Ditching Me for His 'Soulmate'? His Loss. Next Stop: My New Life novel Chapter 127

Chapter 4

I found myself scrolling through Clare Harper’s newest post on social media, my heart sinking with each image and word. Almost every night John was absent from our home, he was with her—Clare. The realization stung more deeply than I cared to admit.

He had even gone so far as to take her to that amusement park, the very same park that, just two years ago, bore my name. The irony was unbearable. Clare’s latest post showed them side by side, John intently peeling shrimp for her with a look of total concentration. Her caption boldly declared, “What’s mine will always be mine. No matter how hard another woman tries, even five years won’t change that.”

Below her words, her devoted followers flooded the comments with heart emojis and phrases like “Queen energy!” and “Forever iconic!” Their unwavering support for Clare was unmistakable, and it felt like a punch to my gut.

I closed her page and my eyes immediately landed on John’s recent post. “Welcome home, our little princess,” he had written, accompanied by a photo of Clare wearing a sparkling tiara, her smile radiant and full of joy. The image burned into my mind, sharper than I expected.

Two years ago, when John had decided we should be a couple, he proudly introduced me to his friends. “Everyone, meet my girlfriend,” he had said, his arm draped around me protectively. His friends congratulated me, but the sly looks and barely concealed smirks told a different story—one of doubt and maybe even pity.

One of them had even asked, “Why bother introducing her to us? Why not just make it official and post it online?” John’s response was clipped and cold: “Not necessary.”

Now, Clare Harper had returned to town, and John couldn’t wait to show her off to the world. It was clear to me: some people truly are irreplaceable in his eyes.

Without really thinking, I found myself liking John’s post and leaving a simple comment: “Congrats.” Then I set my phone aside and slipped into bed, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

Later that night, John stumbled through the door, drunk. His lips found mine in a sloppy kiss that startled me awake. His arms wrapped around me tightly, as if trying to fuse me to him, to erase the distance between us. “Claire,” he mumbled against my skin, his breath thick with alcohol. “Stop being mad, okay? Please?”

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