Sophia suddenly burst into tears.

"Nathan, please don’t argue with my sister because of me," she said softly, her voice trembling with grievance. "It’s okay… Roxanne has every right to be upset with me."

Her sobs were quiet and delicate, like someone who had endured endless wrongs.

Nathan’s gaze on me turned completely frigid.

"You’re jealous that I care about Sophia," he said, his tone as cold as ice. "Jealous that I treat her well. Jealous that everyone loves her."

He paused before delivering the final blow. "Roxanne Evans, you’re not the person you used to be. You’ve changed—you’ve become bitter and twisted, haven’t you?"

With that, he turned away, carrying Sophia in his arms as they left the room.

I stood there, watching their figures fade into the distance, and suddenly realized that my tears had dried without me even noticing.

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

After all, I’d already cried so much over Nathan these past few days. Maybe now, I’d finally reached the point where I’d never shed another tear or feel another pang of hurt for him again.

That evening, the group chat with our mutual friends suddenly became lively.

Nathan had sent a message.

"Out of nowhere, I feel like getting married. What should I do?"

The chat immediately exploded with excitement.

"Nathan, are you finally going to marry Roxanne?"

"Guess it’s time to start calling her Mrs. Foster, isn’t it?"

The group chat quickly lit up with messages tagging me:

"Congrats, Mrs. Foster-to-be! When are you treating us to drinks?"

"Nathan, when’s the big celebration? We’re all waiting for that wedding party!"

The chat buzzed with excitement, messages flooding in one after another.

I was about to type a message to clear things up.

I wouldn’t be “Mrs. Foster.” Nathan’s dream bride wasn’t me.

But Nathan beat me to it.

"What nonsense are you all talking about?" he wrote. "I never said I wanted to marry Roxanne."

Then, he pulled Sophia into the group chat and tagged everyone.

"Take a good look," he announced. "This will be my future wife."

The lively chat went silent. For a long moment, no one said a word.

Nathan broke the silence.

"Why isn’t anyone talking? Say hello to my future wife!”

After a pause, a few half-hearted greetings to Sophia trickled in.

I thought for a moment, then typed a single message.

"Congratulations. Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness."

Once I hit send, I left the group chat without a second thought.

Just as I left the group chat, Nathan’s call came through.

"Roxanne, get over here right now."

"Where?"

"You know where. The usual spot."

"Is something wrong?"

"You need to apologize to Sophia."

"Why should I apologize?"

"Because you suddenly left the group chat. Do you have any idea what our friends might think of her now?" Nathan’s tone was cold and commanding.

"I don’t want anyone talking badly about Sophia. It’s my fault. I’m the one who loves her and wants to give her a proper status. She’s innocent and doesn’t deserve to be labeled a homewrecker because of your impulsive actions."

I thought I’d become immune to his words and actions, but this still managed to ignite a dull, suffocating ache in my chest.

My fingers trembled slightly as I gripped the phone, my voice shaking as I responded, "Nathan, you can’t treat me like this. What gives you the right to bully me this way? You’re the one who betrayed me. I haven’t done anything wrong. I even congratulated the two of you. Isn’t that enough?"

I bit back my tears, refusing to let them fall, though my voice was already tinged with the sound of heartbreak.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

"Roxanne," Nathan finally said, his voice low.

"I’ll let this go this time," Nathan said coldly. "But I hope you remember this—Sophia is innocent. Don’t take your anger out on her or hurt her."

The call ended abruptly.

I sat down on the carpet, my whole body trembling.

On the nightstand, the framed photo of my mother looked back at me, her expression gentle and loving.

Suddenly, tears streamed down my face. I reached out and clutched the frame tightly, holding it close as if it were her embrace.

Through the cold glass, I pressed my face against hers with tears falling endlessly. At that moment, it felt as though even in the photograph, she was grieving for her daughter.

I didn’t want to cry anymore. I didn’t want my mother, wherever she was, to feel sadness because of me.

Once her death anniversary had passed, I would gather the belongings she had left behind for me and leave Riverdale for good, never to return.