Trapped in That Autumn

1
The summer after graduation, Ethan coaxed me into bed.
After that first taste, he became insatiable, tangling his life with mine for seven long years. My friends all laughed at how completely whipped he was.
Just marry him already, they'd say. The guy would literally die for you.
Then, one night, I stumbled upon his secret blog.
Thousands of posts, an endless scroll of sick, obsessive devotion. All for a girl in a white dress, delicate and beautiful.
His untouchable first love.
And I finally understood. For seven years, he'd given me his body, but he'd given his love to someone else.

2
The night I found Ethan’s blog started like any other.
He’d just gotten back from a business trip. The door had barely clicked shut behind him before he was pulling me toward the bedroom. He had a high drive, and a week apart had made him ravenous, his movements rough and impatient.
By the time he was finished, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.
Ping. A single, sharp notification sound.
I watched Ethan grab his phone, his brow furrowing. As he pulled on a jacket to leave, I caught his arm. "Going out this late?"
He turned, his voice softening into that familiar, gentle tone he used to soothe me. "Just a quick thing at the office. You go to sleep. Don't wait up."
Maybe it was a woman's intuition.
Half an hour after he left, I was wide awake. The seed of unease had blossomed into full-blown suspicion. Forcing myself up, I called the security guard at his office building.
"Hey, Mark. Are the guys pulling a late one tonight? I was thinking of sending over some food."
"No need, Ms. Wright. Mr. Bush let everyone leave early tonight. The whole place is empty."
"No one's there at all?"
"Not a soul. Is there something I can help you with?"
"No," I said, my voice hollow. "It's nothing."
I hung up and sat motionless on the edge of the bed. We lived ten minutes from his office, max. It had been thirty minutes. He wasn't at work.
So where was he?

3
Ethan came back the next morning, humming a tune as he unlocked the door, his mood bright and buoyant. He'd brought me pastries from my favorite bakery—an old-school place across town, famous for its quality, but so far away it didn't even deliver.
"Whatever my baby wants," he said, beaming as he set the box down. "If you wanted the stars, I'd bake them into cookies for you."
I let out a small, forced laugh, shaking my head as if to clear it. I was being paranoid.
If I ever suggested Ethan didn't love me, my friends would be the first to shut me down. "Lily, stop overthinking it," they'd say. "That man worships the ground you walk on. Could he even function without you?"
"In seven years, how many times has he been the one crawling back, begging you to forgive him after a fight?"
"Just say yes already. Marry him."
They were right about everything. Ethan had always been the pursuer in our relationship. But they were wrong about one thing. He'd never proposed.
"Babe," he'd said once, his voice sincere, "I don't want to rush this. I want to give you the world. When my career is truly stable, then I'll ask you."
I was young then and wasn't eager to be tied down by marriage myself. So we'd agreed, letting our relationship drift in that undefined space for seven years.
As we ate, Ethan scrolled through his phone, a faint, unconscious smile playing on his lips.
"What are you looking at that's making you so happy?"
The smile vanished. "Nothing. Just a cat video."
"Let me see."
He quickly locked his phone and pulled me into his arms, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "There's nothing to see. You're much better to look at. Are you done eating? Because now, it's my turn to eat."
In the moment before he pushed me down onto the bed, my eyes caught a glimpse of his screen. A distinctive crimson icon for a blogging app, one used almost exclusively by women.
What was that doing on his phone?

4
Once a seed of doubt is planted, it’s impossible to stop it from growing.
While Ethan was in the shower, I grabbed his phone. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t have much time, only enough to memorize a username: Fading_Star.
The next morning, I locked myself in the study. Using his profile picture and location tags from his main accounts, I cross-referenced and searched. An hour later, I found it.
I clicked on the profile. Thousands of posts stretched back for years. It was like opening Pandora's box. The raw, obsessive longing that poured from the screen was staggering.
June 9, 2017. I slept with someone else. But I don't regret it. You betrayed me first.
That was the year Ethan, reeking of whiskey, had stumbled into my dorm room. He’d coaxed my clothes off and tangled us together for the entire night. Our first time.
September 1, 2018. I didn’t get into my first-choice school. You think I can't live without you? You're wrong.
That was the first day of college. Ethan had knelt on the campus lawn with a bouquet of flowers and confessed his love for me, promising to take responsibility for that night. It wasn't for me. It was because he'd been rejected by the only university he'd wanted to attend.
August 7, 2021. You got married? How could you? I will never forgive you. You should burn in hell.
That night, Ethan had been brutally rough, fueled by alcohol. He used things on me I wasn't comfortable with. I'd cried for hours and ended up in the hospital the next day with a fever.
December 25, 2023. You're divorced. Does that mean you'll finally look back at me?
That was the day Ethan, who never celebrated Christmas, posted a picture on Instagram wearing a Santa hat.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely scroll. I jumped to the most recent post, from the night he'd stayed out late.
The things you can't have in your youth will haunt you for a lifetime.
The post was accompanied by a photo. A girl in a white dress, ethereal and beautiful. And I finally recognized her.
Janice Reddy. Ethan's childhood friend. The girl next door.
I stared at the screen, a profound coldness seeping into my bones, my body trembling uncontrollably. It all clicked into place.
In seven years of messy, tangled intimacy, not a single moment of his love had ever belonged to me.
Young love, years of secret devotion… anyone would be moved to tears by such a story. Their love was an epic, a force of nature.
So, what did that make me?

