Love Lost to First Love

On the day of the swimming competition finals, Vivian Jordan didn’t show up to capture the moment. Instead, after I won the championship, she sent me a photo she found online, claiming a friend had taken it for her. The message read: “My husband is the best!”

In a dramatic twist, her first love posted a collage of nine flawless shots, highlighting every muscle, alongside a bank transfer screenshot of $131,420, captioned: “My one true love.” I didn’t confront her; I just walked away.

When I left, she posted a cryptic message on Facebook: “Not taking his picture, just avoiding the embarrassment of who’s the real eyesore. Is that worth making a fuss over?”

Six months later, I broke a world record and landed the cover of a major magazine. The photographer was Vivian herself, but I turned my back on the shoot. Despite her tearful cries behind me, “I’ll only photograph you for the rest of my life. I’ll give you all the royalties; just come back, please?”

After that, she took over ten thousand photos of me, but I never glanced at a single one. She never understood that what I wanted was never about the pictures.

Under Rory Castillo’s photo collage, there was an outpouring of admiration, including comments from employees at Vivian's photography studio whom I had met during a group dinner. “Our muse has posted photos again; just look at those perfect muscles, I'm practically drooling. It must be our Vivian who took them!”

“They make a great pair! The atmosphere on set was electric. Such a stunning couple!”

“I mean, the chemistry was palpable. If it weren’t for the lighting guy, I’d say sparks would fly any second. When will they do a couple’s shoot? It would be a sensation!”

The way they fervently discussed it felt as though Rory was Vivian’s boyfriend. A friend in the comments inquired, “Isn’t today Brandon’s swimming final? Why didn’t Vivian photograph it?”

I wanted to know the answer too. Despite her packed schedule, I had reminded her a month ago, and she promised to attend the competition and celebrate our six-year anniversary afterward. But instead, she was busy snapping nearly nude photos of a stranger.

Rory replied to the comments: “I’m not aware of her schedule either. Today’s my 24th birthday, and I just wanted to document my recent fitness progress. I didn’t expect Vivian to send such a generous gift and insist on celebrating with me.”

He seemed to accept her kindness with feigned reluctance. Others criticized my friend for asking the question, derisively saying, “Do you have a reading comprehension problem? Do you know the value of ‘one true love’?”

Suddenly, I felt a bitter irony. Six years with Vivian meant less than six months with a model she barely knew. Though they had only been acquainted for a short time, Vivian often mentioned this model as her muse at family dinners, and she had taken hundreds of photos of him, while I had none.

Even during the most crucial competition that she promised to capture, she broke her word, citing last-minute work as an excuse. Turns out, she simply wanted to celebrate his birthday.

As I stood on the podium, the second and third place winners were surrounded by family for photos, while I was left alone. The joy of winning was overshadowed by solitude.

I looked at the prize in my hands—an expensive underwater camera. Vivian had always wanted to shoot a mermaid series underwater. I thought today would be perfect to surprise her with this prize, as she always loved thoughtful gifts.

I imagined us possibly embracing on the podium, sharing intimate conversations at a cozy restaurant. Never did I picture myself looking at my phone, seeing her call another man her one true love.

Those words were like daggers piercing my heart, leaving me bleeding.