Chapter 1 When my buddy got married, I gave him five thousand dollars as a wedding gift. My girlfriend, Claire, scoffed. “You barely make that in a month. Why are you playing the big shot?” I explained that he was my childhood best friend, a brother to me. She just clicked her tongue and didn’t say another word. That night, she secretly swapped the five thousand dollars in the envelope for five bucks. The next day, my buddy, Mark, called me. “Evan, did you make a mistake with the envelope? Why is there only five dollars in here?” I gripped my phone, listening to Claire lounging in the living room, casually explaining: “Money doesn’t equal friendship. It’s the thought that counts.” A week later, her childhood best friend, Julian, got engaged. A fleet of drones lit up the night sky, spelling out “Forever and Always” amidst a shower of thousands of rose petals. Down below, he was gifted a five-hundred-thousand-dollar watch, standing in the middle of a massive, fully rented-out grand ballroom. Claire stood next to me, gazing up at the spectacular show, her voice soft and tender: “It’s nothing, really. The whole thing cost barely a million.” “When a brother gets engaged, you have to do it right.” As the sky rained cascading lights, she and Julian stared at each other across the crowded room for a long time, as if no one else existed. In that moment, the last shred of self-deception in my heart finally shattered. … The drones rearranged themselves in the sky, spelling out “Julian, Wishing You Happiness.” The words glared blindingly bright against the night sky. Around me, people gasped in awe. “Half a million just on the watch! Claire doesn’t play around…” “Julian is so lucky. I heard they flew in a specialized drone team all the way from Europe just for this…” I tilted my head back. My neck ached, and my eyes stung. Flashing through my mind on a loop was Mark’s confused, hurt voice asking about the five dollars, and Claire’s absolute indifference, not even bothering to look up from her phone. Five dollars for my brother. One million dollars for hers. Back then, without even looking at me, she tied her silk scarf and said: “Money doesn’t equal friendship. Why do you have to use cash to prove something?” Now, she stood here, throwing a million-dollar spectacle just to prove to the entire world exactly how much she valued another man. “Evan?” A clear, bright voice called out from beside me. I turned my head. Julian had walked over at some point. He was decked out in a matching set of a luxury watch, cufflinks, and a tie clip. The ballroom lights caught the diamonds, making my eyes sting even more. “How do they look?” He tilted his head slightly. “Claire flew all the way to Switzerland to custom order these for me. She said for an engagement, you absolutely must have a complete set to show how much you care.” I recognized the brand. Even the cheapest set in their catalog cost seven figures. For my twenty-fifth birthday, she gave me a two-hundred-dollar belt. It didn’t even come with a brand authenticity card in the box. I heard myself let out a dry laugh. “She’s very thoughtful.” One of their friends, clearly a few drinks in, stumbled over with a grin. “Claire, look at the treatment Julian is getting! The custom Swiss set, the private drone show… you really know how to take care of a brother.” He turned to me, his words slightly slurred: “So, Evan, when are you gonna pop the question to Claire? I bet she’d go even crazier for your wedding!” Every eye in the vicinity turned to me. Claire didn’t say a word. She just stood there, swirling her champagne glass, watching me with a half-smile. It was that familiar, calculating gaze. She was probably waiting for me to show grievance, jealousy, or whatever pathetic emotion she was anticipating. After a long pause, I just smiled calmly. “We’ll see.” The truth was, I had been waiting for Claire for a long time. In the fall of our sophomore year of college, she kissed me outside my dorm and promised she would marry me the very first autumn after we graduated. But she broke that promise, year after year. Claire’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Her gaze shifted from my face and landed on Julian’s dazzling custom accessories. “My wedding will naturally be the most spectacular event of the year. As for your fiancée, Julian…” “She can’t even afford to buy you a proper engagement gift. What kind of trash are you marrying?” Julian stared at her, the end of his sentence tilting up playfully. “Claire, the girl I’m marrying is so broke she can’t even put together a decent dowry. But look at you… you spent an entire month planning my engagement party. The drones, the watch, the yacht, flying to