The music pulsed too loud. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the Finlay house for the first time in years—every corner packed with classmates swapping vacation stories and praising the drinks. The air smelled of spiced cider and cinnamon, the autumn breeze carrying the distant sound of crickets from the backyard.

Betty, the reluctant hostess, pressed against the wall like a shadow. Her gaze drifted over unfamiliar faces, over Inez's too-bright laughter, then back inward—always back to the memory of them. Her ex. Inez's sister. The thought still carved into her ribs like a dull knife, that old, familiar ache of being betrayed by the one she'd loved most.

She should've been in bed right now, wrapped in blankets, rewatching Devil in Love with Inez until her tears ran dry. But instead, she was here. Every night, without fail, they haunted her dreams. Memories flickered like old film reels: tangled fingers on sidewalks, shared beers under streetlights, stolen kisses that tasted like promises.

Now, standing alone at her own party, Betty's throat burned with the bitterness of a heart that never quite healed. The wool of her cardigan itched against her skin, but she couldn't bring herself to take it off—it was a shield, however flimsy.

Someone approached. For one terrible, hopeful second, she imagined them—but no. Just a classmate, oozing sympathy, asking how she'd been. She forced a smile, recited pleasantries about her trip, all while screaming inside.

Desperate to escape, she muttered an excuse and slipped into the kitchen. Water. More beer for the guests. Anything to busy her hands—

Then—a sound at the back door. A soft knock, hesitant.

She opened it.

And there they were.

Her ex. Standing in the porch light, hair slightly disheveled, wearing that old leather jacket she'd bought them for their birthday. The one they'd sworn they'd lost.

Betty went very still. Her heart, that traitorous thing, squeezed tight as her eyes locked onto theirs. Old scars split open, bleeding fresh. She could see it all suddenly—shared beds, whispered I love you, fingers laced so tight it hurt. Her grip on her cardigan tightened, as if the fabric could shield her from the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.