What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger novel Chapter 60

Seven years together. I'd thought that would mean something - that Castro would at least trust my character.

But in Oriana's presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes.

Her word alone was enough to condemn me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.

The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who'd forgotten her place.

There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro's angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap.

Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues' celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: "Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening - dinner's on me."

Back home, I found myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in seven years.

Every corner held memories: the window seat where we'd shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen island where he'd taught me to make his grandmother's tiramisu.

What once felt magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my heart.

I found a moving box and spent the night methodically erasing our relationship: the matching "Beauty and Beast" slippers, the "his and hers" coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs - holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully staged moments of perfect happiness.

These had been my security blanket, my proof that what we had was real. Now they were just artifacts of an elaborate performance.