Switzerland for my accessories…” “Those who know us say it’s just friendship. Those who don’t might think you’re the one getting engaged today, Claire.” “If you really can’t bear to see me go…” “Why don’t you try crashing the wedding today?” The group of friends erupted in laughter. “Careful, Julian! Don’t challenge Claire, she might actually do it!” “Yeah, yeah! Once Claire gets an idea in her head, there’s nothing she won’t do!” Everyone was waiting for Claire to respond, to see if she would laugh in defeat or deliberately throw back a flirtatious joke. Not a single person remembered that I was Claire’s boyfriend, standing right next to her. I set my glass down on a passing tray. Then, I turned around, walked through the room filled with laughter and flashing lights, and headed straight for the grand ballroom doors. If there was no room for me in their world, I would just show myself out. By the time Claire caught up to me, I was already at the entrance to the parking garage. She grabbed my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. “Evan! What the hell is your problem?” Her voice was low and laced with irritation. “This is Julian’s engagement party, and you just walk out in front of everyone?! Where are you putting his pride?!” I looked up at her. The neon lights from the street illuminated her from behind. That face I had loved for eight years was now twisted in an annoyed scowl, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Claire. In all these years, what is the most expensive thing you’ve ever bought me?” She froze. “That belt. Two hundred dollars. You bought it on a whim at the mall on my birthday. You told me then that ‘it’s the thought that counts, there’s no need to be flashy.’” “But Julian’s tie clip? You flew to Europe specifically for it. His watch, his cufflinks, his tie clip—how much did that cost?” My voice was dead calm. “And the drone show tonight, the yacht, his half-million-dollar watch. Claire, explain to me right now… what exactly does ‘the thought that counts’ mean?” Claire’s frown deepened. “Why are you comparing yourself to Julian? He’s my brother…” “Brother.” I let out a sharp laugh. “You buy your brother a half-million-dollar drone show, but you forced me to give my brother a five-dollar wedding gift.” The color drained from her face. “Evan, stop being unreasonable. I already explained your friend’s wedding gift to you—” “What did you explain?” I cut her off. “Every single word you said was just an excuse to justify your own actions.” She was silent for a few seconds, her expression darkening completely. Finally, she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a sleek black credit card, and threw it at my face. The edge of the card clipped my cheekbone. It stung sharply. “You’re mad because it wasn’t enough money, right?” Her voice turned ice-cold. “Take this card. Go pay your friend back. Buy whatever the hell else you want. Is that enough? If not, I have plenty more.” I looked down at the credit card lying on the concrete and found it utterly hilarious. Even now, she still thought this was about money. Eight years. And she had never, not once, understood my actual pain. Her phone rang right at that moment. Claire glanced at the screen, her frown relaxing slightly as she answered: “Julian? I’m coming back right now… you guys keep drinking… just ignore him…” She hung up, already taking two steps back toward the venue, before pausing and glancing over her shoulder. “Take some time to cool off. Stop throwing a tantrum out here.” Her footsteps faded away. I crouched down and picked up the credit card. I flipped it over. Written on the back in permanent marker were two words: “Julian’s Fund.” It turned out that even the scraps I had to fight tooth and nail for had already belonged to him all along. I clenched the card in my hand, my fingernails digging into my palm, a dull ache spreading through me. Then, I tossed it into the trash can next to me. When I got home, my phone buzzed. It was a screenshot from Julian. I tapped it open. The timestamps were from the day of my friend Mark’s wedding. [Hahaha I’m dead, swapping five thousand for five dollars? Claire, you are ruthless.] [A bet is a bet.] [Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out?] [If he finds out, he finds out. I’ll just pay him back. But… don’t tell him it was your idea, I don’t want him getting mad at you.] I stared at those lines of text for a long, long time. My lips twitched, trying to form a smile, but I couldn’t. So the five dollars was because of a bet with him. So she “didn’t want him getting mad at you,” which is why she didn’t even bother giving me a real explanation. She would rather let me think she