I never expected to see Jacob, my ex-fiancé, again, especially not as a beggar in Central Park. Confronting him unveiled a shocking betrayal that left me questioning everything I knew about my past.
“Come on, Nina, just one more slice of pizza before you go,” my old friend Eric insisted.
“No way,” I laughed, “I have a flight to catch and a Central Park stroll to make.”
The weekend had been a whirlwind. I spent hours wandering boutiques, indulging in avocado toast at a trendy café, and enjoying dinner at a rooftop restaurant with Eric. But eight years had passed since my wedding day disaster, and I was at peace with it—or so I thought—until I saw him.
There he was, on a bench, looking disheveled and begging. My heart stopped. “Jacob?” I approached cautiously.
A destitute man holding a sign | Source: Pexels
“Yeah, it’s me,” I replied. “What happened to you?”
He lowered his gaze, shame evident. “It’s a long story. Can we talk?”
I nodded, curiosity overcoming my hesitation. We walked to a nearby café, ordered coffee and burgers, and found a bench under a large oak tree in the park.
“Start from the beginning,” I said.
Jacob took a deep breath. “Two hours before our wedding, men came to my room. They said your father sent them.”
“My father?” I echoed, shocked.
“Yes,” he continued. “They took me away, beat me until I couldn’t remember anything. I woke up in a hospital with amnesia.”
I stared at him, disbelief mingling with pity. “So, you’re saying my father did this?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Jacob replied, his eyes pleading.
“Why didn’t you come back?” I asked.
“I couldn’t remember anything. I wandered the streets, trying to piece together who I was. I ended up here, living day by day.”
Hearing this, my heart ached. The man I once loved had been reduced to this by forces beyond his control. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
We sat in silence, the weight of his words heavy. I looked at the man who once promised me forever, now a shadow of his former self.
“I don’t know what to believe,” I finally admitted.
“I understand,” Jacob said quietly. “But I needed you to know.”
As I left, my heart was heavy with unresolved emotions. That night, Eric noticed my distraction.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, just… a lot on my mind. I ran into Jacob,” I admitted.
Eric’s eyes widened. “Your Jacob?”
The next morning, instead of heading to the airport, I returned to Central Park. I needed to understand more. As I sat on the bench where we talked, I called my father.
“I ran into Jacob,” I said.
“Not that man,” my father snapped.
“He said you had him kidnapped!” I blurted out.
“Ridiculous. I paid him to leave you,” he replied.
My heart raced as anger surged. “You ruined everything.”
I realized my purse was missing—had Jacob taken it? My trust shattered.
“Excuse me, miss, is everything alright?” a passerby asked.
“Not really,” I sighed.
I stood up, ready to face whatever came next. The past had reared its ugly head, but I wouldn’t let it define my future.
