When the devastating blow of an unexpected betrayal is soothed by the therapeutic balm of family, and of home…
by: Joanna Sanchez
Soundtrack 01. “Already Dead” – Juice WRLD
I was sitting in the living room while the kids played and the adults drank, half-watching the TV cycle through New Year’s songs, a glowing countdown ticking down the last thirty minutes of 2025. I had been invited to spend the holiday with my friend’s family, and they welcomed me so warmly I didn’t feel like a stranger taking up space.
My friend’s sister sat beside me. My friend sat across from me. I noticed them glance at me — once, then again, then again — like they were waiting for something to land. I didn’t understand, so I asked what was going on. They hesitated, exchanging a look that felt heavier than it should have. Finally, my friend spoke.
“Do you know if your boyfriend has been going to nightclubs with mine?”
My eyebrows lifted unevenly, the inner corners pulling together as confusion tightened across my face.
“I’m not sure about yours,” I said slowly, “but mine hasn’t gone to those places since we’ve been dating.”
My friend let out a small, awkward laugh. My stomach clenched — sharp, instinctive, like my body understood before my mind did.
“Do you know something I don’t?” I asked.
“Well…look at this and tell me,” she said, handing me her phone.
I went numb. Completely. Not a single reaction made it to the surface.
I told myself the same lie on repeat: These pictures were taken before we even met. They just posted them late. But the glow of the screen kept betraying me — there he was, in the background of a nightclub, caught in someone else’s flash, looking like he belonged there.
Soundtrack 02. “Conversations” – Juice WRLD
“Feliz año nuevo, hija. Que Dios te bendiga mucho,” my friend’s mom told me. “Happy New Year. God bless you too,” I replied, my voice trembling under the weight of tears I couldn’t hold back.
I didn’t feel blessed. Not even close. Their laughter filled the room, but I couldn’t join it. I was physically there, surrounded by warmth, yet my mind was racing somewhere cold and distant. My mascara smeared under my eyes, dark streaks tracing everything I was trying to hold in.
My friend didn’t ask questions. She just hugged me. All I wanted in that moment was him — the weight of his arms around me, the steady rise of his chest, the quiet warmth of his breath as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
My favorite pair of jeans was at his house. It felt like a reason — small, convenient, believable. I asked my friend to take me. The streets were familiar, every turn and building etched into memory, but the drive felt stretched, warped, like time itself resisted taking me there.
When we arrived, I told her to wait in the car. “Can you explain to me what those pictures mean?” I asked as I stepped into his room. He lay on his bed, scrolling through his phone, like nothing in the world had shifted.
“I wasn’t doing anything bad,” he said immediately, the words too ready, too rehearsed. “I just wanted to have fun with my friends. That’s all.”
The explanation sat in the air, hollow. I couldn’t respond, not then. I gathered my things quietly.
“I hope bars and alcohol can fill your empty heart,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt, and walked out without looking back.
Soundtrack 03. “Tell Me You Luv Me” – Juice WRLD, Trippie Redd
My friend told me I could stay as long as I needed. I said yes. I checked my phone — no notifications.
I unpacked my things. Folded, placed, arranged. I checked my phone again — no notifications.
I changed into my pajamas, wiped away the ruined makeup, followed my skincare routine step by step. Rituals I knew by heart. My worn Minions pants from when I was fifteen. The cool swipe of micellar water. The faint, clean scent of my night serum. I checked my phone — no notifications.
I made the bed she had prepared for me. Heavy blanket first. Then the soft one. Then the small pink throw on top. Familiar layers, carefully built. I checked my phone — no notifications.
I opened Instagram. My fingers hesitated, then moved. I deleted the highlights — him, us, everything we had documented. Facebook followed. Same motions. Same ache. I checked my phone — no notifications.
I lay back and studied the ceiling, tracing its patterns with the kind of precision that only comes when there’s nothing else to hold onto. I checked my phone — no notifications.
3 a.m. My eyes grew heavy, the room beginning to tilt slightly. The tequila from earlier reminded me it was still in my system.
I checked my phone — no notifications.
I checked my phone — no notifications.
I checked my phone — no notifications.
No notifications.
Soundtrack 04. “I’m Still” – Juice WRLD
2 p.m. Living room. Laptop open. American Airlines.
Basic Economy. XNA to MIA. MIA to MGA.
Seven hours. One-way.
$375.
Credit card. Confirmed.
The word felt too final to be real, but I was done. Completely. I texted my aunt: I’ll be there tomorrow around noon. I’m okay.
My mother’s contact appeared almost instantly, like she had felt it before I said anything. “A mí sí me vas a decir qué te pasó.” I couldn’t hide it from her.
“Yes, Mom,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you everything.”
My voice came out thin, fragile. I could hear her breathing shift on the other end — tight, worried, present. She told me she was glad I was coming home. That home was waiting. I hesitated, but only for a moment.
Soundtrack 05. “Empty” – Juice WRLD
My friend drove me to the airport. She offered me something to drink from McDonald’s, joking about 7-Brew being closed. I laughed. It felt strange, but real.
Before I got out of the car, I told her I wasn’t sure I would come back for school.
She looked at me in a way I had never seen before. Not anger. Not sadness. Something deeper. Something that I understood.
Gate 3G. I boarded.
“¿Y usted para dónde va?” the woman next to me asked. “I’m going to Nicaragua,” I replied. She smiled and told me she was heading to the country that had raised him. My chest tightened.
As the plane lifted, I broke.
Every memory replayed — uninvited, relentless — like a film I couldn’t pause. Two weeks ago, we had celebrated our first anniversary.
That thought shattered whatever was left.
Am I doing the right thing? Am I exaggerating?
Am I being dramatic? Was he just having fun? Why did he hide it?
Is there more? Does he even care?
Why hasn’t he texted me?
The questions looped endlessly, echoing in the pressurized silence of the cabin.
Soundtrack 06. “Up Up And Away” – Juice WRLD
When I landed, I saw them immediately — my mom and my aunt, waiting. My vision blurred, but this time the tears felt different. Not panic. Not heartbreak.
Relief.
Air filled my lungs more deeply than it had in days. “Todo está bien, mi amor,” they both said at once. And for the first time, my body believed it. My shoulders dropped, tension dissolving quietly.
Yes, I told myself. Everything is alright. We drove home.
Same streets — warm pavement humming under the sun, dust rising softly with every passing car.
Same vendors — the sharp scent of fried plantains and sweet mango lingering in the air.
Same neighbors — familiar voices calling out, laughter spilling into the afternoon heat.
Same lazy younger brother — slouched on the couch, the glow of his phone reflecting in half-lidded eyes.
Same stubborn abuelo — his voice firm and unwavering, the faint smell of coffee clinging to his shirt.
Same dog — paws tapping eagerly against the floor, tail thumping like a steady drum.
Same bed — slightly uneven, but molded perfectly to the shape of my body.
Same blankets — soft, worn edges brushing against my skin with quiet comfort.
Same scent of laundry detergent — clean, powdery, wrapping around me like something familiar and safe.
Same homemade food — steam rising, rich with spices, filling every corner of the house.
Same love — steady, unspoken, and always there before I even think to ask.
The kind I never had to beg for. The kind I will never beg for again.
Love.
Joanna Sanchez is an emerging writer and educator from John Brown University. She has previously been published in Fifty-Word Stories for her piece, “Rituals.”
