The lady next to me did not know my story, but she my pain and offered me a tissue with a kind look.
I murmured a thank you, rested my head against the window, and shut my eyes, willing my heart to steady its beat.
Perhaps, in a parallel world, that was me–Yoana Smith–living my happy life.
However, there, I had to keep moving forward.
Once the plane touched down, I turned on my phone to call Yvette back.
Instead, I was bombarded with a barrage of missed calls from Simon and over ninety–nine messages.
The flood of red alerts on my screen was almost laughable.
He had never cared that much before–not until I walked away.
I skimmed through the messages, stopping at the last one–a snapshot of a pregnancy report.
So, he knew.
I could not help but wonder how he took the news. Was he relieved or angry?
Simon was probably relieved, glad that I would not be using a baby to tie him down to a marriage he did not want.
Then, he could be with Sophia, no strings attached.
My finger slipped, and I found myself looking at his post–once a showcase of his life with Sophia, then topped with an old photo of us.
It was absurd. Was Simon trying to apologize with a picture?
I had previously begged him to share just one photo of us, and he had always refused, leading to countless fights.
Staring at that seven–year–old photo, the irony was not lost on me.
I sent him a message.
[Save your apologies. Just delete the picture.].
Just like that, I wiped Simon from my phone and my life.
That was the end of us.