5
I took screenshots. I recorded videos. I saved everything.
That evening, when Ethan came home, he was carrying a bag filled with new toys. He always had a wild imagination, a love for props and scenarios that left me exhausted.
"Not tonight," I said, turning away. "It's that time of the month."
He paused for a second before pressing against me again. "Then just your hands? Your legs? Please? I'll be gentle."
"No. I don't want to."
After a few more attempts, all met with my firm refusal, his good mood soured. He didn't push it, but the irritation was clear on his face. He brought me a heating pad and made me ginger tea.
"Okay, babe. You get some rest. I'm just going to head back to the office to finish something up."
A friend once teased me. "You don't know how good you have it. A guy only wants you all the time if he's crazy about you. He's almost thirty and still acts like a teenager in heat. My husband is like a dead fish."
I used to believe that. Ethan was never shy about his desire for my body, his obsession. But I had forgotten a simple, brutal truth: for a man, sex and love can be two entirely different things.
I asked myself a hard question. If I were Ethan, would I be so reckless with someone I truly loved?
As his blog post said: You are the moon, untouchable and pure. Just to be bathed in your light is an honor.
But our first time was in a cheap hotel room, on scratchy sheets, with a thoughtless, clumsy urgency.
The difference between being loved and not being loved. It was a chasm.

6
I followed him.
I watched him walk into a small, elegant cake shop. Janice, wearing a pristine white dress, came out to greet him. She looked thrilled, her hand clutching his arm possessively.
But Ethan’s reaction was uncharacteristically cold. He gently pushed her away. "The shop is yours now. Don't contact me again."
Janice just laughed, winding her arm back around his. "I don't believe you. You couldn't stay away from me if you tried."
They went back and forth, a tense dance of push and pull, until Janice's eyes welled up with tears. With a sigh of frustration, Ethan finally cornered her against the wall.
"Don't make me do something you'll regret," he muttered.
Under the sickly yellow glow of a streetlight, they kissed.
Hidden in the shadows across the street, I raised my phone and took several pictures.
The Ethan I knew didn't like kissing. Or so I'd thought.
I stared at their entwined silhouettes. So, it wasn't that he didn't like kissing. He just didn't like kissing me. He wasn't unwilling to propose; he was just waiting for someone else to get divorced.
Just as his hand started to slip under Janice's dress, he stopped himself. "Go home. I'll come see you tomorrow."
She clung to him, pouting. "What? Going home to get your fix from her?"
"I won't touch her tonight."
"I don't believe you. Am I prettier, or is she?"
Ethan was silent for a long moment. "You, of course," he said finally. "She can't compare to you."
A satisfied smile spread across Janice's face.
"Do you have any little cakes left in the shop?" Ethan asked.
"Yeah, why?"
"I'll take one."
At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan.
Baby, is your stomach still hurting? I'm getting you a little cake. What flavor do you want?

7
The man was a walking, talking joke.
Cheating on me, then offering me a consolation prize made by the other woman.
I texted back: Don't want cake. I'm craving that key lime pie from the old place on the West End.
I saw his brow furrow from across the street. The West End was a forty-minute drive, easy. But on a day like this, a little something green felt appropriate.
Ethan: Okay. I'll go get it. I ordered you some takeout to tide you over. Love you.
I shut off my phone, my face a mask of indifference. I was morbidly curious.
How long was he going to keep up this act?

8
When Ethan got home, he had the key lime pie. He also had his best friend, Bob, in tow. Bob was drunk and quickly passed out in the guest room.
Later that night, I got up for a glass of water and heard them talking.
"I'm not bailing you out again if you keep this up," Ethan said, his voice cold.
Bob was a notorious playboy, cycling through women like they were seasonal trends. "You don't get it, man. Women are like clothes. You can't just walk around naked."
"You're going to catch something from one of those girls," Ethan reprimanded. "Find a nice girlfriend and settle down. It's cleaner, less of a headache."
Bob, still slurring, laughed. "Like Lily, you mean? She's great, I'll give you that. Obedient, and her body is insane. You're a lucky bastard. But now that Janice's back, when are you dumping her?"
There was a long pause. "I'm waiting," Ethan said. "Janice hasn't said yes yet."
"Well, after you break up, you should pass Lily my way. I've had my eye on her for a while."
Suddenly, there was a thud, and Bob grunted. Ethan had hit him.
Bob didn't seem to care. "What are you getting all high and mighty for? You're the one who's always telling me how wild she is in bed. Don't tell me you're getting possessive now."
I stood frozen outside the door, ice water flooding my veins. I never imagined that the man who was so tender and loving to my face would be so casually, crudely discussing our private life with his friends.
Then, Ethan's voice, colder than I'd ever heard it, cut through the silence.
"Go ahead and try. She's an orphan. Starved for affection. An easy conquest. A bouquet of flowers and she'll fall right into bed. Good luck."

