When Your Lover Is in the Room—and No One Knows

Deleted scene of Saving Lucy

Written by: Hilary Smith

Narrated by: Lucy Williamson

You practice your smile in the mirror. It’s not for vanity—it’s for control. You’re meeting his family tonight. His mother. It matters.

So you walk in holding Damien’s hand, rehearsed and radiant. And there she is. Mackenzie.

You don’t say her name out loud. You don’t have to. Her presence folds the room into two dimensions—before her, and after.

She stands beside his mother, poised and effortless, married now, which only adds to the cruelty of the moment. Because you’ve touched her bare skin more recently than her husband has—and yet here she is, smiling at you like she’s never seen you before.

And you play along.

You smile back. You extend your hand.

Damien says, “Mom, this is Lucy. Lucy, this is my mom, Janae." Mackenzie steps forward, calm and composed, like this isn’t killing her. Like it isn’t slowly undoing you.

You knew this could happen. But not like this. But knowing something and surviving it are two different things.

Because nothing prepares you for the moment your lover shakes your hand in front of everyone you’re lying to. Nothing softens the sharpness of hearing your name on her lips like it’s brand new. Nothing feels more personal than being erased in public—especially by someone who still whispers your name like a prayer in private.

This isn’t about guilt. It’s about grief. Grief for the version of your love that isn’t allowed to exist in daylight. Grief for every what if you swallowed down just to keep the peace. Grief for the truth that lives in the space between polite introductions and stolen nights.

You pretend. She pretends. And when Damien rests his hand on your back, it feels like someone else’s life.

Because love is not always clean. Sometimes, it lives in locked rooms and sideways glances. Sometimes, it lingers in the air like perfume—recognized only by the one who wore it with you.

So you sit beside him. You answer their questions. You laugh when it’s expected.

But every time your eyes meet hers, you remember:

she smiled at me, unwavering. I know exactly who she is.

And she knows exactly who you are, too.

What happens when the most powerful connection in the room is the one no one’s supposed to see?

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