Chapter 5: Memorial Day and the Vanishing Point

Soon, Memorial Day weekend arrived.

The town always made a big deal of it—parades, boat races, cookouts by the river. The smell of barbecue drifted from the riverbank, and kids in red-white-and-blue face paint ran between the picnic tables. It was the first time in a while I had something to look forward to.

We agreed to watch the boat races by the river, meeting at Riverside Pavilion by the bridge.

I pictured us sitting on the grass, eating ice cream, letting the sun warm our faces while colorful boats glided by.

She arrived early. At first, I didn’t understand why she left so soon.

I checked my phone, confused by her one-word reply: "Already here."

Only when I got there did I realize—my rival had “beaten me to it.”

He stood beside her, camera slung around his neck, looking as if he belonged there. My heart dropped.

He’d learned about our date from chatting with Natalie, and asked, “Can I come too? You two have fun, I’ll help take pictures.”

He said it loud enough for anyone nearby to hear, grinning like he’d won a prize. Natalie just nodded, looking unsure.

Natalie couldn’t refuse. She agreed.

She shot me an apologetic glance, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Not only that, she also agreed to go out early for breakfast with him.

They’d already hit up the local diner, judging by the empty coffee cups at their feet. It was like I’d been replaced before I even showed up.

When I arrived, they were chatting and laughing together, completely absorbed in each other. I was the third wheel.

I shuffled awkwardly behind them as we walked along the riverbank, taking photos while they posed and giggled. My own laughter sounded hollow, like someone else’s voice.

Honestly, that day was pure humiliation for me. I trailed behind them, because in the end, I was the one taking the photos.

Every time I lifted the camera, I wondered how I’d ended up here, an extra in my own story, capturing someone else’s perfect memory. The ache was sharp, but I kept going—because sometimes, that’s all you can do.

As I snapped the last picture, I wondered if this was the moment I’d finally disappear from my own story.