Seeing my ex at a party was awkward, but nothing compared to the shock of waking up in the middle of a completely destroyed house. What had happened during those lost hours? The chaos would uncover an even more surprising truth.
My name is Brady, and my relationship with my ex-girlfriend, Betty, could easily be the plot of a movie — and not one of those cute romantic ones. It started as a fairy tale but crumbled as quickly as a house of cards. It all began years ago in Paris, at a mutual friend’s wedding. She was charming, witty, and our friends soon started calling us “B&B,” the perfect couple. We fell in love fast and hard. But as they say, the initial passion sometimes hides real problems. When we decided to move in together, everything fell apart.

Fights. Resentment. Silence.
What had once been intense love turned into bitter hatred. Eventually, we broke up so badly that we avoided any social events just to make sure we wouldn’t run into each other.
When Josh, my best friend, invited me to his birthday party, I went straight to the point:
— “Is Betty going to be there? Because if she is, I’m not coming.”
Josh laughed, waving his hand dismissively.
— “Relax, Brady. I didn’t invite her. Promise!”
With that assurance, I accepted the invitation. Josh deserved it. The guy had just beaten cancer and was celebrating life. I couldn’t miss it.
That night, I arrived feeling a little relieved. But that relief didn’t last long. As soon as I walked through the door, there she was — Betty. Smiling, chatting with a group of friends, as if nothing had ever happened between us. Our eyes met, and her smile vanished. At that moment, I knew something was about to go very, very wrong.
Josh, the hopeless optimist, walked over with two beers:
— “B&B! I’m so happy to see you both here. Come on, talk it out like adults, okay?”
I stared at him, incredulous. Betty, on the other hand, grabbed a bottle of wine and shouted loud enough for everyone to hear:
— “Talk? To him? No way. Someone take this bottle away before I smash it over his head!”
The party quickly turned into a ticking time bomb. While Josh tried to keep us apart, the tension was unbearable. Betty and I kept throwing daggers at each other with our eyes. I drank to ignore her, and she… well, she drank to provoke me. At some point in the night, I lost track of time. Everything turned blurry — drinks, loud music, shouting, and laughter. Darkness.
The next morning, I woke up on Josh’s couch with a crushing headache and an awful taste in my mouth. When I opened my eyes and saw the state of the house, I nearly panicked. The place was destroyed.
Broken plates covered the floor, empty bottles were scattered everywhere, ripped cushions lay on the ground, and the coffee table was flipped upside down. It looked like a tornado had blown through the living room.
I sat up, rubbing my head, trying to remember. That’s when Betty walked in, just as disoriented as I was.
— “What the hell happened here?” she asked, wide-eyed as she took in the chaos around us.
Before I could answer, my phone rang. It was Josh, and he was furious.
— “You two idiots! You wrecked my house last night! You got drunk, fought, and knocked everything over. My landlord is threatening me. You’d better clean it all up before he gets here!”
Betty and I exchanged the same look: “We’re screwed.”
With no choice, we started cleaning up the massive mess. Betty grabbed a rag and began scrubbing the table while I swept up shards of glass. The silence between us was deafening, but it didn’t take long before the blame game started:
— “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t grabbed that bottle of wine and lost it, none of this would’ve happened,” I said, frustrated.
She stopped what she was doing and glared at me.
— “My fault? You shouldn’t have even been here! Everything was fine before you showed up.”
And so it went — arguing while cleaning. But as the hours passed, something changed. Between the bickering, we started laughing at how absurd the whole situation was. Memories of the past began to resurface, and the weight of the anger we’d been holding onto seemed to melt away.
— “Remember that time we burned dinner and ended up ordering pizza on our romantic night?” she asked, laughing as she picked up a broken plate.
I smiled, nodding.
— “And the time the neighbor’s dog ate our food, and you nearly adopted him? I missed this, you know?”
She looked at me, and this time there was no anger. It was different.
— “I missed you too, Brady.”
When we finished cleaning, the house looked spotless. Josh returned, surveyed the room, and smirked mischievously:
— “I knew you two just needed a little push.”
Betty and I exchanged a glance. For the first time in a long time, there was peace between us. Maybe we weren’t the same people anymore, but perhaps there was still a chance to rebuild what we had lost. As we left the house, she gently touched my hand.
— “Can we try being friends first?” she asked softly.
I smiled. Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of a new chapter.
Moral of the story: Sometimes, a storm is necessary to clear the past and allow for a new beginning.