My Cheating Fiancé Shaved My Head

"Look at what you drove her to do," Aiden snarled.

"She held a pair of closed scissors near her ear," I pointed out, my voice flat. "She didn't even squeeze the handles."

"Because I stopped her!"

He kicked the discarded shears across the floorboards. The metal spun and hit the baseboard with a sharp clink.

"You're a cold, heartless bitch," he said.

"I am the one missing half my hair," I replied.

"I thought you had a shred of empathy." He tightened his grip on Zaria, pressing her closer to his chest. "She is losing her hair to an illness. You can't even spare a few inches without staging a massive tantrum."

"You sedated me and shaved my head in the dark," I said. "That's not a tantrum. That's a crime."

"Call the cops, then!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "Tell them I gave my fiancée a haircut so my sick best friend wouldn't feel like a monster. See who they side with."

"I don't need the cops," I said. "I just need you out."

"Gladly." Aiden scooped Zaria into his arms.

Zaria buried her face in his neck. "Aiden, I'm so sorry," she whimpered. "I ruin everything."

"You ruin nothing," he whispered, his tone shifting instantly to comfort her.

He carried her out into the hallway.

"Don't expect me to apologize tomorrow," he called back over his shoulder.

"I won't be here tomorrow," I said.

The heavy oak door slammed shut.

I walked to the corner, picked up the small plastic dustpan, and knelt on the hardwood floor.

I swept the dark clumps of my hair into a neat pile. My hands didn't shake. My chest felt entirely hollow. I dumped the remnants of my eight-year effort into the trash can, tying the plastic bag in a tight knot.

I walked into the bathroom and stared at the mirror.

Uneven, jagged patches of scalp stared back at me. I ran my fingers over the rough stubble. A strange sense of liberation washed over me. The girl who had bent over backward to please Aiden was gone, sheared away with the locks in the trash.

I walked back to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the mattress, and unlocked my phone.

A string of notifications illuminated the screen. My Twitter icon showed ninety-nine plus mentions.

I tapped the app.

Zaria's profile sat at the very top of my feed. She had uploaded a video an hour ago, right before Aiden slipped the sedative into my chamomile tea.

The location tag read: Maple Street Cafe.

I pressed play.

The camera panned up to the sprawling branches of the old oak tree outside the cafe. Then, it flipped to show Zaria and Aiden sitting side by side. Aiden laughed, wiping a smudge of powdered sugar off Zaria's cheek.

"Some things never change," Zaria's voice chirped through the tiny speaker. "Childhood sweethearts forever."

I scrolled down to the caption.

True love always wins against the corporate bankroll. Some people think money can buy a ring, but it can't buy history.

The comments section was a war zone.

User @ZariaFan99: That Mazie girl is such a homewrecker. You and Aiden belong together!

User @TechBro22: She literally bought his company just to force him to date her. Total psycho behavior.

User @ZariaLove: I heard Mazie threw a fit because Aiden spent an hour at the hospital with Zaria today. What a toxic third party.

Zaria had replied to that last comment with a single, sad-face emoji.

"Childhood sweethearts," I murmured to the empty room.

I stared at Aiden's smiling face on the screen.

"I'll always protect you," he had promised me eight years ago.

A drunk senior had cornered me against the bleachers at the university freshman gala. Aiden had shoved the guy backward, shielding me with his own body.

"I guess I am the threat now," I said aloud.

I didn't type out a defense. I didn't block the accounts.

I took three quick screenshots, capturing the video, the caption, and the replies. I saved them to a secure cloud folder labeled Legal.

Then, I tapped the heart icon on Zaria's post.

I dialed the unsaved international number from my messages.

A woman answered on the second ring. "Hello? Is this Mazie?"

"Yes," I said. "I am confirming my seat on the flight."

"Oh, thank heavens!" The woman's voice cracked with emotion. "Your mother has been weeping since we got your text. We'll have a car waiting at Charles de Gaulle. Do you need us to arrange anything else?"

"Just the car," I said.

"Are you traveling alone, dear? The investigator mentioned a fiancé."

"I am traveling alone," I said, standing up. "The engagement is off."

"I am so sorry to hear that. Should we involve our legal team to handle any shared assets?"

"I already have a lawyer drafting the separation of my investments from his company," I replied. "He won't see another dime."

"Excellent. We'll ensure your privacy upon arrival. Your father is eager to meet you."

"I look forward to it," I said.

"Safe travels, Mazie."

"Thank you."

I hung up and walked into the walk-in closet.

I grabbed my black duffel bag and unzipped it. I pulled my silk blouses from their hangers, folding them in swift, efficient squares. I ignored the row of white dresses I had bought for the upcoming bridal showers.

I needed my passport.

I usually kept it in the small safe behind Aiden's winter coats.

I pushed his heavy wool trenches aside. A thick gray overcoat slipped off its hanger, tumbling to the carpeted floor.

I bent down to pick it up.

A folded piece of glossy paper slipped out of the side pocket.

I unfolded it.

It was a medical printout.

The black-and-white image showed a grainy, peanut-shaped curve.

Patient Name: Zaria Dawson.

Date: October 14.

The bold text at the top of the page read: Obstetric Ultrasound - 8 Weeks.