Chapter 7: Maybe I Was Never Loved
2640 Words
Chloe
The kiss lasted less than a second, but it was enough to scare me—not because I wanted him… but because I realized how badly I wanted to feel wanted.
I spent the entire next day trying not to think about the stranger.
I paced around my half-unpacked living room, smoothing out the blankets and setting up my laptop, telling myself over and over that the encounter meant nothing. It was an accident. A momentary stumble on a crowded sidewalk. A F nothing more.
Yet every time my mind drifted, I could still feel the phantom pressure of those warm lips against mine, the firm grip around my waist, and the steady thump of his chest beneath my palms.
I hated that my memory kept pulling me back to it.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, wrapping my fingers around a lukewarm mug of coffee. The accidental kiss was forcing me to confront something dark and uncomfortable that I had been desperately avoiding since the night I left the hotel.
I missed being desired.
Not Brandon…Not the man who had called me a fat pig and stood bare-chested in front of my own sister while throwing away four years of our life.
I missed the feeling of being wanted.
That distinction terrified me to my very core.
Because for four long years, Brandon had spent every single day convincing me that he loved my body. Whenever my insecurities surfaced, he had been right there to soothe them.
When he complimented my hair or my smile, I felt beautiful.
When he praised my choice of clothes, I believed I looked good. When he held me close in bed, I believed my curvier body was acceptable, desirable, and safe.
I rested my forehead against the cool surface of the kitchen cabinet, closing my eyes as a heavy ache bloomed in my chest. I had unknowingly handed Brandon complete power over how I saw myself. I had placed my entire identity, my confidence, and my worth inside his hands, trusting him to hold them safely.
And then he had revealed that he had been pretending the entire time.
I defended you because I felt sorry for you! his voice echoed bitterly in my mind. Every time I look at you without clothes, I have to force myself to tolerate you.
The realization felt like a physical blow, knocking the air cleanly from my lungs.
Was I addicted to Brandon’s validation rather than simply loving Brandon?
The question hung in the quiet apartment, heavy and emotionally devastating.
"Did I even love him?" I whispered to the empty room, my voice cracking softly. "Or did I just love who I thought I was when he looked at me?"
If Brandon had never told me I was beautiful back in college, would I have ever believed I was?
And if I didn't know whether my past feelings were real, how could I ever trust my own instincts again?
Did I love Brandon—or did I love the woman I believed I became whenever he chose me?
I gripped the edge of the counter until my knuckles turned white. I couldn't afford to fall into another trap. I couldn't let myself become vulnerable to the next man who threw a few kind words or a lingering glance my way, just because I was starving for the validation Brandon had ripped away.
I didn't trust myself. I didn't trust my heart, and I certainly didn't trust my body's reactions anymore.
I wasn't just dealing with the grief of a ruined wedding or a fiancé who cheated with my blood sister. The problem ran far deeper now.
What if I didn't know how to recognize real love anymore?
By late afternoon, the four walls of the apartment felt like they were pressing in on me again. I put on my dark coat, slipped my card holder into my inner pocket, and headed out to a quiet park a few blocks away.
The early autumn evening was crisp and cool. The sun was dipping below the skyline, casting long, amber shadows across the paved walking paths and rustling trees.
I found a quiet wooden bench near a small pond and sat down, pulling my coat tight around myself.
I watched the ripples on the water, my mind retracing every painful step of my past.
The truth hit me then—a quiet, brutal revelation that hurt far more than any of Brandon’s insults.
I didn't actually miss being Brandon’s wife. I didn't miss his arrogant jokes, his constant need for reassurance during his corporate struggles, or the way he subtly made me feel like I needed to shrink myself to fit into his high-society world.
I missed being the woman who believed she was loved.
I missed the peace of believing I belonged to someone who valued me. I missed the naive, unshakeable confidence of believing that my loyalty meant something.
That distinction changed everything.
It meant the grief wasn't about losing Brandon Parker. It was about losing the illusion of safety I had constructed around him.
I leaned my head back against the wooden bench, staring up at the darkening sky.
Unrequested, my thoughts drifted back to the stranger from yesterday evening. I caught myself thinking about his expression in the moment after our lips collided. There had been no disgust in his gray-blue eyes when he looked at me. No mockery. No subtle eye roll or uncomfortable shift as he took in my size.
Just surprise. And a calm, unyielding steady gaze that had made my heart hammer against my ribs.
I let out a soft, self-deprecating sigh, shaking my head at my own foolishness.
"I don’t even know his name," I whispered softly to the quiet breeze.
A deep, smooth voice answered cleanly from right behind my bench.
“You still don’t?”
My heart slammed straight into my throat. I turned around sharply, my breath hitching in my chest. Standing on the path behind me, his hands resting easily in the pockets of his tailored coat under the evening light.
“You?”
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