Page 31 of Always Meant for You
Bella Mae? More like Basic Mabel.
Imagine faking your entire life for likes.
She lied about her life. What else is fake? Probably those Dior heels.
Farm girl got tired of cows and decided to cosplay as fashion royalty.
My bottom lip quivers.
“We don’t even have cows,” I whisper, my voice hollow.
I log out of each Bella Mae account.
I can’t watch this. I can’t bring myself to delete them. Not yet.
That would make it final, and I’m not ready to close the door.
Chelsea clears her throat. “Mabel.”
My name lands like a slap. Heat floods my cheeks. Shame climbs up my throat. I want to vanish, to dissolve into the floor, to rewind every lie, and disappear into the safety of before.
I force myself to meet her gaze.
“I’ve been doing this a long time,” she says. “The ones who last are the ones who build from truth. No edits. No filters. The ones who stop hiding. Tell me something true, Mabel.”
“I love vintage couture and . . .” I’m shaking as I reach for the M charm. “And today is my birthday,” I manage.
Hot tears streak down my cheeks.
“You have talent,” Chelsea says, voice cool and measured. “Figure out who you are. Otherwise, the truth will do it for you, and it will always catch up.”
She stands, smooths the front of her blouse, then leaves and doesn’t look back.
I crumble.
I’m alone.
Broke.
Broken.
Soon to be homeless.
I stare at the coffee shop window and see my reflection. I barely recognize the girl looking back. Mascara streaks down my cheeks. My hair frizzes in the humidity.
I want to believe there’s a path forward. Some way to rebuild. But if there is, I can’t see it from here. Not from this chair. Not from this city.
I swipe a napkin across my face, smearing what’s left of my makeup into the paper. My eyes sting. My chest aches. I can’t stop shaking.
I reach for my phone.
The screen blurs before it clears. I open my contacts and tap the name at the top.
It rings once.
Then he answers. “Yep.”
That one word unravels me.
