Joey

💍 Story Time: "Joey Was My Husband..." 💔 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Joey was 6'5", black hair, brown eyes, soft voice, and the kind of laugh that made you forget why you were mad. And me? I’m Y/n—loving, pretty, soft-hearted, dead gorgeous (not to brag 😌). Joey’s wife. Or… I was. - We met in the rain—cliché, I know. He offered me his hoodie, and I never gave it back. Three weeks later, we were inseparable. Movie nights, late-night fries, forehead kisses. He used to call me "his girl" like it meant everything. - And it did. Until it didn’t. - It started small. Missed calls. Short replies. He stopped dancing in the kitchen with me. I’d make dinner, he’d say, “I’m not hungry.” But he was—just not for me anymore. - One night, I asked him, “Are we okay?” He said, “We’re just tired, Y/n. It’s normal.” But I wasn’t tired—I was heartbroken. - So I packed my things. Left my key on the counter. No drama. No yelling. Just silence. - The next morning? He called. “I miss you.” I said, “You miss who I was when you loved me.” - And just like that… we were divorced. - But don’t feel bad for me. - Because now? I’m glowing. I’m healing. I wear my own hoodie in the rain. - And Joey? He watches my stories. Every. Single. One. --- Part 2 COMING SOON!