Love After Betrayal

Aurora had always believed her first time would be sacred.

Not perfect, life was never perfect but at least intentional.

Something she chose with a clear mind, with a full heart, with vows and rings and the kind of certainty that didn’t leave bruises on your conscience afterward.

She had spent three years holding onto that belief.

Three years holding onto herself.

And somehow, with one single moment of weakness, one moment of guilt, everything she’d protected shattered.

It happened a few days before Valentine’s.

A few weeks before their three year anniversary.

And the worst part was that Aurora didn’t even realize she’d crossed the line until it was already too late.

Nathan’s apartment smelled like his cologne and the detergent he always used. Clean, Familiar, Like him.

Aurora stood in front of the mirror in his small bathroom earlier that afternoon, smoothing down her dress, trying to quiet the nervous flutter in her stomach.

She always got nervous around him.

Not because she didn’t trust him.

But because Nathan had a way of making her feel like she was constantly being tested, like her love for him was something she had to prove.

Especially lately.

Ever since he graduated and got a job abroad, their time together had become precious and scarce. He only came home on Fridays and left on Sundays, always rushing, always tired, always acting like time was something that hated him.

And every time he came back, he wanted the same thing.

Aurora. All of her.

Completely.

She stepped out of the bathroom and into his room, her long burgundy hair falling in waves down her waist, the soft ends brushing the small of her back. She caught Nathan watching her, his dark blue eyes sliding over her the way they always did like he couldn’t decide if he was in love with her or hungry for her.

Maybe both.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his blond hair slightly messy. He looked older than when they met in university, more defined, more confident. Like the world had started taking him seriously, and he liked it.

He held his arms open.

Aurora walked into them.

And immediately, he kissed her.

It wasn’t a soft kiss.

It never was.

Nathan kissed like he was trying to erase the distance between them, like he was angry at the time they lost.

Aurora kissed back, her hands gripping his shoulders, her heart thudding hard against her ribs.

It started the way it always did.

Kisses.

Hands.

Breaths.

His voice murmuring her name in that low tone that always made her stomach twist.

“Aurora…” he whispered, mouth against her jaw.

She let out a shaky breath.

“Nathan…”

His hands moved lower.

She tensed.

He noticed.

He always noticed.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, his expression unreadable.

“You’re still doing this,” he said.

Aurora blinked. “Doing what?”

“Acting like I’m some stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” she said quickly, her voice soft. “You know you’re not.”

Nathan’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Then why are you still acting like you don’t trust me after three years?”

Aurora’s throat tightened.

It wasn’t fair.

She had trusted him.

She had stayed with him.

She had loved him so deeply that sometimes it scared her.

But this was the one thing she had promised herself she would wait for.

Marriage.

A ring.

A home.

A future.

And Nathan knew that.

He knew it so well that sometimes she wondered if he was tired of hearing it.

Nathan leaned closer again, his forehead touching hers.

“I’m not asking you to do anything crazy,” he murmured. “I just want to feel you. Just once. Aurora, I’m your boyfriend. I’ve been your boyfriend for three years.”

Aurora swallowed.

Her heart was pounding harder now.

“Nathan…”

“I’m not going to sleep around,” he said suddenly, his voice sharper. “But don’t you ever think about how hard it is? I’m a man. I have needs.”

Aurora’s eyes stung.

That word again.

Needs.

As if her boundaries were a punishment.

As if her love wasn’t enough.

She looked down at her hands, her fingers trembling slightly.

“I’m trying,” she whispered.

Nathan kissed her again before she could say more, and the kiss swallowed her words.

His hands slid under her dress.

Aurora gasped softly, gripping his arm.

He pulled her closer, his mouth moving down her neck.

She felt her body respond in a way she hated admitting.

Because she wanted him.

She did.

She just wanted it… later.

Not now.

Not like this.

It was when they were already on the bed, tangled together, breaths uneven, that Nathan paused.

