CHAPTER THREE
The Letter That Changed Everything
The envelope feels heavier than it looks.
It sits on my desk as though waiting for permission to be opened, edges crisp, official, intimidating. My name is printed across the front in neat black letters, and seeing it there makes my heart stumble.
I stood there for a long moment, just staring.
I already know what it is.
I've been waiting for weeks, pretending not to care while checking the mailbox every afternoon. Pretending not to imagine what life would look like if everything worked out exactly as I hoped.
I pick it up with careful hands, as though it might disappear if I move too fast.
The paper inside slides out smoothly.
I read the first line.
Then the second.
Then I stop breathing altogether.
Accepted.
The word feels unreal, like it belongs to someone else. My eyes skim the page again, slower this time, absorbing every detail of the faculty, the intake year, the confirmation instructions.
Same university.
The same one he's been talking about nonstop for months. The same one where we're supposed to build our future together.
A laugh escapes,half relief, half disbelief.
I clutch the letter to my chest, heart racing so fast it feels like it might burst.
This is it.
Proof that I belong. Proof that I'm capable. Proof that everything is finally falling into place.
I want to tell him immediately.
I imagine the moment walking up to him, holding out the letter, watching his face light up. Maybe he'll pick me up, spin me around, tell me he knew I'd make it. Maybe this will be the thing that finally erases the awkwardness lingering between us since the party.
I don't text.
I want to see his reaction in person.
Grabbing my bag, I rush out the door, barely remembering to lock it behind me. The walk to his place feels longer than usual, adrenaline making every step feel lighter, faster, more urgent.
By the time I reach his street, I'm nearly jogging.
His house sits at the end of the block, familiar and comforting. I've been here countless times after school, on weekends, during holidays. His family knows me. His mother always offers snacks. His little sister teases us relentlessly.
I take the front steps two at a time, knocking quickly, too excited to wait.
No answer.
I knock again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Frowning, I pull out my phone and send a quick text.
*I'm at your door. Are you home?*
A minute passes.
Then another.
No response.
I glance at the driveway. His car is there, parked in its usual spot.
He must be home.
Maybe he's in the shower. Maybe he has headphones on.
I try the door.
It's unlocked.
I hesitate for half a second before stepping inside, calling out as I do.
"Hello? It's me!"
Silence.
The house feels still. Too still.
I move through the living room, glancing around. Everything looks normal—couch neatly arranged, TV off, shoes lined up by the door.
"Are you upstairs?" I call out again, moving toward the staircase.
No answer.
Something about the silence feels wrong.
I climb the stairs slowly, unease creeping in despite myself.
His bedroom door is closed.
I knock lightly. "Hey, I have good news. Can I come in?"
Still nothing.
Now I'm worried.
I turn the handle and push the door open.
The room is dim, curtains drawn, light filtering in weakly through the fabric.
At first, I didn't understand what I'm seeing.
Two figures on the bed, tangled together, sheets half-kicked to the floor.
Then my brain catches up.
And everything stops.
He's there.
My boyfriend.
With someone else.
Not just someone else.
My best friend.
The room tilts.
I hear a sharp gasp ,not mine. Hers.
She sits up quickly, clutching the sheet to her chest, eyes wide, face pale.
He turns, slower, like he already knew this was coming.
For a moment, no one says anything.
I stand frozen in the doorway, a letter still clutched in my hand, crumpled now from how tightly I'm holding it.
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
"It's not" she starts, voice shaking.
"Don't," I say quietly.
The word cuts through the air sharper than I intended.
He swings his legs off the bed, reaching for his shirt. "Listen"
"Don't," I repeat, louder this time.
My hands are trembling. My chest feels like it's caving in.
He stands, taking a step toward me. "It just happened. We didn't mean"
"Stop talking."
The command comes out colder than I knew I was capable of.
He stops.
She's still sitting there, sheet pulled up to her chin, tears streaming down her face.
I look at her. Really look at her.
The girl who's been my closest friend since middle school. The one who listened when I talked about him. The one who encouraged me when things felt hard. The one who sat with me after the party, asking if I was okay.
And all I feel is nothing.
Just a hollow, empty numbness spreading through my chest like ice.
"How long?" I ask, voice flat.
Neither of them answers.
"How long?" I repeat, sharper this time.
He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding my eyes. "A few weeks."
A few weeks.
The words echo in my head, each repetition carving deeper.
A few weeks.
While I was planning our future.
While I was defending him to people who questioned us.
While I was apologizing for embarrassing him at the party.
The letter in my hand suddenly feels impossibly heavy.
I look down at it,at the word "Accepted" still visible despite the wrinkles.
And I realize how stupid I've been.
Not because I didn't see this coming.
But because I built my entire future around someone who was already building theirs without me.
I don't cry.
I don't yell.
I just turn around and walk out.
Behind me, I hear movement. Footsteps.
"Wait," he calls after me.
I won't stop.
"Please, just let me explain"
I'm already down the stairs.
"I'm sorry!" he shouts from the top of the landing.
I reach the front door, yanking it open.
"It didn't mean anything!" He tried one last time.
I step outside into blinding sunlight, pulling the door shut behind me with a sharp, final click.
The walk home is a blur.
I don't remember deciding to move. I don't remember navigating streets or crossing intersections.
I just walk, numbness giving way to something sharper, something that burns in my throat and stings behind my eyes.
By the time I reach my house, the tears have started.
Not loud, dramatic sobs.
Just quiet, relentless tears that I can't seem to stop.
I lock myself in my room, sinking onto the floor with my back against the door.
The letter is still in my hand.
I stare at it for a long time.
Then, slowly, deliberately, I fold it neatly and tuck it into my desk drawer.
Because even now,even after everything I refuse to let this moment define me.
I got in.
I earned this.
And no one can take that away.
Not him.
Not her.
Not anyone.
That night, I didn't answer his calls.
I don't respond to his texts.
I block her number without reading the messages she sends.
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and make myself a promise.
I will never again build my life around someone else's certainty.
I will never again mistake loyalty for love.
And I will never, ever, let anyone make me feel invisible again.
The acceptance letter sits in my drawer, waiting.
University is still months away.
But somewhere deep inside, beneath the hurt and the anger and the exhaustion, a new resolve begins to take root.
I don't know who I'll become.
But I know one thing for certain.
She will be nothing like the girl who walked into that bedroom today.