The Slap That End 18 Years novel Chapter 9

**Inside the Fading Emerald Shadows Quiet Storms by Livia T. Rynn**
**Chapter 9**

That evening, the phone rang, the screen lighting up with an unfamiliar number.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I answered, curiosity piquing my interest.

But on the other end, the silence stretched out, thick and heavy, to the point where I nearly convinced myself the connection had failed.

“Lucy…” It was Joseph, his voice gravelly and worn, as if he had been carrying a heavy burden for far too long. “I’m sorry. I read your diary.”

My grip on the phone tightened, knuckles whitening.

He was talking about that pink satin diary—the very one he had scoured the city for on my tenth birthday, the one that held my secrets and dreams.

He had shown up that day, his face flushed with excitement and sweat glistening on his brow, exclaiming, “Lucille, you have to write all your secrets in here. One day, we’ll read them together when we’re old.”

I felt the chill of his words seep into my bones. “So,” I replied, my tone icy and unyielding, “What exactly are you trying to say?”

The soft rustle of pages turning echoed through the line, a sound that felt like a ghost haunting our conversation.

“On page 217… you wrote that you’d show me this diary on our wedding night.” His voice trembled, a mixture of regret and longing.

Outside my window, the neon lights of the city blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors, each hue a reminder of the vibrant life I had once imagined.

I wiped my eyes fiercely, feeling the warmth of tears pooling in my palms. “Joseph,” I began, taking a deep breath to steady my racing heart, “Do you know what I wrote on the last page?”

Silence enveloped us, thick and suffocating.

“It reads…” I pronounced each word with deliberate clarity, “Today, I threw this diary away. Goodbye to eighteen years of loving Joseph.”

I could hear the frantic shuffling of pages on his end, his panic palpable even through the phone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of his remorse. “Lucy…”

I gazed out at the swirling snowflakes, each one a tiny shard of my shattered dreams. “That’s enough,” I interjected softly, my heart pounding in my chest. “Did you even bother to check the date on that last entry?”

The silence on the other end was deafening.

“It was the same day you slapped me in front of everyone,” I reminded him, my voice cold as ice. “Nothing you say now holds any meaning for me, Joseph.”

“Don’t call me again. Don’t come looking for me,” I commanded, my resolve hardening. I paused for a moment, then added with a finality that echoed in my heart, “A good ex should stay gone.”

With that, I hung up, the weight of our conversation hanging heavily in the air.

On my 24th birthday, my parents decided to throw a grand celebration and insisted that I invite all my friends.

I hadn’t intended to include Joseph in the guest list, but the memories of his parents’ kindness tugged at my conscience, prompting me to send him an invitation anyway.

Charlie, of course, had been relentless in his request for an invite, as if I could ever deny him such a simple wish.

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