Chapter 8
Chapter 8:
He’s already there when I arrive, sitting at a corner table with the posture of a man waiting for a bomb to go off. Trevor was Nathan’s best man at our wedding—I remember him standing beside the altar, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not quite meeting my eyes. I thought he was just nervous about the speech.
Now I understand: he was nervous about the lie.
He sees me approaching and something in his face collapses. Without a word, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a manila folder. Slides it across the table.
“Mrs. Ashford.” His voice is rough. “I know I should have said something sooner. Nathan’s my friend, but what he’s doing… it’s not right. I can’t be part of it anymore p>
I take the folder. My hands are remarkably steady, considering.
“How long have you known p>
He looks at the table. “Since college. They were together all four years. She was… she was supposed to be his. Everyone knew. And then she married someone else, and he was devastated, and then you came along and—” He stops.
“And I was the consolation prize p>
Trevor doesn’t deny it.
I open the folder. The first page is a printed photo: Nathan and Meredith at what looks like a Valentine’s Day dinner, years ago. The second is a series of texts, screenshotted and dated. The third is a timeline, handwritten in neat block letters.
“I started keeping records when I realized what was happening,” Trevor says quietly. “I thought maybe someday you’d need proof. I’m sorry it came to this p>
𝗦𝗲𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓇𝓈 𝒍𝒊𝓿𝒆 𝑎𝓉
I flip through the pages. The history of my marriage’s predecessor, laid out in meticulous detail. Their first date. Their first kiss. The day she told him she was marrying someone else. The night Nathan proposed to me—the same night Meredith’s wedding was announced.
He didn’t marry me because he loved me.
He married me because he couldn’t have her.
The café is very loud suddenly. People chatting, cups clinking, the hiss of the espresso machine. I hear it all from very far away.
“The night before our wedding,” I say slowly, “you looked like you wanted to say something p>
Trevor nods miserably. “I almost did. I almost told you everything. But Nathan was my best friend, and you looked so happy, and I thought… I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe he did love you. Maybe it would work out p>
“He got drunk that night. Didn’t come home p>
“He was with her. She called him, upset about her own marriage. He went running.” Trevor’s voice is bitter now. “He always goes running when she calls p>
I close the folder. Place my hands flat on the table.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “This must have been hard for you p>
He shakes his head. “Not as hard as what you’re about to do p>
I stand up, folder in hand. The weight of it feels appropriate somehow—the weight of evidence, of truth, of the end of everything I thought I knew.
“Trevor?” I pause by the table. “Don’t warn him. Don’t tell him we talked p>
He meets my eyes for the first time. “I won’t. You deserve a fighting chance p>
Outside, the evening air is thick and warm. The city of Marsten Bay glitters ahead of me, beautiful and indifferent, and I think about fate—about how some endings are written from the beginning, about how some people are just passing through on their way to someone else.
I was never Nathan’s destination.
But that doesn’t mean I have to stay lost.