The Girl He Never Got Over

My mind went blank.

I spun toward the door. Enya's face slid into view.

A smile lingered as she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. She looked like she knew me—and like I was nobody.

"Sadie?"

I didn't answer. Mockery flickered in her eyes. "Relax. Damien can't hear anything."

The live comments backed it up. People said he was slumped on the couch, out cold.

The hallway was empty. Every other door shut tight.

I steadied myself. Normally, I'd be the one catching him cheating—why should I feel guilty?

My face went still. I was about to speak when Enya pulled Damien's phone from the trench coat pocket draped over her.

She tapped a few times, like she was talking to herself. "Wow. Damien's really devoted. After all these years, his lock screen's still my birthday."

He'd never told me his password. Said privacy kept things fresh.

Yeah. There was another reason.

I didn't know what she opened, but her smile stretched. She turned the screen toward me.

It was Damien's social feed—hidden all these years.

He used to say he didn't like posting, that he kept it private from everyone.

Now I got it.

"Everyone" meant everyone but Enya.

The posts went all the way back to when he met her in college. He never stopped.

Each one had a snapshot of his life, captions like one-sided confessions—raw and painfully sincere:

[Loving you is my business, Enya. Even if you reject me, I won't stop.]

[Enya, you left today. I didn't stop you. I'm not worthy—but I'll work harder.]

[Enya, my new company, Huxworth Tech, carries part of your name. Too bad you can't see it yet...]

[Enya, Huxworth Tech made it into an overseas business paper. I checked—it circulates in Francia. Will you see it this time?]

...

Before, I would've been furious—jealous, demanding answers from Damien.

Maybe even breaking down, begging him to come back.

But now, I felt nothing.

Love and indifference really were just a wall apart.

Enya must've thought she landed a hit. She pulled the phone back, shot me a sideways look.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not showing off. Just helping you see reality." A mocking laugh slipped out. "Men are all the same."

Then she suddenly handed me a few sheets.

Divorce papers—already signed by Damien.

As she lifted her hand, her loose collar slipped.

My pupils shrank.

A vertical surgical scar ran down from her collarbone, exposed.

The live comments, which had just quieted, blew up again:

[Holy shit! Anyone in med school—check that scar!]

[No need. That's a standard Y-shaped autopsy cut. Nothing special—just someone back from the dead.]

[Sadie, don't be fooled! Only the top page is the divorce agreement—the ones underneath are organ donor consent forms!]

Every pore on my body snapped open.

I dropped my gaze, looked closer.

Sure enough, under the shifted top page, the documents read:

[Party A voluntarily agrees that after death...]

...and lines like:

[The donated organs shall be received as soon as possible in accordance with relevant regulations and procedures.]

That cadaver donor died from a failed heart transplant.

And now she was trying to trick me into donating organs.

Did she want my heart?

But the signature on the divorce papers was Damien's.

No question.

Did he know what Enya really was... and still help her pull me in?

The thought hit, and cold flooded my chest.

My mind spun—

Then her voice slid in, low and eerie.

"You figured it out?"

Her head tilted, confused. Her tone turned stiff. Off.

Something wild flickered in her eyes. Her teeth scraped together.

"You figured it out, didn't you?"