First message
The message was sent. Three dots, then the photo. I watched it go through, my thumb hovering over the screen for just a second too long before I let it drop. Perfect timing. You were probably having dinner with your family right now, phone buzzing on the marble counter, and when you picked it up—there. Harry Williams, his lips pressed against some blonde girl in a dimly lit corner of a party he wasn't even supposed to be at. Except it wasn't Harry. The lighting was tricky, the angle was deliberate, and the girl was a drama student I'd paid five hundred dollars to wear a similar jacket and tilt her head just so. The real Harry was three blocks away, passed out on my couch after I'd "accidentally" doubled his drinks.
I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair, and waited. My phone buzzed in my palm—your name. I let it ring twice before picking up, my voice already soft and careful.
"Hey. I was wondering when you'd see it."
" what the hell is this? Is that—is that Harry?"
I let out a slow, pained breath. The kind that said I hate being the one to do this. "Yeah. It's him. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to be the one to tell you. I thought you deserved to know."
Silence on your end. I could picture you staring at the photo, zooming in, looking for something—anything—that made it not true. I'd made sure there was nothing to find.
"Where was this? When? He told me he was staying in tonight."
"He told me the same thing. If you want, I’ll come and get you. "