Chapter 9 - THE LIGHT OF NEW BEGINNINGS
On December 12, 2026—the exact date Megan and Ryan were originally scheduled to be married—the sky over Columbus was clear, crisp, and bright with winter sunshine.
Instead of sitting in a cold church pew wearing a cramped dusty-blue gown and high heels, I was at home in my living room, wearing fluffy slippers and a soft knit sweater, resting on the couch with a hot bowl of soup.
Mark was beside me, stoking the fireplace. Priya, Rachel, and Sophie were in the kitchen baking holiday cookies, fillling the house with the scent of cinnamon, butter, and laughter.
My phone gave a soft chime. It was a text message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
Lauren. I know you blocked me, but I'm using a temporary web number. I don't expect you to reply or forgive me. I just needed to say... I watched the date come and go today. I am sitting in an empty apartment, and I have never felt so ashamed in my life. I looked at the photos of us from college today. You were always a true friend to me, and I treated you like an object. I ruined my own life because I was obsessed with a picture of perfection that wasn't real. I am so, so sorry for what I said to you, what I did to your dress, and how I treated your pregnancy. You didn't deserve it. I hope your baby is healthy. - Megan
I stared at the screen for a long moment.
There was no urge to text back. No desire to invite her back into my life, nor any anger left to hurl at her. The apology came too late to save the friendship, but it was enough to close the book.
I deleted the message, locked my phone, and set it on the coffee table face down.
"Everything okay, babe?" Mark asked, coming over to wrap a warm blanket around my shoulders.
"Everything is perfect," I said, leaning my head against his chest.
Just then, a sharp, familiar cramp rippled across my stomach. I gasped softly, my hand flying to my bump.
"Lauren?" Mark froze, his eyes wide.
May you like
Another tight contraction rolled through me, firm and undeniable. I looked up at Mark, then toward the kitchen where my real friends were laughing over frosted gingerbread men.
"Mark," I smiled through a wave of breath. "I think this baby just decided to pick their own special date."
