Laestappens. 3.

Charles knew it was wrong. He'd known it from the moment he'd first opened his profile after the breakup, just to see how he was, just to make sure he was okay. That had been three years ago. Three years of telling himself to stop, to delete the app, to forget. Three years of waking up every morning and checking to see if anything new had appeared first thing. And today, as always, he opened his story and froze.

Max stood on a balcony, the setting sun illuminating his face. He was smiling the same smile Charles had once considered his own, and his arm was around the shoulders of a woman Charles didn't know. She was beautiful. Dark hair, an open smile. She pressed herself against Max so naturally, as if she'd been doing this her whole life. The caption underneath the photo read, "Happy."
Charles stared at the screen and felt something crumble inside him. It wasn't the first time. Over the past three years, he'd seen all sorts of photos: Max on the beach, Max in the mountains, Max with friends. Other women had flitted by, appeared, and disappeared. But this one lingered. Charles had noticed her a month ago, first in the background, then in photos together, then like this, embracing, with the caption, "Happy." And he knew: this was serious.

He set the phone face down and stared at the ceiling. Fragments of memories swirled in his head, memories he couldn't turn off. Their first meeting in the paddock. Their first fight. Their first reconciliation. The way Max looked at him as if he were the only person in the universe. The way he whispered "I love you" in the dark. The way they made plans that would now never come to fruition. Charles had ruined it all himself. He knew it. He was too busy, too ambitious, too afraid of what he felt. And when Max left, he thought it was temporary. He thought he would come back. But Max didn't.