“Alyssa,” I said, my voice rising. “Your trainer.”
“Yeah, Paige,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“Talk to me about what, exactly?” I demanded.
He took another sip of juice as if he were casually watching a television program.
“That I’m with Alyssa now. She actually makes me happy. You’ve let yourself go, and that’s on you.”
“You’re with her?” I asked, the words feeling heavy.
“Yes.”
That second “yes” was the one that truly stung, because it proved he had rehearsed this conversation. I was simply the last person to find out that my own life had already been replaced.
And that was it. No apology. No sense of shame. Just the cold truth delivered like a minor annoyance he was forced to handle.
“She makes me feel alive again,” he added, sounding like he was reciting a line from a bad movie.
