At our high school graduation after-party, we played a round of “Never Have I Ever.” The rules were simple: the winner could make anyone in the room do whatever they wanted. I smiled, taking the initiative to strike first. “I’ve watched the stars with Chris at three in the morning.” “He’s written me a hundred love letters.” “He skipped his AP Calculus exam to sit with me in the ER when my appendix flared up.” “He has a secret contact name for me on his phone.” One by one, everyone in the circle folded their fingers. Except for Ivy, the biological daughter who had been brought back to the Devon family just a month ago. Her fingers remained perfectly straight. 1. She looked around the room, her voice soft and deliberate. “Chris texts me goodnight, every single night.” I folded one finger. “He never tutors anyone, but he spent the last three months helping me prep for the SATs.” Another finger down. “I’m his only pinned contact on Messages.” “His lock screen is my birthday.” She smiled, throwing the final blow. “And he’s the one who suggested this game tonight, because he knew I’d win.” I looked at Chris. He was sitting in the center of the plush leather booth, watching her with a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. In three years, he had never looked at me like that. Not once. I lost. Completely and utterly. But the strangest part was, it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. The booth fell dead silent. A dozen pairs of eyes shifted to me, heavy with pity and awkward amusement. Everyone in our graduating class knew I’d spent three years trailing behind Chris like a loyal shadow. To them, I was just the desperate, unrequited tagalong who couldn’t take a hint. Chris and I were childhood sweethearts. I had loved him for as long as I could remember. During our freshman year, we finally crossed the line. He kissed my forehead in the empty equipment shed behind the track field, smelling of cut grass and ozone. He told me, “I don’t want a relationship distracting us from our goals. At school, we should just be normal classmates.” I agreed. So, for three years, we became ghosts in each other’s public lives. I willingly played the role of the devoted, silent partner, convinced that if I was just patient enough, quiet enough, his brilliant, guarded heart would eventually belong to me entirely. It wasn’t until tonight that I realized it had all been a solitary delusion. Ivy won the game, her eyes sparkling as she turned to Chris. “Chris, will you drive me home tonight? I’m afraid of the dark.” Chris sat back, his long fingers casually spinning his lighter on the table. He didn’t even look in my direction as he grabbed his jacket. “Sure. Let’s go.” He agreed without a second thought. Someone in the corner, sensing the suffocating awkwardness, tried to clear the air. “Hey, Chris, what about Grace? She lives with you guys. Can’t she ride shotgun?” Chris paused, his hand on the door. He turned, his gaze finally landing on me. Those dark, deep eyes were entirely indifferent. “The car’s full. Just grab an Uber, Grace. You’ve always been the tough one anyway.” His tone was flat, like he was delegating a minor chore. Then, he opened the door for Ivy, guiding her out with a protective hand on her lower back. I sat there, staring at the closed door. This act of retreating, of being left behind, was something I had experienced dozens of times over the past month. Chris’s favoritism was loud and clear. I had confronted him about it once, my voice trembling with hurt. He had only frowned, looking down at me from his height. “You occupied her room, her life, for eighteen years, Grace. I’m just giving her what she missed out on. Why are you being so selfish?” With a single sentence, he had nailed me to a cross of guilt. I picked up my purse and slipped out of the venue. The humid summer breeze did nothing to cool my skin, but it cleared my head. The Uber pulled up to the gates of the Devon estate. I pushed open the front door to find the foyer dark. The kitchen island was cluttered with the greasy remains of a late-night takeout order—boxes from the high-end bistro downtown that Mr. and Mrs. Devon had shared with Ivy. No one had left a light on for me. No one had texted to ask if I’d made it home safely. I bypassed the mess and walked up to my small bedroom. Just as I shut the door, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Chris. “Ivy is asleep. Did you get back?” “The game was just to make her feel welcome. Don’t be petty.” “Make sure you lock in your Columbia enrollment tomorrow.” Looking at the glowing text on the screen, my heart didn’t even stutter. It was entirely still. I typed out a single word. “Okay.” I switched my phone to silent and flipped it face down on the desk. Lying in the dark, watching the shadows of the tree branches dance across the ceiling, tears finally slid hot and silent down my temples. “Chris, the promise of going to the same college… I can’t keep it anymore.” 