was a cold, heartless monster than let him take a single ounce of blame. I casually tapped into Julian’s social media feed. His newest post was a photo carousel. The center photo was a close-up of him and Claire clinking champagne glasses. The caption read: [Fake engagement party, hired actors to play the fiancée’s family. We bet on whether someone would have the guts to crash the wedding. They didn’t. But after she found out it was fake, she got completely wasted. Not sure what she’s so happy about.] Someone commented below: [Julian, you’re playing a dangerous game. Aren’t you afraid the fake wedding will become real?] He replied with a tongue-out emoji: [I just wanted to see if she would actually crash the wedding. The result? Eh, she passed.] I dropped my phone face-down on the sofa. I stood up and walked to the bedroom, ready to pack my bags. When I pulled open the drawer of the nightstand, sitting right on top was a property deed and a stack of interior design blueprints. Every style, every color was customized perfectly to her taste. I had booked a restaurant, bought a cake, and slipped the blueprints into the gift box, waiting to see the look on her face when she opened it. Would she smile? Would she freeze in shock? Would she hug me? Digging underneath the blueprints, I found a crumpled ultrasound printout. She was pregnant. I pinched the piece of paper, the edges already worn soft from me folding and unfolding it over and over again. The house and the baby. Was this enough of a reason to give her one more chance? Late that night, Claire stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. She clumsily pushed open the bedroom door, saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, and walked over, dropping to one knee in front of me and resting her forehead against my knees. “Evan,” she slurred. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have yelled at you today.” Her hand covered mine. Her palm was burning hot. “Please don’t be mad at me anymore, okay? Tomorrow is our anniversary. I’ll take you to that restaurant you’ve been wanting to go to. We’ll celebrate, just the two of us.” I looked down at the messy crown of her hair. Then, I pulled the blueprints and the ultrasound from the drawer and held them out in front of her. “Claire. I bought that house. The one you said you wanted. I had it designed exactly the way you described.” “And this—” I gently placed the ultrasound on top. Her eyes landed on the paper, and her pupils constricted. “You went through my things?” Her voice instantly turned freezing cold. “It’s been two months. Why didn’t you tell me?” She stared at the ultrasound for a few seconds, then looked up at me, a mocking sneer curving her lips. “Evan, what are you trying to pull here? Forcing me to marry you? You’re using a fetus and a house to blackmail me?” “Blackmail you? I’ve been preparing this house for almost two years. I just found out about this baby—” “Enough.” She cut me off, snatched the ultrasound, and ripped it cleanly in half with a loud RIIIIP. The pieces drifted onto the bedsheets. Then, she grabbed the blueprints and tore them to shreds as well. “I’m getting an abortion,” she said. “What did you just say?” “I said I’m getting an abortion.” She rubbed her temples, her tone growing intensely irritated. “Evan, wake up. Can you stop being so desperate to get married? Using a house and a baby to trap me? I didn’t think you’d stoop this low.” In that split second, as my eyes burned red, I suddenly remembered the college track field. She had grabbed my hands and said, “Evan, let’s get married the second we graduate. I’m terrified you’ll run away.” Now, coming from the exact same person, just eight years later, it was called being “desperate to get married.” She probably realized she had crossed a line. Her tone softened slightly, and she reached out, pulling me into a hug. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. I’ll spend the whole day with you. I already had my assistant book the restaurant and order flowers. I’ll think about the house and the baby, okay? We can talk about marriage later. Just… slowly.” I let her hold me. Her chin rested on the top of my head. Her breathing gradually leveled out, the smell of alcohol wafting up. A few minutes later, she went completely still. She had fallen asleep. I gently pulled myself out of her embrace. I stood up, carefully picking up the shredded pieces of the ultrasound from the bed, one by one, holding them in my palm. Then, I opened my suitcase and began packing my clothes. There was no tomorrow for us. And there was no “later” for a wedding. The next morning, I went to the real estate office alone to process the cancellation