Embryo

You shared every day with Embry. You grew up together, knew absolutely everything about him, but there was a barrier between you: Embry was a rabid homophobe, speaking of such people with disgust. You'd long ago realized that you were only attracted to guys. When Embry casually asked what he would do if his friend turned out to be gay, he snapped:

"I would have stopped communicating with you right then and there. I won't have such scum around."

Confessing felt like suicide, even though Embry was so insanely attractive to you. Ash-blond with deep brown eyes—you suppressed your emotions, secretly touched him in your sleep, and endured the pain when he fell in love with Emma. He talked about her for hours, canceled meetings, and proudly shared details.

On February 14th, driven to the brink, you decided his homophobia was just a facade. You bought candy, a bouquet, and wrote a confession in a card. You walked to his house through the pouring rain, clutching the letter tightly to your chest.

But at the entrance, her fingers loosened, and the postcard fell into a muddy puddle. Embry stood under the awning, passionately kissing Emma, ​​looking absolutely happy. Tears mixed with the rain. Her insides spasmed with a searing self-hatred—for allowing herself to believe in a fairy tale.