That afternoon, I erased the words Unreliable Narrator from the whiteboard while my last literature students gathered their bags and drifted out of the lecture hall.
“Don’t forget,” I called after them, “the person telling the story isn’t always the person telling the truth.”
A few students laughed, and for one brief moment, I felt calm. I felt steady. I felt like the woman I had worked so hard to become Then my phone buzzed.
I glanced down and saw Miriam’s name.
My stomach tightened before I even opened the message.
“Come to our reunion. All our friends will be there, and even your ex, Mark, now my fiancé. We’re really looking forward to seeing you. XOXO, Miriam.”
Just like that, I was seventeen again.
I sat down hard in the empty classroom and read the message three times.
The words stayed the same.
Miriam had been my bully in high school. She mocked my thrift-store sweaters, my library books, my quiet answers, and the way I tried too hard to disappear.
She called me “Miss Perfect” until people stopped using my real name.
Years later, she found my ex-husband, Mark, and handed him a new version of me.
Cold.
Judgmental.
Difficult.
Impossible to love.
And Mark believed her.
By the time I realized what was happening, my marriage already had Miriam’s voice living inside it.
For two weeks, I stared at that reunion invitation every night.
My friend Claire found me in my office one afternoon, sitting in front of the same message.
After reading it, she said, “Delete it.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You’re not going.”
“If I don’t go, Miriam will tell everyone I was too scared to show my face.”
“So let her talk.”
I looked up at Claire.
“That’s the problem. I always did.”
Her expression softened.
“Then don’t go alone.”
That night, I opened my laptop and did something I never imagined I would do.
I hired an actor to be my plus-one.
Not a boyfriend.
Not an escort.
An actor, through a legitimate agency, for one social event.
I didn’t need romance.
I needed one person beside me who hadn’t already been handed Miriam’s version of who I was.
His name was Norton.
We met two days before the reunion in a small coffee shop near campus.
He walked in wearing a gray blazer, looking so polished and handsome that I briefly considered escaping through the back door.
“You’re Daphne?” he asked.
“Unfortunately.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“That bad?”
“I’m hiring a stranger to help me survive a high school reunion,” I said. “What do you think?”
“Fair.”
He sat across from me and opened a small notebook.
“Your booking notes were clear. No fake romance. No kissing. No jealousy performance.”
“I’m an English lecturer,” I said. “I hate cheap fiction.”
He laughed, and something in me relaxed.
“So what exactly is my role?”
“A steady witness.”
His face became serious.
I looked down at my coffee.
“Miriam bullied me for years. Then she helped destroy my marriage by telling my ex-husband the same kind of lies. Now she’s invited me to watch her stand beside him.”
Norton didn’t give me pity.
He gave me attention.
“That’s cruel.”
“She’s very good at cruel.”
“Do you want me to pretend we’re together?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want to lie more than necessary. I just want one night where I don’t feel like I’m apologizing for existing.”
Norton nodded.
“Then when she looks at you like she won, look back.”
My eyes burned.
“You make that sound easy.”
“I didn’t say easy,” he replied. “I said possible.”
He signed the contract.
“Steady witness,” he said. “No grand romance. No lies we can’t walk back from. We have a deal, Daphne.”
On Friday night, I changed dresses three times before choosing a navy one that made me feel visible without feeling exposed.
When Norton knocked at seven, I opened the door before courage could leave me.
In the car, he glanced at my trembling hands.
“Want to rehearse?”
“No. If I rehearse, I’ll sound rehearsed. I was terrible at drama.”
At the high school, music spilled from the gym doors. The reunion banner hung above the entrance like a dare.
My hand tightened around my purse.
“I can’t do this.”
Norton turned off the engine.
“You can,” he said. “But you don’t have to pretend it’s easy.”
I looked at the bright doors.
“She wants me to walk in small.”
“Then don’t.”
So I got out.
Norton offered his arm.
I took it.
The second we stepped inside, people turned.
A few whispered.
For one terrible second, the seventeen-year-old girl inside me searched for the nearest exit.
Then Miriam appeared.
She moved through the crowd like she owned the air. Mark followed half a step behind her, older than I remembered and far less certain than I expected.
“Daphne,” Miriam said, spreading her arms. “You actually came.”
“I did.”
Her eyes slid to Norton.
“Well. You brought someone.”
“This is Norton.”
He held out his hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
Miriam ignored his hand and looked him up and down.
“Someone’s doing charity work.”
My face burned.
Before I could answer, Norton tilted his head.
“Jealousy is a sin, ma’am.”
A few people nearby laughed.
Miriam’s smile twitched.
Mark cleared his throat.
“You look well, Daphne.”
“Thank you, Mark.”
He glanced at Miriam.
“I’m glad you came.”
I wanted to ask if he had ever wondered whether Miriam had lied.