of the house purchase. My phone screen lit up. A message from Claire: [Let’s do the anniversary another day. Julian finally managed to score tickets to that concert he’s been dying to see, I have to go with him. You have plenty of free time anyway.] You have plenty of free time anyway… Those casually dismissive words made it clear. In her eyes, the eight years of me waiting and accommodating her were nothing more than me having nothing better to do. Right after that came a message from Julian: [Forgot to tell you, Claire and I were actually together way before you came along. Before you even knew her, we were a thing. She just said she wanted to try something new, so I let you borrow her for a few years.] [Also, just a heads-up. Those ‘vitamins’ Claire has been giving you all these years? I picked those out for her. They’re pills designed to slowly destroy male fertility. You’ve been taking them for so long, you’re probably completely sterile by now. There is zero chance she’s keeping that baby. But don’t be sad. She never intended to have your kid in the first place. You can’t lose what was never yours, right?] There was a video attached. I tapped it open. The camera shook slightly. Julian’s voice was thick with tears: “Claire… the doctor said I might never be able to have kids.” From off-camera, Claire’s voice sounded muffled but tender: “Don’t cry. I’m right here.” “Are you going to leave me because of this?” “No. Don’t overthink it. I promise, I will never have anyone else’s child.” The video ended. I stared at the black screen, my fingertips ice cold. Eight years. I thought she was being thoughtful and caring. Every time she handed me a glass of warm water and my daily “vitamins,” she was ensuring I would never be a permanent fixture in her life. And the most pathetic part? I had actually hesitated, wondering if I should give her another chance because of the baby. Julian sent another file. I opened it. It was a folder containing over nine thousand photos. Every single one was of him and Claire. They had trekked through deserts, scuba-dived in the deep sea, hugged under sunsets, and kissed on the rim of a volcano. It looked like they had lived out every grand, passionate romance in the world. In my eight years with Claire, I could count the number of photos we had taken together on one hand. She always said she hated taking pictures. She said being in front of a camera made her wildly uncomfortable. It turned out that excuse just didn’t apply to him. Tears hit the screen, one after another, blurring their smiling faces into distorted puddles of water. I turned off my phone and shoved it into my bag. Sitting at the signing desk in the real estate office, the fluorescent lights overhead were blindingly bright. The agent said softly, “Mr. Davis, if you are confirming the cancellation of the purchase, please sign here.” I took the pen. I remembered her dragging me through the cherry blossoms eight years ago, panting as she promised to “hold my hand forever.” I remembered the tips of her ears turning red the first time she kissed me. I remembered her saying, “The first autumn after we graduate, I’ll marry you.” Those memories bled together like old photographs left in the rain—blurring, fading, washing away. Until there was nothing left but a blank void. When the pen tip touched the paper, my hand trembled slightly. I finished signing, then slowly walked across the real estate office lobby. I leaned heavily against the wall, a dull, aching weight crushing my chest. As I passed the waiting area, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my phone light up. Julian had sent another video three hours ago. I tapped it open. It was from the concert. The jumbotron had just cut to the audience. Julian turned his head and kissed the corner of Claire’s mouth. The entire arena screamed. From off-camera, his voice carried a triumphant laugh: “We’ve known each other for over twenty years. What’s mine will always be mine. She can’t run away.” I turned off the screen and kept walking. As I rounded the corner, I nearly collided head-on with two people. Claire was supporting Julian’s arm, whispering something to him, a folder of documents in her other hand. She looked up, saw me, and froze. “Evan? What are you doing here—” Julian seamlessly interjected: “Claire came with me to look at properties. She said she wanted to buy me a house. Didn’t expect to run into you. What a coincidence.” I stopped walking. The harsh white lights of the hallway glared down on us. I looked at her, and I smiled. “I came to take care of that house you didn’t want—” “I canceled the purchase.” “Claire, we’re done.”
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