Malia’s POV

The sky was already dark when I finally dragged myself through the door of the apartment I shared with David.

The sharp click of my heels echoed against the hardwood floor as I stepped inside, each sound reminding me of how useless the day had been.

Rejection.

Again.

Another job interview where I smiled until my cheeks ached, only to be told they were looking for someone with more “industry experience.” Whatever that meant.

All I wanted now was to throw my body into bed, bury my face in David’s chest, and forget the world existed. I had texted him on my way home. He hadn’t replied, but I wasn’t worried. David wasn’t the best at texting back. He never had been. He always said he preferred “real conversations.”

My bag slid off my shoulder with a tired sigh as I stepped into the living room.

Two glasses sat on the coffee table. One still had juice in it—grapefruit, from the color—and the other looked like it had been nearly drained. A faint lipstick stain marked the rim.

I swallowed down the first flutter of unease that brushed my chest. He probably had a guest. A colleague, maybe. Or one of his freelance photography clients. He always entertained them here. He was charming like that—David could make anyone feel at home. That was part of why I loved him. Or… used to.

I slipped off my heels and made my way toward the stairs.

As I climbed, I noticed it.

A sound.

Muffled at first. Familiar in a way I didn’t want to admit.

My heart began to race.

No. It’s the TV, I told myself, trying to convince e. David always watched those late-night thrillers, the ones with awkwardly loud soundtracks. That had to be it.

But as I reached the top of the stairs, the sound became clearer. A breathy moan. Then another. Louder.

My legs stopped moving. My hand gripped the banister.

No.

I forced myself forward. Step by step. The hallway stretched too long. Too narrow. The walls suddenly felt like they were closing in.

My fingers trembled as I reached for our bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. Light spilled through the crack. Laughter—feminine, high-pitched—cut through the air like a knife.

I should’ve turned around. Should’ve walked away.

But I didn’t.

I pushed the door open.

And the world collapsed.

David—my David—was on the bed. His body bare. His hand tangled in the hair of a red-haired woman who was on her knees, her mouth—

I gasped, and the sound came out strangled.

He didn’t even notice me at first. He was too caught up in the moment, too lost in her, in what she was doing to him.

The redhead’s eyes flicked toward me first.

“Who the hell is she?” she asked, blinking.

David’s head snapped in my direction. “Oh shit—Malia?” He scrambled, grabbing a towel and clutching it around his waist. “Baby—I can explain—”

But I wasn’t listening.

I couldn’t breathe.

My lungs forgot how to work. My chest tightened, and the walls spun.

My mouth opened, but no words came out. Just a choked sob.

He cheated.

The man I had sacrificed everything for—the man I defended, even when my parents warned me he was selfish—he had betrayed me in the most disgusting way.

I turned on my heel and bolted.

I didn’t even stop to put my shoes back on. My bare feet slammed against the stairs as I fled, the hot sting of tears blinding me. I ran out the door, past the security guard who called after me, and into the night like I was being chased by a ghost.

Maybe I was.

The ghost of the life I thought I had.

⸻

The cab ride to Ivy’s was a blur. I didn’t have enough money, but I gave the driver everything I had in my bag and ran the last block.

I collapsed on the steps outside her apartment, my body shaking, my palms raw from where I’d caught myself after tripping. I didn’t even ring the bell properly—I just slammed my palm against it and pressed my forehead to the cold door.

The pain hit me all at once.

Not just from what I saw, but from everything that led to it. The five years of compromise. The sacrifices. The patience. The belief that love was enough.

It wasn’t.

The door opened, and Ivy’s face appeared, startled at first, then horrified.

“Malia?” she whispered. “What happened—oh my God, what—”

I fell into her arms.

“He cheated,” I sobbed. “He—he was with someone else. In our bed. Ivy… I walked in, and he was—he was…”

She held me tighter. “Oh, baby…”

I don’t remember much after that. Just the smell of Ivy’s lavender shampoo, the feel of her arms around me, and the sound of my own broken heart echoing in my ears.

⸻

Ivy made tea. I didn’t drink it. I couldn’t stop shaking.

She brought out old pajamas from when I used to crash there after girls’ nights. I changed slowly.

“How long has it been going on?” she asked gently as she handed me a warm compress.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, staring into nothing. “I never thought he would… I mean, he said we were forever.”

Ivy snorted softly. “Forever, my ass. You gave him everything, Malia. You paid the rent for six months when his gigs dried up. You practically built his photography business.”

“I know,” I murmured.

“And you’ve been job-hunting for how long? Three months?”

“Four,” I said, quietly.

“And he never once offered to help.”

My chest ached.

I let out a weak laugh that turned into a sob.

“I kept thinking things would get better. That we’d find our rhythm again. That he just needed time… I was so stupid.”

“No, you weren’t,” Ivy said firmly. “You were in love.”

I wiped at my face.

“Ivy, I don’t even know where to go from here. I don’t have a job. I don’t have savings. I don’t have anything.”

“You have me,” she said simply.

And in that moment, that was enough.

But as I curled up on her couch that night, my heart numb and heavy, something inside me shifted. Beneath all the pain, beneath the shame, beneath the loss—was a fire.

Small.

But there.

A part of me wanted to cry forever.

But another part—the one David had underestimated—wanted to rise.

He broke me.

But he didn’t destroy me.

Not yet.