By R. M. Strong
Copyright 2013 R. M. Strong
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Jasmine threw her phone across the room, sank down to the floor of the apartment she had moved into just days before, put her face in her hands, and cried. How could he have done this to her? Maybe if she crawled to bed and pulled the covers over her face, when she woke up the next morning it would have never happened. She knew in her heart it had, though. This had been building for a very long time. When she closed her eyes she could still see the text message from her fiancé.
Amelia was right. It’s OVER. We’re THRU. Lose my number. Good riddance. Be out of the apartment tomorrow.
She had tried calling Philip for hours, even though she knew he would not answer. Mr. and Mrs. Saxon had also refused to answer their phone—she wouldn’t have been surprised if they may have even encouraged him to do this.
Their relationship had been solely on Philip’s terms from the beginning. Jasmine saw that now. Her friends… her friend—the only one she had left—had tried to tell her again and again for the last four years that he was no good for her, but Jasmine hadn’t believed it. She hadn’t wanted to believe it. God had told Philip that they were going to be married. Alaya couldn’t understand that, but Jasmine knew that she couldn’t argue with God.
She hadn’t believed her friend. Not until that moment. Now, looking at her wedding dress, hanging in the closet of the apartment that they would have been sharing in only five days, she gave in to despair and wept.