Doubts - Regretful ex-Fiancé

Chapter 1 | ✓

-They will have a HEA. English is my second language, so please forgive any mistakes.

Once again I find myself unable to live the life I have dreamed of for so long. The chance for happiness feels cruelly lost to me. I am facing the unknown utterly alone.

Why couldn't I have been honest? Why couldn't I have been completely honest with him? Now, there's no point in regretting my poor choices. He seems tired of me; his eyes are cold and detached as if he is no longer part of what is happening here: It feels like it holds no importance for him, one way or another.

He appears to be a man who is done talking and only wants to leave. If I didn't know him better, I might even think he looks bored. But I understand the meaning behind that look: deadly resolution.

"Jonathan, please! Look... sit down. Let me explain. Please believe in me! I am begging you... I didn't do it. It wasn't me!" I plead with renewed desperation, feeling his silence cut through me.

I can no longer hold back the tears. This is happening in our living room, in the beautiful apartment we have shared for the past year. I have lived the best moments of my life in this wonderful place. Here, I experienced true happiness and fulfillment, having someone love me so deeply. It was everything I could have asked for and more. To have Jonathan come home every day with a private smile just for me? It was beyond my wildest dreams.

Everything seemed so good, so perfect. We had so much fun together and so much love. But now... It was over.

He came home only minutes ago with a gut-wrenching expression in his eyes. There were no smiles, no kisses, no warm greetings. What I saw was pure disgust and contempt. He wore a beautiful caramel overcoat, his hands in his pockets, legs apart, and his posture tense. There were no pleasantries.

"Michael and his wife were in Las Vegas this weekend. They saw you there, with different men on more than one occasion." He paused, a look of disgust on his face as he scanned me, as if searching for the dirt I must be hiding-like he thought I was utterly unclean and disgusting.

I was speechless. Oh no. No.

"To be sure, I checked our surveillance camera. It showed you leaving on Thursday and being away all weekend. Curious, don't you think? My fiancée didn't mention anything about this." His eyes were deadly serious as he spoke.

"Michael asked one of the men for your name, and he confirmed it: Isabella. They even took some pictures of you, just to be certain."

He hesitated for a moment, seemingly weighing his next words carefully.

"As you know, I don't like scenes, so I'll make this quick. I will give you a month to find a place for yourself. Keep the ring and the gifts I gave you. Take what you need from the house. Just be gone by the time I return." He concluded with a sense of finality and turned towards the door.

I stood there trembling, shaking my head desperately, unable to form coherent words to grasp what was truly happening.

No....! Not again! Not this!

"Please, no! Don't! Let me explain! I will explain! Wait, Jonathan!" I say rapidly, trying to get closer to him, but I pause immediately when I see him take a step back, turning his face away from me.

"Stay where you are," he says in a frightening voice.

I am shocked by the tone in which he speaks. I have never heard him talk like this before, and an immediate rush of rejection courses through me so intensely that I almost cry out in pain, unsure how to react to this cruel outcome.

"Jonathan...! It's my sister. Jonathan, it's not me! I swear to you, it's not me! She is my twin... I know, I know I didn't tell you about her, but she is..."

He gives a startled, humorless laugh. "I was wondering how you would defend yourself. But this? Really? Isabella, is this the best you can come up with? A twin? Why would she use your name, then? Where were you this weekend? You must think I'm a fool." He finishes with a dead tone.

"No! I swear to you, it's not a lie. I promise, I promise that... I was visiting... visiting my mother, okay?"

He laughs again, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't have time for this. We've been together for two years, and now you tell me about a twin and a lost mother? You must think I'm one of your hookups." With a dark smile on his face, he continues, "Let's do this, then. Call any of them with your camera."

I hesitate before answering. "I can't..." I say in a small voice.

His smile takes on a more sinister tone. "I imagined. Why is that? Care to explain?"

I feel utterly defeated. I have no way to explain this without sounding like a complete liar. "Please... please..." I say to him in a shaken voice, struggling to control my sobs.

"Give me some time, Jonathan. I have a number... I call and left a message, and they call me back after some time. But we are not close, not even a little. I don't have a way to contact her directly. I swear... I know it sounds crazy, but I can prove it! Please..." I reach out for him again, but he looks at me with displeasure and contempt.

"Show me some pictures. Surely you have a photo with them. Or maybe it's written on your birth certificate?" I look at him, feeling more dejected by the minute. No, I don't have anything... I don't have any proof!

I just shake my head, gazing at him with absolute anguish. All those times I could have told him and I failed. I lacked the courage to open up, to reveal how my mother was a drug addict living on the streets; she didn't care for anything, having given birth in her dirty trailer and almost dying in the process.

I received a birth certificate years later, but everything was so messed up for us. My sister chose to prostitute herself from a young age... Oh God... I feel sick just thinking about it. Sharing all this with a fine man like him feels utterly unbearable.

But now I must pay. I must pay for not being honest. I must suffer the consequences of being ashamed of my background. I must lose everything again and be alone once more because that's just how life works. When you're finally holding the dearest thing in your arms, life ensures that you end up losing it after all.

I'm still that filthy girl who is terribly failing at being someone.

"I'm going to prosecute you if you have given me any diseases," Jonathan adds with great disgust. Can you hear me? I'm going to hold you accountable, lady, if you gave me any of your filth." He looks at me like a tall statue and repeats this last line with pure malice. Immobile. Inaccessible.

I shook my head at him, retreated a step, and put both hands in my mouth in an attempt to stop crying. No, no, no!

"You know," he replies, starting to move back and forth in front of me. "I used to ignore the fact that you don't have a name or a very nice background. That you did not attend a great university or whatever. It wasn't crucial to me. But now I recognize you for who you truly are." He comes to a halt and looks at me with contempt. "White trash. Aren't you one? Isn't that how they refer to folks like you?" Jonathan....! Jonathan?!

I shake my head at him, completely stunned and shocked by his statements. What? Do you think this...? Do you think this, too?

"I should've known better. I thought about it a few times. Thank God, it happened now. It was a lucky escape, right?" He laughs and puts a hand to his face.

"At this point, I could throw up just looking at you, you know? I can't believe I took you to bed. My God." He appeared frustrated with himself as if he had committed a crime. I didn't know what to do with myself. Should I get to my knees? Should I beg? Should I be thankful that he wasn't beating me up?

Mama would be so very proud. To see me down. To see me lost. To see me receive the treatment I deserve. It seemed poignant to remember my mother in this moment. When I left our trailer so many years ago, she whispered good luck, while it lasts, I could see she knew what she was talking about.

"I'm leaving. I'll ask someone to help you transfer your belongings; please let me know when."

He walks away without looking at me. I fall to my knees and wail for my terrible shattered life. Crying over being white trash with little hope of redemption.

I was always aware that I should not have any expectations.

This is what white trash truly deserves.