Brett
I had officially become the guy I used to make fun of.
Saturday morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal going soggy in front of me while staring at a picture of Cassie with another man.
Again.
I hadn’t gone looking for it. That was the pathetic part I kept telling myself mattered. Olivia had shown me the picture last night, and sometime around two in the morning, apparently suffering from a complete loss of dignity, I’d opened Cassie’s social media to see if she’d posted it.
She had.
Derek’s hand rested at her waist while Cassie laughed at whoever took the picture. He wasn’t even looking at the camera.
He was looking at her.
I zoomed in.
Then immediately zoomed back out because apparently there were limits to how pathetic I was willing to become.
“