9
I went to the cake shop alone.
It was charming and exquisite, exactly Janice's style. She looked surprised to see me but quickly recovered, greeting me with a warm smile.
I took one bite of the cake and set my fork down. "How long have you been back?"
Janice smiled sweetly. "Not long. Just got here."
Yes, Janice and I knew each other. I'd found out about her in my second year with Ethan. He kept a shoebox full of boarding passes to San Francisco, a trip he made almost monthly. He said he had to; it was a family obligation to look after her.
So, when I was sick with the flu, Ethan was in San Francisco. On my birthday, Ethan was in San Francisco. We fought about her constantly. But every time we broke up, he would fight tooth and nail to win me back. It all stopped when she got married and moved abroad our junior year.
And now, she was divorced and back. And so was the old Ethan.
"It's a beautiful shop," I said, my voice even.
He saw the look on my face and immediately launched into a defense. "Lily, when I was struggling in high school, her father paid my tuition. Janice's back now, and I just wanted to repay that kindness with this shop. That's all."
Ah, a debt of gratitude from his formative years. No wonder the bond was so deep. How could I ever compete with that?
"I see," I murmured.

10
"Have you found a place to live yet? Are you adjusting to the weather here?" I asked Janice, my voice dripping with concern. "It must be so inconvenient living on your own. Why don't you come stay with us?"
Janice's polite smile faltered. She kept darting nervous glances at Ethan.
He finally cut in, his voice tight. "That won't be necessary. She's fine here."
As we left, I bought a cake and bid Janice a polite farewell. Ethan's face was a thundercloud. He practically dragged me to the car. The second the doors were closed, he shoved me against the backseat, his anger finally erupting.
"What the hell was that? You're tracking my every move now? Was it Bob? Did he tell you about this place?"
"What's the matter?" I shot back. "Is this some sacred place I'm not allowed to visit? Or are you hiding something?"
He punched the seat next to my head, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes, visibly trying to rein in his temper. "Lily, can you just talk to me like a normal person for once?"
I was done. So incredibly done. "What does it matter who told me?"
I pulled the printed photos from my purse and threw them in his face. "Let's settle this right now. Is this what you call 'working late'? Does a business trip involve making out with your ex-crush in an alley?"
He didn't flinch as the sharp corner of a photo paper sliced a thin red line across his forehead. I looked him over, my voice dripping with the same disdain he'd used on me.
"You really are an easy conquest, aren't you? All she has to do is crook her little finger, and you come running like a pathetic dog. You're so damn cheap, Ethan."
After I said we were done, Ethan was silent for a long time.
He started the car and drove us to our favorite restaurant. "You must be hungry. Let's eat first."
He ordered a table full of my favorite dishes. And I was hungry, so I ate, keeping my head down.
Seeing me eat seemed to soften him. "Slow down," he said gently, starting to peel a shrimp for me.
When I was finished, I got straight to the point. "When we get back, pack your things and get out."
The apartment was mine; I'd bought it years ago.
Ethan’s body went rigid. "Besides that one kiss, I haven't touched her," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Giving her the shop was just repaying a debt."
"Oh," I said lightly. "Well, kissing is still pretty dirty."
That shattered his forced composure. He smashed his plate on the floor. "Lily, why do you have to talk like that?"
I flinched away from the shattering porcelain. "You'd better remember to pay for that."
A shard of the plate had dug into his palm, drawing blood, but he didn't seem to notice. "Bob told you, didn't he?"
"Why are you so obsessed with who told me?"
"Who else could it be?" he sneered, his fist clenching. "One day he tells me he's going to pursue you, and the next day you show up at the cake shop. It had to be him."
My own anger flared. "It doesn't matter who told me! The fact is, you were the one who betrayed me!" I threw the printouts of his blog posts on the table. "Just admit you love her. Lying about it just makes you look pathetic."
He lost it completely, slamming his fist on the table. "I did not betray you!" he roared. "There is nothing going on between me and Janice now!"
I remained unmoved. Men would lie with their dying breath.
He stared at me for a long moment, and then a chilling calm settled over him again. "This is just an excuse, isn't it? You just want to be with Bob." He agreed to the breakup with a shocking ease. As he was leaving, he shot me one last look.
"You're always smiling at other guys at parties. Who knows who was unfaithful first? Don't come crying to me when you want to get back together."
He looked me up and down, a lewd smirk on his face. "Besides me, who else could possibly satisfy you?"

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