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Among the detritus, I find a photograph that stops me in my tracks. Hayden, with his carefree grin, the life of a party that's long since ended, and there I am beside him, my smile not reaching my eyes, a shadow of the person I wanted to be. It's a stark contrast, one that Jack is quick to notice.
"You've been happier since you've been back," he observes, his gaze lingering on the photograph before meeting mine. "You weren't really yourself with him."
His words resonate, a reflection of the internal transformation I've felt since returning to my roots, to a place that, for all its familiarity, feels like a new beginning.
"Forget him, Nat. Focus on now," Jack advises, his voice gentle yet firm, a beacon guiding me towards the future.
I nod, a sense of resolve settling over me. The photograph, along with Hayden's other forgotten belongings, finds its way into a separate pile. Some items might find new life through donation, a chance to be of use to someone else, unburdened by the history they carry for me. Others, like the photograph, are destined for the trash—or better yet, a bonfire—a symbolic shedding of the past that no longer serves me.
When the last of Hayden's remnants are settled into their respective destinies, I stand, my body grateful for the stretch after the prolonged crouch. Now that I've dealt with it, my whole body feels lighter, my breath coming easier, as if something had been literally weighing me down for years and I hadn't even noticed.
I head to the kitchen to brew some coffee, the familiar routine a welcome return to normalcy. Jack trails behind, but something catches his eye, and he heads back toward the box. “Missed one,” he says as he bends to pick it up. Turning it over in his hands, he asks, "Hey, is this one of his old phones?"
Curiosity piqued, I lean over to take a closer look. Indeed, it's one of the many gadgets Hayden had a habit of collecting, then abandoning for the next new thing. "I didn't even realize I had this," I admit, a flicker of amusement crossing my face.
Jack's eyes light up with a mischievous glint. "Should we see if it still works?" he suggests, half-joking but clearly intrigued by the prospect.
I consider for half a second, and then agree, Jack's mischievousness too enticing to decline. The phone, surprisingly, still holds a charge, and after a few moments plugged in, it whirs to life, a digital time capsule waiting to be explored. We huddle around the small screen, scrolling through the photos stored within. There's a mix of the mundane and the absurd—Hayden's penchant for capturing the most inane moments makes me laugh.
As we flick through the images, laughter bubbles up, genuine and freeing. There are candid shots of mutual friends, ridiculous selfies, and embarrassing things I know he’d hate me seeing. Each photo sparks a story, a memory, transforming the somber task of sifting through Hayden's leftovers into an impromptu trip down memory lane.
I can't help but think that perhaps it's a bit intrusive, this peering into Hayden's un-curated moments, but the silliness of the photos, the unguarded glimpses into the past, strip away any lingering solemnity. It feels like eavesdropping on childhood gossip, a guilty pleasure that's more about the laughter shared than the secrets uncovered.
And it's actually a bit refreshing to be able to look back at the times we spent together, able to sort out and appreciate the good times without such suffocating bitterness. Until we stumble on something that cuts our laughter short: an album cryptically titled “Jade.”
Jack's immediate reaction is caution, a protective instinct that has always been second nature to him. "Maybe we should stop," he suggests.
But something within me, a blend of curiosity and an indefinable need to know, pushes me to continue. "No, it's okay. I want to see," I insist, though my heart has already started to beat a warning rhythm against my ribcage.
Reluctantly, Jack passes the phone to my hands, watching my face rather than the screen as I open the album. The images that greet me are like a series of punches, each one knocking the wind out of me with increasing force. There's Hayden, unmistakably happy, and there beside him, in photo after photo, is another woman—Jade. Their intimacy is undeniable, captured in selfies, in stolen moments of laughter and kisses that speak of something far deeper than a mere casual encounter.
My world, so carefully rebuilt in the wake of my broken engagement, begins to crumble piece by piece as I scroll through the album. The timeline is the most damning part, with dates and places marking a relationship that not only existed but thrived in the shadows of our own. It wasn't just a one-night stand or a fleeting mistake like I was led to believe; it was an ongoing, parallel narrative to the life we were planning together.
The realization is a cold, hard lump in my throat, a mix of betrayal and sorrow that's compounded by the undeniable evidence laid out before me. The pain is different this time, not the sharp sting of a fresh wound but the deep, aching throb of an injury that's been festering, unseen, beneath the surface.
Hayden had a whole secret life with this woman.
Jack's hand on my shoulder is both grounding and heartbreakingly compassionate. "Nat, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, his voice tight with emotion. "You didn't deserve any of this."
The photos, the smiling faces, the places they visited—some of which Hayden had told me he'd wanted to visit with me—create a narrative that's as clear as it is painful. I bet the two of them just laughed until their sides split every time I was successfully left in the dark.
What a fool they made of me. And how many others knew? With how long their affair continued, it's impossible to believe that not a single one of our friends ever found out, or at least suspected. Did they all sit around together, laughing at my naivete?
Then again, I never suspected, either.
He was going to marry me and what, keep a mistress the entire time? And she was just fine with that?
The weight of the revelation sits heavy in my chest, a tangle of hurt, anger, and disbelief that threatens to overwhelm me. Yet, in the midst of the turmoil, there's a bitter kind of clarity. The pieces of a puzzle I hadn't even realized were missing fall into place, painting a picture of a relationship that was doomed long before I walked away from the altar.
Jack's attempt to comfort me feels like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters. Yet, as I process the tidal wave of emotions crashing over me, I realize it's not sorrow that dominates; it's a fierce, burning anger.
"I can't believe this," I seethe, the words sharp and clipped. "All this time, I've been dragging around this guilt, this... this weight, thinking I was the one who ruined everything. That I pushed him away, so he…” I press my fingers to my temples, trying to reign in the throbbing rage coursing through me. “I always thought it was just one night, and Hayden sounded so sorry… I left the city, I left my job, all because being anywhere near him was too much to bear."
Jack's expression hardens, a reflection of his own rising anger on my behalf. "Hayden's always been an asshole, Nat, but this...” His jaw clenches, and he takes a deep, steadying breath before laying a hand on my shoulder. “Nat, none of it was your fault."
His words are meant to soothe, but they only fuel the fire of my indignation. I pull away from Jack with a dark chuckle. “And to think, I actually felt bad about leaving him days before the wedding! It turns out I dodged a bullet. A whole damn arsenal, even."
Jack nods slowly, clearly stuffing down his own emotion to remain calm for my sake. "You're better off without him. Far better. If I ever see that bastard again?—"