2. The next morning, I sat at my desk and logged into the university admissions portal. My eyes fell on the first-choice box, where “Columbia University” was written in bold. Columbia. It was Chris’s dream, and for three years, it had been my cage. Chris was brilliant, always ranking first in our grade. To ensure I could stand beside him, I had nearly killed myself studying. I had stayed up until three in the morning memorizing formulas, anxious to the point of nosebleeds before every major exam. Whenever I felt like collapsing, Chris would just flip a page of his textbook and say indifferently, “I don’t do long-distance, Grace. You have to get in.” He never offered actual encouragement. He simply demanded that I keep up with his pace, and I, pathetically, took it as proof of his love. My phone buzzed on the wood desk. “I don’t have time to review your enrollment details today,” Chris’s text read. “Ivy wanted to go to the pier, so I’m taking her. Just commit to Columbia like we planned. Don’t mess it up.” His tone was so natural, as if he were a manager issuing directives to an assistant. I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened Instagram. At the top of my feed was Ivy’s post from five minutes ago. “Thank you to my favorite person for the perfect day at the pier!” The photo was a selfie on the Ferris wheel. In the corner of the frame, a masculine hand was holding out a waffle cone of ice cream. On that wrist was the designer watch I had saved up for a year to buy Chris for his birthday. At the time, he had barely glanced at it, offering a lukewarm, “It’s fine.” I scrolled past the photo without feeling a thing, leaving a polite like on the post. Then, I put down my phone and gripped the mouse. The cursor hovered over “Columbia University.” Without a shred of hesitation, I clicked “Decline.” As the screen cleared, a rush of memories flooded my mind—all the quiet humiliations of the last three years. I had stopped eating spicy food because he disliked it. I had ignored him in the school hallways to keep our secret. I took a deep breath and typed a different name into the search bar: “University of Miami.” It was two thousand miles away. Warm, coastal, and entirely devoid of both the Devons and Chris. The portal prompted: “Are you sure you want to commit to this university? Once submitted, this action cannot be undone.” I hit enter. “Enrollment Confirmed.” The green banner flashed on the screen, locking the page. I let out a long, shuddering breath. The heavy, suffocating weight that had pressed on my chest for three years seemed to dissolve into the morning air. Almost instantly, my screen lit up with another message from Chris. “Did you lock in Columbia? Send me the screenshot.” I looked at the message, a faint, mocking smile touching my lips. As it turned out, cutting ties wasn’t nearly as hard as I had feared. 3. At dusk, the rumble of an engine echoed from the driveway. Before long, the quiet house was filled with laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Devon had returned with Ivy, their arms laden with glossy shopping bags from Saks and Chanel. I stepped out of my room just as they were piling the haul onto the coffee table. When Mrs. Devon saw me, her laughter caught in her throat. For a second, she looked as if she had forgotten I lived there. She reached into her designer bag, looking slightly uncomfortable, and pulled out a credit card, holding it out to me. “Grace, we had such a long day shopping for Ivy’s college wardrobe that we didn’t get a chance to pick out anything for you. Take this and buy yourself some nice things. You’re starting college soon; you need a new look.” Ivy sat on the sofa, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear to intentionally reveal a glittering diamond necklace. She gave me a sweet, syrupy smile. “Grace, look at this. Chris stood in line for hours today to get it for me. Isn’t it gorgeous?” I stared at the necklace. It was the exact piece Chris had promised me as a graduation gift. He had told me, with his usual casual detachment, that we would go pick it out together after finals. He hadn’t forgotten. He had just decided it belonged to someone else. I pulled my gaze away and took the card from Mrs. Devon. “Thank you, Mom.” Mrs. Devon blinked, clearly surprised by my easy compliance. A flicker of guilt passed through her eyes, but I didn’t give her the chance to speak. I turned and walked back to my room. Once the door was shut, I pulled my old duffel bag from under the bed. I opened the closet