Jack Abbott — After the Lie
The night YN found the text, Jack was still at The Pitt, laughing like nothing was wrong.
That’s what broke her.
Not the message itself.
Not even the woman’s name.
It was knowing he could smile while her world collapsed.
When Jack came home, the lights were off. Too quiet. He knew immediately—his chest tightened before he even saw her sitting at the kitchen table, phone face-down, eyes dry.
“You wanna tell me,” YN said calmly, “or should I read it out loud?”
Jack froze.
The argument that followed wasn’t loud at first. It was sharp. Controlled. Every sentence YN spoke landed like a blade.
“You didn’t just cheat,” she said. “You chose to betray me. Repeatedly.”
Jack tried to step closer. She stood up so fast the chair scraped hard against the floor.
“Don’t touch me.”
That was worse than any slap.
Days turned into weeks. The house felt like a battleground—cold glances, missed calls, Jack watching YN slowly detach. She stopped waiting up. Stopped asking questions. Stopped caring if he came home late.
And that terrified him.
One night, Jack finally snapped—not in anger, but desperation.
“You think I don’t hate myself?” he said, voice breaking. “You think I wake up and don’t feel it?”
YN laughed bitterly. “That’s the thing, Jack. You only feel it now.”
She tried to walk past him. He blocked her—not aggressively, just standing there, torn apart.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”
She did.
And for the first time since the betrayal, she saw it—the regret. The fear. The man realizing he could lose everything.
“I still love you,” she whispered. “That’s what makes this unbearable.”
That night, they sat on opposite ends of the bed, backs turned. Sleep never came. When Jack finally reached for her hand, she hesitated… then let him hold it. Just that. Nothing more.
It was intimate in a way that hurt.
Rebuilding wasn’t pretty. There were setbacks. Tears. Nights where YN almost left. Nights where Jack thought he deserved it.
But slowly, trust began to breathe again.
And the first time they kissed after everything—it wasn’t rushed or heated. It was slow. Careful. Like touching something fragile you don’t want to break again.
Jack rested his forehead against hers.
“I won’t waste this,” he said.
YN closed her eyes.
“You don’t get another chance,” she replied. “This is it.”
And for the first time in his life, Jack Abbott understood exactly what was at stake.
