The first time Jewel met her, it wasn’t planned.

  A mutual friend’s game night. Laughter echoed off the walls, drinks were flowing, cards scattered across the table. Christopher walked in late — but he wasn’t alone.

  She was with him.

  Soft smile, confident energy, the kind of woman who didn’t have to fight for attention. Her name was Amina.

  “This is Amina,” Christopher said casually, placing a protective hand on her back.

  “My girl.”

  Jewel froze mid-sip.

  My girl.

  He had never said that about anyone before. Not out loud. Not in front of her.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Amina smiled warmly and reached out. “You must be Jewel. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Jewel forced a smile, shook her hand. “All good things, I hope.”

  “Always,” Amina replied, without a hint of tension. That made it worse.

  Throughout the night, Jewel watched from across the room. The way Christopher looked at Amina — fully present, genuinely happy. That used to be their world. The

  laughs, the shoulder nudges, the private glances that said, “You get me.”

  Now, she was just another person in the room.

  When the night ended, Jewel pulled Christopher aside.

  “She seems nice,” she said, trying to sound light.

  “She is,” he replied, with that same quiet smile he used to give her.

  “You happy?”

  He looked her in the eyes. “Yeah. I am.”

  And with that answer, something inside Jewel cracked.

  For years, she’d held the power — the “maybe,” the “not yet,” the unspoken what if. But now, she was on the outside looking in.

  She wanted to say something — anything — to pull him back into orbit. But he was already too far gone.

  He had found what she never let herself give him.

  And now, it was too late.