I always believed in second chances. If love was real, I thought, it could find a way through hurt, pride, and mistakes. So when my ex, Jack, messaged me out of the blue two years after our breakup, something inside me fluttered—a mix of excitement, nostalgia, and that tiny, stupid spark of hope.
We’d ended badly. Harsh words, silent treatments, pride getting in the way. I’d spent months nursing my bruised heart, even dated someone new, tried to move on. But Jack… he lingered like a stubborn stain on my favourite jumper. I hadn’t forgotten. So when he suggested meeting up—just to talk—I said yes. Naïve? Absolutely. But I convinced myself it was just two adults catching up. What could go wrong?
We met at a cosy café near Covent Garden. I arrived early, and when he walked in, my heart did that ridiculous little skip. There he was—same broad shoulders, same scruffy stubble, same warm, familiar smile. He hugged me, and for a second, it felt like no time had passed at all.
We talked for hours. Work, life, trivial updates. His voice was just as soft, his eyes just as attentive—like he genuinely cared how I’d been. And me? I melted like ice cream in the sun. Maybe, just maybe, there was still something between us.
Then… the mood shifted.
He leaned back, frowned, avoided my gaze like he was wrestling with something. My stomach dropped. Then, he spoke.
“Emily… I need to tell you something. It’s been eating at me.”
“What’s wrong?” My voice wobbled. “You’re scaring me.”
He rubbed his temples, sighed, and finally met my eyes.
“I didn’t reach out to get back together. This—us talking—it’s not because I missed you.”
My face went cold.
“Then why?”
A pause. Then, like a gut punch:
“I’m using you, Emily. To get back at your sister. Lucy.”
The room spun.
“What? You’re… what?”
“Your sister played me,” he said flatly. “Made me think she cared, then ghosted me for someone else. Laughed about it. Now? I want her to feel the same.”
I couldn’t breathe. My sister—my best friend, my ride-or-die—would never do that. And Jack… had every word, every look tonight been a lie?
“What did she do?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“She used me. Mocked me. I was just a joke to her.” His jaw tightened. “I want her to know how that feels. And you… you’re how I do it.”
Tears prickled. Humiliation burned.
“So you played me to hurt her? Me? Why? I never hurt you!”
“I know. I’m sorry. But I was wrecked, Emily. I didn’t know how else to make it stop.”
I stood, shaking.
“No. I’m not your pawn. I’m not collateral damage in your petty revenge. You don’t get to smash my heart to fix yours.”
He didn’t stop me. Just sat there, eyes down, as I walked out. Cold air hit my face, tears streamed, and one question looped in my head: *How did I fall for this?*
I’ll never be anyone’s bargaining chip again. Not for love, not for revenge. And if that means cutting ties with Jack *and* my sister? Fine. Lies wrapped in pretty words are still lies. And I’d rather hurt from the truth than bleed from a lie.
