Chapter 2: Golden Boy, Broken Promises

I never knew my father.

When I was eight, my mom died, and I became an orphan.

Mrs. Grant, my mother’s old friend, helped with the funeral and took me in.

The Fosters and Grants lived next door, a pair of old New England families with deep roots in the community. I used to watch Autumn through the window—always so proper, so put together. Even then, he seemed untouchable.

The Foster and Grant families lived close by. Through the window, I could often see Autumn Foster sitting up straight in class.

He was the kind of kid who always got picked first, who always knew the answer. I admired him, even when I pretended not to care.

Even then, Autumn stood out—fair-skinned, handsome, always impeccably dressed.

He had this way of carrying himself—back straight, chin up, like he belonged somewhere bigger than our little town. People noticed him wherever he went.

You could always spot him in a crowd.

He was the star in every yearbook photo, the one teachers remembered.

Whenever we played games, he was the “golden boy” all the girls fought over.

He’d roll his eyes at the nickname, but he never seemed to mind the attention. I always hung back, watching from the sidelines.

Our first real interaction started with Autumn.

He visited the Grant house, pointed at my math test, and said my method was too complicated.

I looked up, met his eyes, and kept calm.

He was probably waiting for me to ask him for help.

But I just grabbed some scratch paper and wrote a few lines of formulas:

“You mean like this?”

He looked surprised.

I kept my head down and wrote, “We haven’t covered this yet, so he shouldn’t copy my work.”

Maybe that sparked Autumn’s competitive streak.

After that, he often came to work through problems with me, even transferred into my class.

From then on, we competed to be first in everything.

We’d race to finish tests, compare scores, tease each other over missed points. It was friendly, but intense. I loved every second of it.

Back then, we were inseparable.

It was on an ordinary afternoon—

The boy’s white shirt, the clean scent he carried.

His bright face and long, elegant fingers.

Like a butterfly landing on my heart, making it flutter.

I couldn’t focus on my worksheet and, almost without thinking, blurted out, “Autumn, do you like me?”

He pressed his lips together, but didn’t look away.

“Yes, I’ve liked you for a long time.”

He said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. My cheeks burned, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

…

After getting into Maple Heights University, Autumn and I got engaged.

To make things easier, our families even bought apartments in the same building.

It was supposed to be perfect—two kids from good families, starting their adult lives together. Everyone said we were the golden couple.

I looked at the display case covering one wall—most of it was photos: graduation pictures, award ceremonies…

Autumn was in every one.

At first, we stood apart in the crowd, but over time, he moved closer and closer.

In our high school graduation photo, I stood beside him, smiling shyly.

Autumn turned his head, his gaze fixed on me.

Later, Autumn saved Zoe Carter when she fainted during her vampire awakening.

Now, he stood on the podium with Zoe.

He looked at her with the same focused tenderness.

Autumn’s heart had changed. I should have realized it sooner.

But our young love was too precious, so I kept compromising, unwilling to let go.

Still, it’s not too late now.

Snapping out of it, I found a cardboard box, packed away all the photos, taped it tightly, and shoved it into the storage room corner.

It felt like closing a chapter, one I’d been clinging to for too long. I pressed my palms flat against the box, willing myself not to cry.

Before bed, Zoe sent a voice recording.

The girl’s voice was shy and annoyed: “Autumn, you kissed too hard—my lips are swollen!”

“…It’s like you’ve never kissed anyone before. Was Lillian not enough for you?”

Autumn’s voice, still a bit breathless and hoarse:

“She’s boring. The first time I kissed her, she was stiff as a board. After that, I lost interest.”

The recording ended with Zoe’s light laughter.

A wave of sour pain hit my chest.

I turned off my phone and touched my face.

It was wet and cold with tears.

That’s normal, I told myself.

I loved for real, got hurt for real, so the tears are real too.

And no matter how deep the wound, it’ll heal eventually.

I pulled out some calculus worksheets and started working through them.

Numbers were safe. They didn’t lie or leave you. I let myself get lost in the equations, letting the ache in my chest fade into the background.