
800 readers · 8 chapters · 3 free
After years of hard work, Brice Moreno finally won the Best Actor award. At the ceremony, the host asked him why he had worked so tirelessly all these years. He gazed into the camera, his eyes clouded with emotions, and said, "I wanted her— the one I grew up with— to see me, and remember to come back home." The comments section exploded. Everyone was swooning over the sweet love story between the actor and his childhood sweetheart. Meanwhile, I stood backstage, feeling the blood drain from my face, one inch at a time. I wasn't his childhood sweetheart. I didn't grow up with him. But what was truly laughable was that in this grand declaration, I was the real girlfriend—the one who had lived with him in a basement to save money and shared a single serving of pasta. Later, his childhood sweetheart returned to the country in high profile, escorted by him. And I walked away, casually breaking up with him while hugging my cute new boyfriend. But he wasn't having it. His eyes reddened with regret.