Part 1The Golden Hour Of Revenge

I scrolled past a trending thread on my feed after clocking out.

The title asked: "Should you pursue someone who is already in a relationship?"

One comment, in particular, caught my eye. It read: "Absolutely, you should."

"Five years ago, I moved next door to a gorgeous, high-achieving guy. He had a girlfriend at the time."

"I became friends with both of them first. Then, I played the victim, fabricating a story that his girlfriend had hurt me, making sure I looked weak and vulnerable. That immediately created a rift between them."

"They started fighting often. During their worst argument, he came to me to vent, and I kissed him. He lost all control instantly."

"That same night, his ex-girlfriend was probably still crying over not getting into her dream college."

"Now, I see my choice was definitely the right one. He’s a partner at a listed company, and we’re getting married soon. If I hadn't been proactive back then, I wouldn't have this life now."

Then, the tone shifted into gleeful cruelty: "As for his ex? She’s a trainwreck. She didn't go to college. She’s probably going to rot in the gutter for the rest of her life."

A cold shock went through me, sharp and paralyzing. Because I realized, with sickening certainty, that I was the ex-girlfriend she was talking about.

* * *

My first instinct, upon reading that smug, detailed confession of relationship sabotage, was to close the tab. I’d lived through that betrayal; why reopen the wound?

But my finger froze on the screen. The profile picture was the reason. It was a photo I knew intimately: the first picture of Sienna and Owen together, one I had taken myself on his birthday.

I stayed on the comment thread for what felt like an hour.

Most of the replies were tearing her apart—calling her a snake and a home-wrecker.

But a chilling minority supported her. They argued she simply made the best choice.

"This is how you level up. Snag a high-potential guy early and jump classes. Nothing wrong with wanting a better life."

"Even without this twist, they probably wouldn't have lasted. I don't think she did anything wrong."

Standing by the street curb, a sudden gust of wind caught me off-balance, and the cheap dinner I was holding slipped, rolling into a muddy puddle.

I bent down and fished the ruined sandwich out, dropping it into a trash can.

I was the ex-girlfriend in that comment.

Owen and I broke up. I missed out on college. Then, my mother, the person who loved me most, had a terrible accident.

There were times when I considered ending it all, a dark period I only started crawling out of in the last few years.

It was only then, tossing the wet wrapper, that I realized it had been five years—five years since Owen and I split, and three years since I had truly, completely let him go.

The old pain, the crushing humiliation, had faded, much like the scars on my wrist had healed, dissolving into the wind.