1 During the World Cup Final night, I went into the kitchen to grab some snacks and drinks. When I returned, Beckett and Brooke were already sitting side by side in the center of the sofa. The television screen was playing a slow-motion replay of a goal. Their faces were flushed with excitement as they clung to each other, laughing and cheering in celebration. I stood behind the sofa, holding the tray, suddenly feeling like an absolute intruder in my own home. Back in our school days, Beckett and Brooke were the legendary golden duo of the varsity soccer team. After graduation, they both went into aviation, one becoming a captain and the other a flight attendant. Everyone in our social circle envied them as the industry’s perfect couple. I had spent months trying to memorize the complex rules of the sport just to have something to talk about with them. But when I finally gathered the courage to join their conversation, Beckett had simply smiled, patted my head, and dismissed my efforts. “You don’t need to stress over these details, Serena. Just enjoy the game and celebrate when we win.” Then, he had turned right back to Brooke, diving deep into a passionate discussion about tactical shifts and player positioning. Watching the two of them now, completely lost in their self-proclaimed soul connection, an overwhelming exhaustion settled deep in my bones. On the screen, a player fell to the turf and struggled to get back up. I felt a painful wave of empathy. I suppose when you are injured enough times, it is finally time to walk off the field. … By the time the match ended, they were still eagerly dissecting the performance. “What a missed opportunity! That shot absolutely should have gone in!” Brooke slapped the armrest, her entire body leaning heavily into Beckett’s side. Beckett caught her naturally, pulling up a replay on his phone to show her. “Look at this run. If she had started her sprint just two seconds earlier…” “Exactly! Just a split second too slow. You really have an eye for this, Beckett.” They shared a knowing, intimate smile, completely oblivious to how inappropriate their posture had become. Today was my birthday. I had explicitly asked him, begged him even, not to ignore me for the game tonight. I had asked him not to leave me sitting on the sidelines. And Beckett had promised. Yet, throughout the entire match, they laughed and joked, and neither of them had uttered a single word of congratulations to me. Just as I was about to speak, the apartment plunged into darkness. A power outage? I fumbled around in the dark until I found a candle and lit it. In the dim, flickering glow, Brooke immediately clung to Beckett, trembling. “Why did the lights go out? You know I hate the dark.” “You little coward. Still afraid of the dark? You should learn from my Serena. She’s the brave one.” Beckett spoke of my bravery, yet his hands were busy rubbing Brooke’s back, whispering soft reassurances to soothe her fear. But was I really brave? In middle school, I had been accidentally locked in a dark equipment shed for hours. For years afterward, I couldn’t sleep without a lamp on. Beckett knew this. He had once cared enough to place small nightlights along the hallway from our bedroom to the bathroom. He had even lined the stairwell with adhesive strip lights so I would never have to face the dark alone. But whenever Brooke was in the picture, all his care and affection shifted entirely to her. When the lights went out, my legs were shaking so hard I could barely stand. I had instinctively whispered his name, but he still chose to comfort Brooke first. Suddenly, Brooke gasped in mock surprise. “Serena! It’s your birthday!” She looked at her phone. “It’s past midnight already. Why didn’t you ask Beckett to help you blow out your candles?” Had I not asked? I cleared my throat, which felt dry and painful from the hours of silence, and remained quiet. Seeing my reaction, Beckett frowned. “What is with that miserable face? I promised I would spend your birthday with you, and here I am, sitting in this living room, aren’t I?” He turned his gaze to Brooke. “You know, birthday wishes are the most powerful. Didn’t you say yesterday that you wanted that designer necklace, Brooke? Go ahead and blow out the candle for your wish.” I quietly pulled out my phone and paid the outstanding electric bill online. The lights flickered back on. Brooke walked over to the table with a sweet smile. “Serena is always the nicest to me, even letting me blow out her birthday candles.” “Beckett, you really need to learn from her. You’ll never understand how thoughtful girls can be.” A sudden draft swept through the room. Before Brooke could even reach the table, the candle flickered and went out on its own. This year marked my tenth year with Beckett. It was also the tenth time I had intended to wish for a long, happy marriage with him. I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Even the universe seemed to agree that this wish was never going to come true. Beckett’s expression darkened. “Serena, we just watched a soccer match at home. Do you really have to be this cold toward Brooke?” Brooke. Serena. I repeated the names in my mind, noting the difference in his tone, and chose to say nothing. Sensing the mounting tension, Brooke quickly stepped in, linking her arm through mine. She glared playfully at Beckett. “What are you saying, Beckett? How dare you speak to my Serena like that? She’s always so good to me. She didn’t mean anything by it.” She raised her glass high. “Let me propose a toast. Happy birthday, Serena!” Beckett’s scowl softened into a smile as he looked at her. “Alright, my little princess, my mistake. Let me drink this to make it up to you.” He drained his glass in one gulp. I watched him apologize so easily just because Brooke had prompted him to. In all our years together, he never cared to understand