and began sorting through the expensive clothes, designer bags, and jewelry the Devons had bought me over the years. I folded them neatly and placed them in the deepest corners of the shelves. I didn’t belong in this house, and I wasn’t taking their charity with me. My duffel bag was filled only with a few worn-out shirts, my favorite paperbacks, and a small silver locket my biological mother had left me. Halfway through packing, my phone lit up. “We’re getting sushi tomorrow at noon,” Chris texted. “Wear that white sundress I got you.” It was the same demanding, controlling tone he always used. I tapped out a quick response. “I can’t make it. You guys go ahead.” A few minutes passed before he replied. “Grace, don’t start. I took Ivy out today because she was feeling overwhelmed. If you’re upset, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” Faced with his transactional affection, I couldn’t even summon the energy to explain. “I’m not mad. I just don’t want to go.” I put the phone on silent and ignored the subsequent buzzes. I pulled out a notebook and began itemizing every cent of allowance and tuition the Devons had spent on me over the last eight years. Then, I transferred all the money I had saved from my part-time jobs onto the credit card Mrs. Devon had handed me. Soon, I would be entirely free. 4. For the next two weeks, I worked double shifts at a local cafe, determined to leave nothing owed. When the day of our class graduation send-off party arrived, Mrs. Devon practically forced me out the door. The family had rented a grand ballroom at a five-star hotel downtown to celebrate the graduates. When I pushed open the double doors of the ballroom, the room was buzzing with music and laughter. Chris was standing near the center table, looking striking in a tailored white shirt, his posture cool and aristocratic. Ivy sat beside him in a magnificent emerald silk dress, looking every bit the cherished daughter. They looked perfect together. Hearing the door open, Chris looked up. When his eyes fell on my faded vintage tee and worn jeans, his brow furrowed in immediate irritation. But he kept his composure, picking up a glass of champagne and walking toward me with slow, confident strides. The surrounding classmates offered knowing looks, stepping aside to clear a path for him. Chris stopped in front of me, his eyes carrying that familiar, smug certainty that I would always crawl back. To him, my two-week silence was just another tantrum. “You’ve had your fun for two weeks,” he said, his voice low. “It’s time to stop.” I looked at his handsome, indifferent face and felt a sudden urge to laugh. “Stop what?” Chris stiffened, caught off guard. His frown deepened, his voice dropping an octave. “Grace, I’m giving you an easy way out here. Don’t push your luck.” Ivy appeared at his side, wrapping her arm tightly around his. She looked at me with mock sympathy. “Grace, Chris is just looking out for your future. Columbia is incredibly competitive. You’ll really struggle there without his help.” I didn’t even look at her. I walked straight past them toward Mrs. Devon, placing the credit card on the white tablecloth before her. “Mom, everything you’ve spent on me over the last eight years—tuition, clothing, living expenses, with interest—is on this card. The PIN is six zeros.” Mrs. Devon froze. Chris, who had followed me, went completely rigid. Before he could demand an explanation, the school principal tapped the microphone on the stage, the feedback echoing through the speakers. “Parents, teachers, and graduates, may I have your attention, please!” The room fell quiet. “Tonight, along with celebrating Ivy Devon’s bright future, I have the immense honor of announcing two major achievements from our graduating class!” The principal pointed proudly to the large projector screen behind him. “First, our very own Chris, who graduated in the top percentile of the state, has officially committed to Columbia University!” The room erupted into applause. Chris offered a polite, practiced nod, maintaining his effortless golden-boy persona. The principal raised his hands to quiet the crowd, his smile widening. “And second, let’s congratulate Grace Devon, who has officially committed to the University of Miami!” The projector screen flashed, displaying the official confirmation letter from the admissions portal. The words “University of Miami” glowed in bright, coastal orange and green. The applause died instantly. The ballroom fell into a suffocating, dead silence. Every head in the room turned back and forth between me and Chris. The smug composure on Chris’s face shattered. He stared at the screen, his eyes wide with utter shock and disbelief.
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