Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Me Against the World

The night the wedding was canceled, my phone exploded.

The first strike came from Harvey’s Aunt Beatrice on Facebook. She posted a gallery of nine photos from the scene.

The center photo was “perfect.” It caught the exact moment I took off my veil. I looked furious and cold.

Her caption read: “Kids these days have no respect. Three years of love thrown away over a little disagreement. No heart at all.”

Eighty-seven likes. The comments were full of “Poor Harvey” and “He dodged a bullet.”

Then Harvey’s cousin started blasting the family group chat.

“Gwen always acted so sweet, but she’s a monster. All we asked was for her to help her future brother with a house. Isn't family supposed to help each other? She just humiliated my cousin in front of everyone. Harvey hasn't stopped crying.”

The message was followed by a string of angry emojis. There were sixty people in that chat. Not a single one stood up for me.

Then came the calls from Harvey’s eldest aunt. She called seven times. I didn't pick up. She left seven voicemails calling me “uneducated,” “ungrateful,” and asking how my parents had raised such a “selfish girl.”

The next day, they went after my mother.

Brenda called her. My mom put it on speakerphone and set it on the coffee table. I sat there and listened.

“Ma’am―” Brenda’s voice was a mix of fake tears and rage. “What is wrong with your daughter? We treated her like royalty! Do you have any idea how much money we lost on that venue and the food? If she comes over right now and apologizes, we might consider moving past this―”

“Are you saying,” my mom’s voice was calm, “that she should apologize to you?”

“Of course! She’s young and stupid. We’re willing to be the bigger people here―”

My mom hung up the phone.

She looked at me and smiled. “You did the right thing.”

My throat tightened. I wanted to cry again, but I held it back. Tears are like grease―the more you let them flow, the faster you slide into the trap someone else dug for you.

Then, Harvey finally messaged me.

He sent a long voice note on WhatsApp. I didn't play it. I just hit the “transcribe” button.

“Gwen, my mom might have been a bit blunt, and I’m sorry for that. But you humiliated me. Do you know how my relatives are looking at me? How my coworkers will talk? A man needs his dignity. Just come over, say sorry to my mom, and we can fix this. Three years shouldn't end over a small misunderstanding, right?”

I took a screenshot of the text.

He sent another one: “Don't be a child. Is our love worth nothing? People are saying you’re a gold-digger who only cares about herself. Come back, and I’ll protect you. Otherwise―”

I didn't read what came after “otherwise.”

I blocked him.

The screen went dark for a second. The name “Harvey” vanished from my recent chats.

Three years. Over a thousand days. From “Good morning” to “Blocked.” It only took a second.

I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. There was a small crack in the plaster.

I remembered when I first moved into this apartment. Harvey helped me carry my boxes. He sat on this very floor, sweaty and smiling, and told me that one day we’d have a house with perfect ceilings.

The crack was still there. But he was gone. Or maybe, he was never really there to begin with.