”
“No, you’re working on avoidance. Different thing.”
She wasn’t wrong. I hated that she wasn’t wrong.
By the time I finished the chocolate bar—and Jenna’s unsolicited life coaching—I knew what I had to do.
No more pretending.
If Damien Carter wanted to chase ghosts, fine. I’d chase mine too.
I found him in his office, exactly where I knew he’d be: leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out, flipping a pen between his fingers like the fate of the world depended on his wrist control.
He looked up, mildly surprised. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“I changed my mind,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Let’s do it for real this time.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do what for real?”
“No more fake field trips. No more hiding behind our jobs. Let’s do what we came to do. You get your closure, I get mine.”
He sat up, interest piqued. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
He watched me for a second, like he was trying to figure out if this was a setup.
Then: “Alright.”
I moved to sit across from him. “So. Why her?”
His jaw tensed for half a second. “She left.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s all you need.”
I tilted my head. “And you want her back... because she walked away?”
He leaned back again. “You don’t get to judge that.”
“I’m not judging. I’m trying to understand why someone like you—who acts like he has the emotional range of a brick wall—suddenly wants his ex back.”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile.
“She didn’t believe in what I was building. Said I cared more about the future I wanted than the life we had. So she left.”
I nodded slowly. “So this is about proving her wrong.”
“Maybe.” A beat. “Maybe it’s about proving myself right.”
That, I understood.
Then he looked at me. “Your turn.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re going after Eric like he broke your heart in Act Three of a tragic romance, but you said he was just a fling. So why are you still here?”
“I told you. Closure.”
He didn’t buy it.
But he didn’t press either.
We sat there in silence for a moment—two people chasing something they weren’t ready to admit to.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t just work anymore.
And we both knew it.
Some memories stay quiet.
Others drag you back whether you’re ready or not.
Mine started whispering again the second I walked out of Damien’s office.
- Writer
