Swipe Left on Mr. Darcy — Ghosted, Page 16
By Suha · Published
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Transcript
Late at night in Jane's dim, lamp-lit bedroom, the sisters sit close on the bed, hands clasped, and Jane finally lets the mask drop. Jane: 'Okay. It hurts. It really hurts.' Lizzie, fierce and tender, squeezing her hand: 'You're not crazy. It was real. He didn't leave because of you.' The two lean their foreheads close. Jane, quietly: 'Then why does it feel like my fault?'
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Late at night, Jane finally admits to Lizzie that it hurts; Lizzie holds her hand and insists it was real and not her fault, and Jane asks why it still feels like her fault.
About this chapter
The glow of the party lasts exactly as long as it takes for Bingley to vanish. Jane waits — a day, three days, a week — for a text that never comes, until Caroline sends one instead: a long, cool, immaculately polite message explaining that Charles has gone back to the city for the foreseeable future, that he's been so busy, that they all think he's better off focusing on himself right now. Jane, being Jane, reads it as kindness and blames only herself; Lizzie reads it as an execution. She can't prove anything, but she can count: Darcy watched her family embarrass themselves at that party, wore that cool little verdict on his face all night, and days later the best thing that ever happened to her sister evaporated. Over coffee, her pragmatic best friend Charlotte Lucas refuses to let her convict a man on a feeling — 'you don't KNOW he did it' — and lays out her own unromantic gospel about how these things really work: that maybe Jane should have shown her hand sooner, that comfort and security outlast butterflies, that wanting less gets hurt less. It doesn't land. Between Mrs. Bennet's operatic grief over the lost fortune, her father's dry cruelty, and one raw, honest midnight conversation where Jane finally admits it hurts, Lizzie's suspicion hardens into conviction. By the last page the two charges against Mr. Darcy — what he did to George, what she's certain he did to Jane — have fused into a single cold certainty, and she is done giving him the benefit of the doubt.