He looked at her.

And the look in his eyes made Aurora’s stomach sink.

“Aurora,” he said quietly.

She blinked, still breathless.

He hesitated, just for a second then said, “Can I put it in?”

Aurora froze.

Her whole body went still.

Nathan’s gaze didn’t move away from her face.

“I won’t go deep,” he added quickly. “Just a little. Please. Aurora… a little, I promise?”

Aurora’s mind spun.

No.

She wanted to say no.

She had said no so many times.

But something in her chest cracked.

Because she suddenly saw all the times he’d sulked after she refused.

All the times he’d gotten quiet and cold.

All the times he’d made her feel like she was starving him.

She loved him.

And she was scared.

Scared that one day, he would stop asking and just start doing it elsewhere.

Her eyes burned.

“Nathan…” she whispered, voice trembling.

“Just a little” he repeated. “I swear.”

Aurora stared at him.

He looked sincere.

He always did.

And she hated herself for how much she wanted to believe him.

Finally, she nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Just… just a little.”

Nathan’s face softened.

He kissed her again, slow this time, like he was grateful.

And then

Aurora s*ck*d in a sharp breath.

Pain shot through her.

Her hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging in.

“Nathan, stop,” she gasped, eyes wide.

He paused, his face hovering above hers.

“It’s just a little,” he said.

Aurora shook her head, tears filling her eyes.

“It hurts.”

He brushed his thumb over her cheek, as if wiping away the fear.

“You’ll get used to it,” he murmured. “Relax, baby.”

Aurora’s lips parted.

She wanted to push him away.

But she didn’t.

Because she didn’t want him to think she regretted it.

Because she didn’t want him to feel rejected.

Because she didn’t want to be the reason he looked elsewhere.

So she swallowed her pain.

And she endured.

When it was over, Aurora lay still, staring at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling too fast.

Nathan pulled away, breathing heavily, and she felt warmth spill on her lap.

He grabbed tissue from the bedside drawer and cleaned her like it was nothing.

Like she was nothing.

Aurora’s throat tightened.

He stood and went into the bathroom.

Aurora stayed frozen, her heart pounding, her skin buzzing with a strange numbness.

This was supposed to feel… different.

She didn’t feel loved.

She didn’t feel cherished.

She felt used.

And guilty.

And confused.

Nathan returned a few minutes later, as if nothing had happened.

He climbed back onto the bed.

Aurora’s eyes widened.

“Nathan…”

He kissed her again.

And it happened again.

This time, there was no sharp pain.

But there was also no pleasure.

No sweetness.

No warmth.

Just her body reacting while her heart sat somewhere far away, watching.

Like a stranger.

Afterward, Nathan suddenly laughed softly.

Aurora blinked.

“What?” she asked, voice quiet.

Nathan looked at her with a grin that made her stomach twist.

“Did you know we just had s*x?” he asked.

Aurora stared at him.

Her throat tightened.

“Yes,” she said.

She didn’t know why she said it.

Maybe pride.

Maybe shame.

Maybe because she didn’t want him to see how shaken she was.

Nathan’s expression shifted.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Are you really a virgin?”

Aurora’s breath caught.

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“What?”

Nathan sat up, leaning back against the headboard.

“You didn’t act like one.”

Aurora felt her face burn.

Her eyes stung.

“I’ve told you since the first time we met,” she said, voice trembling. “I was a virgin. Why would I lie?”

Nathan shrugged, like her words meant nothing.

“But you weren’t enjoying it.”

Aurora’s heart dropped. She forced a laugh that sounded wrong even to her. “I was enjoying it,” she lied quickly.

Because if she told the truth, if she admitted she felt pain, fear, regret Nathan would take it as an insult.

And Aurora had spent three years learning that Nathan did not like feeling insulted.

He liked being wanted.

He liked being worshipped.

He liked being the center of her world.

So Aurora swallowed her truth again.

They did it a third time before she left.