why I was truly upset. But the moment Brooke offered a casual mediation, he listened without question. Wishing to ignore the heavy weight in my chest, I picked up the knife to cut the cake. Suddenly, Brooke let out a soft groan, clutching her stomach. Beckett was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong?” “It’s nothing. Just my period, and I think that iced water I drank earlier made the cramps worse.” Beckett snapped his head toward me, his eyes cold and accusing. “Serena, did you do this on purpose? Don’t you know girls shouldn’t have iced drinks during their cycle?” I stared at him. So he did know that. Yet, during a company gathering last summer when my cramps were so severe I could barely stand, I had begged him for a cup of warm water. He had only snapped at me impatiently. “You’re an adult, Serena. Where am I supposed to find hot water in the middle of summer? Other women deal with their periods just fine. Why do you always have to be so difficult?” The memory rushed back, flooding my chest with a familiar, suffocating ache. I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but my mind suddenly drifted back to the boy he used to be. The boy who had reached out to grab my hand when I was down. “Can you stand up? Don’t worry about what they think. From now on, I’ve got your back, Serena. If anyone laughs at you again, I’ll take care of them.” It had taken me three long years to transition from an insecure, overweight girl to the girlfriend of the school’s most popular guy. To be worthy of him, I had lost over sixty pounds and studied day and night, defying everyone’s expectations to get into the same university. Only I knew how much pain and effort that journey had cost me. But the Beckett I loved, the Beckett who once cherished me, when did he turn into this stranger? Seeing me stand frozen with tears welling in my eyes, the coldness on Beckett’s face vanished. He stepped forward, looking flustered as he reached out to wipe my tears. “Alright, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. You’re still such a child, crying the moment someone says something to you.” I gently pushed his hand away, my voice carrying a quiet, heavy finality. “I won’t cry anymore.” Beckett assumed the matter was resolved, just like it always was. For the past five years, my own insecurities had made me hide my anger, always terrified that he would actually leave me. But I was done holding it in. “Beckett, let’s break—” Before I could finish the sentence, Beckett was already lifting Brooke into his arms. “Serena, my stomach is absolutely killing me,” Brooke whimpered, looking over Beckett’s shoulder. “Since he spent the evening celebrating your birthday, do you mind if I borrow your man to drive me to the clinic?” Only then did Beckett seem to remember my existence. He glanced back at the untouched cake on the table. “Happy birthday, Serena. I have to get Brooke to the hospital for a checkup. I won’t be back tonight.” After they left, I took a small bite of the cake. It was from the most highly recommended bakery in the city, but it didn’t taste sweet at all. But his absence was a relief. It gave me the quiet I needed to book my ticket out of here. Once the apartment was completely silent, I opened my phone and sent a message to my chief flight attendant. “Ma’am, I would like to submit my resignation.” The reply came back almost instantly, filled with surprise. “Are you sure, Serena? Weren’t you waiting for the airline’s special sky wedding package with Beckett? Your turn on the registry is coming up very soon.” The sky wedding. It was the dream that had kept me in this industry. Beckett had promised me years ago that the moment he became a captain, we would have our wedding in the clouds. But on the day of his promotion, the only recognition I received was a group photo he posted on social media. It featured him, Brooke, and me, with him leaning noticeably closer to Brooke. And just today, a video had gone viral on the local news showing a Seattle couple pulling off a breathtaking sky wedding. The couple in the video was Beckett and Brooke. He had already given her the dream he promised me. I let out a breathless, hollow laugh. “No need,” I typed back. “There was a change of plans. We won’t be needing the reservation anymore.” Beckett was gone for three days. During that time, he sent only two messages. The first was a complaint: “This is all because of that iced water you served. Brooke ended up with acute gastroenteritis.” The second was a brief notification: “She needs to stay in the hospital for a few more days. I’ve taken a week off to care for her. I won’t be coming home.” I didn’t reply to either of them. The next day, I went into the airline headquarters to finalize my transition paperwork. In the breakroom, a few colleagues were huddled together, whispering excitedly. “Did you hear? Captain Beckett and Brooke finally made it official.” “Honestly, it’s not like it was a secret. Everyone in the company knew they were the ultimate dream team. Have you seen Brooke’s latest post? Beckett looks so whipped cooking for her.” I stepped closer and glanced at the screen. The image showed Brooke flashing a peace sign close to the camera, while in the background, Beckett stood in an apron, preparing a elaborate meal. Her caption read: Having someone who remembers every single ingredient you dislike is enough for a lifetime. I hadn’t seen this post on my own feed. She had blocked me from viewing it. An elaborate home-cooked meal. In all our years together, Beckett had never lifted a finger in the kitchen, always insisting that he only loved the food I prepared. The few times he did cook, it was nothing more than a bowl of plain instant noodles with an egg. He would often throw in a handful of cilantro, which I absolutely despised, but I had always forced myself to eat it without complaining, just