Breakup Caused By a Car Accident

Chapter 1

During the holiday, a five-car pileup happened on the expressway. My boyfriend, Kayne Ford, left me trapped in the airbag while he rushed to the back seat, to check on his childhood sweetheart, Freya Yeats. Without a second glance at me, they left together in the ambulance.

I screamed for help, but it was passing strangers who pulled me out and got me to the hospital.

When I was finally discharged, I saw Freya's Facebook post: It doesn't matter how badly I got hurt. What matters is that you were with me when I got hurt. Below was a picture of Kayne kneeling beside her, gently rubbing her wrist.

People kept tagging me, waiting for my reaction.

I thought about it for a moment, then replied: Since my boyfriend is such a gentleman, I'll be generous. Kayne, this scumbag is all yours.

My arm was broken. When I left the hospital, a nurse helped me carry my things and get into a taxi.

When I got home, Kayne finally called.

"What the hell do you mean by that post?" he demanded. "Do you know how embarrassing that was for Freya?"

Every word out of his mouth was about her. Not a single mention of me, his actual girlfriend. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't care that I had been there, too, that I had been trapped.

"Kayne," I reminded him, "I was stuck in the car."

"So? I never asked you to help."

His response knocked the breath out of me.

"I'm not saying you were indifferent," he added, like he was doing me a favor. "But you blamed Freya. Olivia, you're being unreasonable."

Then, just like that, he hung up.

I stared at my phone, stunned. Then, with my one good hand, I packed up my things and made myself some spaghetti.

Kayne had always been like this. No matter how much I explained, it never mattered. In the past, I would fight for myself, argue my side, try to make him understand. But now? Now I was just tired. I didn't want to waste my breath anymore.

Three days into my recovery at home, Kayne called again.

"Where the hell are you? Why didn't you even call me?"

He was mad, like I had done something wrong.

At the time, I was struggling to change a lightbulb. It was almost impossible to balance on a ladder and do it with one hand. My whole apartment was dark when I answered his call.

Hearing the situation, he insisted he'd come back and fix it.

I thought about it for a moment. Then, against my better judgment, I agreed.

So I waited.

Midnight came. A storm rolled in, thunder, lightning, the whole thing. The flashes of light made my dark apartment feel eerie, almost haunted. But Kayne never showed.

I curled up on the sofa and, at some point, drifted into an uneasy sleep.

By the time I woke up, it was morning. Sunlight streamed through the windows. Kayne still wasn't home.

Then I saw Freya's latest Facebook post: No matter how dark the night is, no matter how heavy the rain falls, none of it matters, because I have him.

In the photo, Kayne stood in her brightly lit room, his back turned to the camera.

Something inside me finally broke.

I couldn't lie to myself anymore. Kayne had never loved me. Not once.

And for the first time, I stopped pretending he did.