Page 23 of Broken Destiny

“Okay.” I let out a slow breath. “If you think she’s a good match for me, then I’ll think about it.”

Later that evening, as I sat alone in my room, I closed my eyes.

Nyah’s face appeared.

I had only ever imagined her. Only ever wanted her. Only ever needed her. Until the day she betrayed my family and me. That betrayal shattered something inside me—something I never managed to rebuild. My belief in love died quietly in the aftermath, replaced by suspicion, anger, and a lingering sense of loss.

I tried to move forward, but everything reminded me of her. I wished I could forget. I wanted to forgive. But forgiveness required a heart willing to heal. And regret required answers I never received. Both remained beyond my reach.

I didn’t think about love or happiness anymore. I thought about duty… about expectations… about the worried expressions on my parents’ faces. They didn’t need that kind of stress in their life. Even their lastborn, Cat, was now married.

Two months later, on Tatiana’s thirtieth birthday in July, I proposed.

When we returned to Vancouver and shared the news, our families were over the moon.

They were happy, and I told myself I was happy too.

Or at least… I would become happy.

Eventually.

“Babe, what are you thinking about?” Tatiana asked, lifting her sunglasses to her forehead as she looked at me.

We had come to the beach to spend time with my family. The sunwarmed my skin as I watched my nieces and nephews running along the shoreline, building sandcastles and splashing in the waves.

Tatiana lay beside me on a blanket, soaking up the sun, her attention fixed on adjusting her sunglasses and hair.

“Nothing,” I replied. “Do you want to make sandcastles with the kids or play volleyball with the adults?”

“With the kids… umm… no, thank you,” she said with a faint grimace. “Volleyball… maybe?”

“What do you want to do?” I asked, throwing my hands up in the air.

“I’ll tell you… If you tell me what you were thinking about.”

I exhaled sharply, feeling twitchy in my extremities.

“Are you ever going to tell me about her?” she asked, sitting up straighter. “You never talk about it. Did she hurt you that badly?”

I had never opened up to Tatiana about my past with Nyah. I kept that chapter of my life locked away like a closed book.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I said firmly. “She was my past, and you are my present. Let’s leave it at that. Are you going to come play volleyball with me or not?”

Over time, I had become like an executioner carrying out a sentence—hard, controlled, and emotionally distant. My feelings remained locked behind a barrier I had built to protect myself from further damage. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed freely.

“Yes, I’ll come,” Tatiana replied quietly.

Pain hit the back of my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I said, realizing how blunt my tone had been. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh.”

“It’s all right, honey,” she said with a soft smile. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Now help me put on sunscreen, and we’ll take one more picture for my Instagram before we play.”

It was the tenth picture she had taken that afternoon, and my patience was wearing thin.

I valued privacy, space, and quiet. She thrived on attention, recognition, and visibility.

Constantly snapping photographs of us together and posting them online had become part of her routine. Her fascination with appearances, material things, and social gossip stood out as flaws I had learned to tolerate.