to keep him happy. Looking at the photo now, seeing how carefully he had prepared her favorite dishes, I realized he hadn’t forgotten my preferences. He was simply too accustomed to catering to Brooke’s. “Serena,” a young intern whispered, stepping up beside me. “Isn’t Beckett your boyfriend? Why is everyone calling Brooke his perfect match?” Before I could answer, an older flight attendant nudged her. “You’re way behind on the gossip. Serena and Beckett are just distant cousins.” I froze. I remembered the time Beckett had introduced me to his colleagues as his cousin. When I had confronted him, demanding to know why we couldn’t just tell people the truth, he had wrapped his arms around me and sighed. “The company has strict policies about workplace relationships, Serena. If word gets out, it will hurt my chances of promotion. Please, just try to understand.” And so, I understood. I understood for three long years. The first year, he said, “We just started, let’s keep things professional.” The second year, he said, “I’m up for captain, we need to avoid any rumors.” The third year, he pleaded, “Just do this for me, please?” He was always avoiding rumors, yet those rules never seemed to apply to Brooke. The entire airline knew them as the golden duo. They sat together in the cafeteria, and Brooke always took the seat next to him on the crew shuttle. No one ever asked about me. Compared to Brooke’s striking, polished beauty, my plain appearance made me entirely invisible. To everyone else, I was just “his cousin, Serena,” or “a childhood neighbor.” Ten years. We had known each other for a decade, and had been together for seven years, yet I had never once been granted a proper place in his life. After completing my resignation process, I returned to the apartment to pack. Beckett had called earlier to let me know Brooke was being discharged, and that he would be returning tomorrow. I pulled out my suitcase, only to realize how little of my presence actually existed in this apartment. Because Brooke visited so frequently, more than half of the closet was filled with her spare clothes. While other couples shared jewelry and keepsakes, the only piece of gold I owned was a small, hollow pendant. Yet, for Brooke’s birthday last month, Beckett had spent his entire monthly bonus to buy her a solid gold bracelet, complaining to me afterward, “She’s your best friend too. Why are you making me feel guilty about buying her a nice gift?” When I finished packing, my things didn’t even fill a single carry-on suitcase. As I sat on the floor, staring blankly at the small bag, my phone rang. The panicked voice of our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, came through the line. “Serena! Your father was in a terrible car accident! He’s in the emergency room at General Hospital, and they are desperately low on RH-negative blood! You need to get here right away!” My mind went completely blank. RH-negative is an extremely rare blood type. My father possessed it, but I had inherited my mother’s common blood type. In a panic, I remembered that Beckett shared my father’s rare blood type. I dialed his number immediately. “Beckett, my dad was in a bad accident. He needs a blood transfusion right now, and your blood type matches. Can you please come to the hospital?” Without waiting for me to finish, Beckett cut in. “Don’t panic, Serena. I’ll be right there.” I rushed to the hospital. But after twenty minutes of waiting, the nurse came out for the third time asking for a donor, and Beckett was still nowhere to be seen. My chest tightened with dread. I called him again. “Where are you? The doctors are asking for the blood.” “I’m almost there. Brooke’s dog suddenly collapsed, and it looks really bad. I’m helping her take it to the veterinary clinic, and then I’ll head straight to you. Just hold on.” “What?” I gasped, unable to believe what I was hearing. “It will only take twenty minutes. She’s hysterical right now. Just tell your dad to hang in there for a little bit, I’m almost—” “Beckett, you—” The line went dead before I could finish. When I tried to call back, he declined the call. The operating room doors swung open, and the nurse’s voice was sharp with urgency. “Have you found a donor yet? Your father’s blood pressure is dropping rapidly. If we don’t get the blood soon…” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, my heart hammering against my ribs. What was I supposed to do? Just as despair began to consume me, a face flashed in my mind. Nolan, our high school class president. During our school physicals, everyone had joked about how rare his blood type was. With trembling hands, I sent him a desperate message, though I felt a pang of guilt. Years ago, I had flatly rejected his feelings to be with Beckett. Why would he help me now? But ten minutes later, Nolan appeared at the end of the hallway, looking disheveled and completely out of breath. “Don’t cry,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “Take my blood. Everything is going to be okay.” After a tense few hours, the red light above the operating room finally switched off. “We got the blood in just in time,” the doctor said, smiling tiredly. “A few minutes later, and we would have lost him.” Nolan sat on a bench nearby, his face pale from the significant blood loss. I turned to thank him, but the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. “Serena! How is your dad?” Beckett walked up, looking slightly breathless. I looked at him, my expression entirely blank. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uneasy. “The dog was in really bad shape, Serena. You know how Brooke is. She almost threw herself from her balcony when her last pet passed away. I couldn’t just leave her like that.” “Beckett.” I interrupted him. He blinked. “What?” “Let’s break up.”
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