Chapter 2

Stepping out of the restaurant, the cool night breeze hit my face.

It cleared my head instantly.

I hailed a cab, slid into the back seat, and my screen lit up.

Mia had posted a photo in our three-person group chat on SnapChat.

A close-up of Ethan posing with the cake.

Her caption: *Happy 6th Anniversary to a certain someone! Here’s to forever!*

Anyone looking at it would assume it was her six-year anniversary with Ethan.

Twenty minutes into the ride, I realized my cheeks were soaked with tears.

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "You okay, miss?"

"I’m fine."

My voice surprised me.

It was completely hoarse, like I had swallowed a handful of dry sand.

My phone chimed with messages from Mia in the group chat.

I ignored them.

Then came a private message from Ethan: [What’s taking you so long in the bathroom? Mia is waiting for you to cut the cake!]

I had taken my purse and coat when I left.

Yet seeing an empty chair, he just assumed I was in the restroom.

He didn't even realize I had already blocked his primary account.

I stared at the words "cut the cake" and felt like laughing.

A mango cake.

Cutting a mango cake for a girlfriend with a lethal mango allergy.

[Something came up. I left,] I texted back.

His reply came instantly: [What is it *this* time?]

*This time.*

Whenever I got upset, he would say, "Mad again?"

Whenever I went quiet, he would say, "Silent treatment again?"

Whenever I raised an issue, he would say, "Overthinking again?"

As if I had an argumentative personality and was constantly throwing childish tantrums.

I replied: [Nothing. Enjoy the cake. I'm allergic to mangoes.]

I closed the chat.

The three-person Snap group had piled up with over a dozen messages.

All from Mia.

Photos of the cake, the restaurant ambiance, selfies with Ethan.

The latest text read: [Chloe, why did you leave? Are you feeling sick?]

I didn't reply.

I scrolled up through the chat history.

Mia was the one who created this group, naming it "The Big Three."

Yet almost the entire history was conversations between the two of them.

She complained about work, and Ethan told her, "Don’t push yourself too hard."

She shared a selfie, and Ethan replied, "That dress looks nice on you."

She mentioned being hungry at midnight, and Ethan texted, "Ordered you DoorDash. Go grab it from your door."

I scrolled all the way to the top.

All the way back to three months ago, on my birthday.

Mia had asked in the group: [Today is Chloe’s birthday, Ethan, what did you get her?]

Ethan replied: [Forgot.]

Then Mia texted: [You’re dead meat. Fix it fast.]

He answered: [Help me think of something.]

Below that was Mia picking out my gift, booking my restaurant, and choosing my flowers.

My birthday had been a team-building exercise for the two of them.

And I, standing in the center, was merely an outsider crashing their party.

Neon lights flickered across my face through the taxi window.

I suddenly recalled something from last week.

Ethan’s mother had been hospitalized, and I went to deliver some homemade soup.

Outside the hospital room door, I heard Mia’s voice inside.

"Eleanor, try this soup I made for you."

"Mia, you are such a sweet girl," Ethan’s mom had sighed. "Far more thoughtful than Ethan."

"Oh, it was nothing. I was just passing by."

"Honestly, I really wish you were the one dating Ethan."

Laughter filtered through the door.

Ethan’s mother was laughing.

So was Mia.

I stood outside holding the thermal container.

I stood there for five minutes before leaving the container at the nurses' station and walking away.

When Ethan came home that night, he asked, "Why didn't you visit my mom?"

"I did."

"Then why didn't you come inside?"

"Mia was there."

He frowned. "So what if Mia was there? She was just being nice."

I didn't answer.

It was always like this.

He always thought Mia was just "being nice."

So why did her kindness have to push me out of my own life every single time?