My Fiancé Played a Couple-Swap Game, I’m Done Being The Outsider Chapter 10

My Fiancé Played a Couple-Swap Game, I’m Done Being The Outsider Chapter 10

I’d waited too long for those words.

If he’d said them earlier-

the first time I was left behind, the first time I stood aside while they took a group photo,

the first time my birthday meant less than Lilith’s tears-

maybe I would have turned back.

But now, I just said, “I don’t need you to change anymore.”

“Whoever you love, whoever you choose, whoever you stand with-it has nothing to do with me.”

He clenched the ring until it bit into his palm. “Do you really not love me at all?”

I paused. “I did.”

His eyes flickered. “But those seven blank cards used it all up.

He stayed in town for two weeks.

He showed up at every shoot, carrying gear, preparing water, checking vehicles-like I used to do. Quiet work no one noticed.

I never gave him more than a passing glance.

Before he left, he came to see me one last time.

He placed a hard drive on the table-the entire group chat history.

And a handwritten letter.

His eyes were red. “I cut them off. They want to apologize to you.

“No need. Their opinions don’t matter anymore.”

“The one I stayed for was always you. The one I left for was also you.

He looked down. “Is there really no chance for us?”

Outside, seagulls crossed the sky.

I used to fight so hard to belong somewhere.

Now I knew the world was bigger than a group that never wanted me.

“There isn’t. I have friends now.

They wait for me at dinner. They pull me into photos.

I don’t have to try so hard to earn a seat at their table.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll meet someone right for you.”

“But I only want you.”

“You want the Lyra who never left. She’s gone.”

I traveled with the documentary team.

For the first time, I wasn’t just behind the lens.

They pulled me into photos.

When there were only five chairs, someone brought a sixth.

They remembered I hated cilantro. They asked if I was okay when I was sick.

Small things. Things I never had in seven years.

When the documentary aired, the team posted a group photo.

I was in the middle, laughing.

Dorian liked it.

I heard he stopped going to the five-person gatherings.

He wore that ring on his own finger.

Someone asked him why-she’s gone, who’s it for?

He said, “Not for her. To remind me I thought she’d never leave.”

Two years later, I saw him at a photography exhibition.

In the center was my series: The Outsider.

A single empty chair.

Below it:

Not everyone left standing is waiting for a seat. Some have already moved on.

He stood there for a long time.

As I passed, he called out. “Lyra.”

I stopped. He didn’t beg.

He just said, red-eyed, “I’m sorry.”

I nodded, then walked toward the friends waiting at the door.

Someone took my bag and smiled.

“We’re waiting for you.”

I stepped into the space they’d left for me.

Behind me, Dorian stood alone in front of the empty chair.

He finally understood-I’d been the one left out for seven years.

Now he was the one who couldn’t walk back in.