Chapter 3

My phone buzzed. It was a text from my mom.

[Chloe, happy birthday, sweetie! How is your day going? Did Ethan give you a big surprise?]

Five years ago, when we first started dating, twenty-year-old Ethan had promised my mother that he would propose to me before my twenty-fifth birthday.

Today was my twenty-fifth birthday. But there were no flowers, no ring. Only a complete, humiliating betrayal.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I typed and erased, typed and erased. In the end, I only sent a few words:

[Mom, I don't want to get married anymore. I want to come home.]

During the Uber ride back from the park, I stared out the window at the passing city lights. I wondered how I would explain this to my mom if she asked.

Should I tell her about his left ear that could never hear my voice? Or about how he held my best friend in his arms?

Should I tell her about their perfect chemistry in the couples' game, or the kiss under the fireworks?

Finally, my mom replied with two simple sentences:

[Chloe, whatever you decide, I support you.]

[I clean your room every single day. You are always welcome home, my baby girl.]

The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over. I covered my face with both hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

I returned to the apartment Ethan and I had shared for the past year.

This was supposed to be our future home, but the curtains were a depressing, dark black—a color I absolutely hated.

The floors were cold, grey tiles, not the warm hardwood I had begged for.

Even the art on the walls consisted of dark, abstract paintings that made me feel uneasy.

I had mentioned multiple times that the apartment felt too gloomy, asking if we could change the decor.

But Ethan never answered me. He didn’t even look up.

Maybe he didn’t hear me.

Or maybe he heard, but didn’t care.

Without turning on the lights, I sat in the dark and wrote a brief resignation letter to my boss. Then, I bought a one-way ticket back to my hometown, turned off my phone, and went to bed.

At 4:00 AM, the front door slammed open.

Ethan walked into the bedroom and immediately flipped on the overhead light.

The bright white light pierced my eyes like a blade.

"Chloe! Why did you just run off without saying anything? Do you have any idea how worried Maya and I were?"

I squinted against the light, my voice raspy. "Worried enough to stay out until dawn?"

Ethan choked on his words, his defensive tone wavering. "That’s... that’s because we were looking for you! Maya was crying her eyes out. I had to calm her down before I could come home."

I let out a bitter laugh, holding up my phone. "Is this how you calmed her down?"

On the screen was a Snapchat story someone had posted—Maya clinging to Ethan's back, whispering into his ear with a smug smile.

The bedroom fell dead silent.

Ethan cleared his throat, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. "Maya is petite, okay? The crowd was blocking her view of the fireworks, so I just gave her a piggyback. Are you seriously getting jealous of your own best friend?"

"Just" a piggyback?

I wanted to ask him: Was wrapping her in my jacket also "just" being nice? Was holding her on the coaster "just" a reflex? Was that kiss under the fireworks "just" a friendly gesture?

How many "friendly gestures" had they shared behind my back?

But in the end, I just turned over, facing the wall, and closed my eyes.

"Do whatever you want from now on."