And by then, Aurora wasn’t even fully present anymore.

Her body was there.

But her heart felt like it had stepped out of the room.

Later, back in her small self-contained apartment, Aurora stood under the shower for a long time.

The water was hot.

But she still felt dirty.

She scrubbed her skin until it stung.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror afterward and didn’t recognize the girl looking back.

Her ocean-blue eyes looked dull.

Her dimples didn’t appear.

Her smile was gone.

She wrapped herself in a towel and sat on her bed, staring at her phone.

Her virginity was gone.

Just like that.

Not with a ring.

Not with vows.

Not with a choice she was proud of. But with guilt.

And pressure. And fear.

Aurora swallowed hard, blinking back tears. She reached for her phone.

Aurora: I’m home.

A few minutes later, his reply came.

Nathan: Did you enjoy it?

Aurora stared at the message.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Her throat tightened.

She didn’t know what to say.

Because the truth was too ugly.

So she lied again.

Aurora: Yes.

Nathan: Which round?

Aurora hesitated.

Then typed.

Aurora: The third.

Nathan replied almost immediately.

Nathan: Same. Second and third.

Aurora’s stomach twisted.

She dropped the phone on the bed like it burned.

They hadn’t used protection.

But he didn’t finish inside.

He withdrew.

She kept repeating that to herself like it was comfort.

Like it was safety.

Like it erased what happened.

But it didn’t.

The next day, Nathan told her to come see him. He said he was leaving soon.

That he had work and was traveling back.

Aurora went. Because she always went.

Because loving Nathan felt like something she couldn’t stop doing, even when it hurt her.

When she arrived, he was already dressed.

Suit, Shoes, Watch.

Smelling expensive.

Looking like a man who belonged somewhere bigger than her small apartment and her quiet dreams.

They sat.

They talked a little.

They watched TV.

And then he pulled her back into the bedroom again. This was where he lived before he started working, a one bedroom apartment.

Aurora didn’t even protest.

She just let it happen.

Like she had already lost the right to say no.

After they were done, Nathan told her casually, “Go and urinate.”

Aurora blinked.

“What?”

“Just go,” he said. “It’s better.”

She did.

When she came back, he was zipping his bag.

Minutes later, they both left.

Aurora watched him board a bus that would take him to the airport.

She stood there for a long time after the bus drove away.

Her chest felt hollow.

Like something had been taken from her and she couldn’t name it.

That night, after Nathan arrived abroad, her phone buzzed.

Aurora stared at the screen.

A message from him.

She opened it.

And what she read made her blood turn cold.

Nathan: Aurora tell me the truth. Who else has slept with you apart from me?

Aurora’s breath caught.

Her hands went numb.

Her vision blurred.

She read it again.

And again.

Her heart started pounding, fast and wild.

Not from love.

Not from excitement.

But from shock.

And a sudden, horrible realization.

Nathan didn’t believe her.

Nathan didn’t trust her.

Nathan took what he wanted from her

And still looked at her like she was guilty.

Aurora sat on her bed, staring at the message until her eyes burned.

And for the first time in three years…

She wondered if loving Nathan had been the biggest mistake of her life.

Aurora stared at her phone long after hitting send. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard as if the weight of each word could crush her. She had typed slowly, carefully, almost unwilling to face the truth in front of her own eyes. Nathan’s last message had made her heart clench, a cruel mix of accusation and disbelief.

“Tell me who he is.”

The words had hit her like a slap. She had sat on her bed, wrapped in a soft blanket, staring at the ceiling, and tried to breathe. She didn’t understand how the person she had loved, trusted, and was loyal to for three years could question her in a way so personal, so invasive, that it left her shaking.

Her reply had been measured. Honest. But she knew Nathan wouldn’t believe her.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me anyway,” she typed, her fingers trembling slightly.

As expected, Nathan responded almost immediately.

“You know, I’m not a kid when it comes to that, I t