Before my best friend, Jackie, died of cancer, the only thing he couldn’t let go of was the girl he’d been dating online—a girl he had never actually met in person. He grabbed my hand, tears streaming down his face, begging me: “Theo, she has severe clinical depression. I’m terrified this will push her over the edge. Please, log into my account. Keep talking to her, but start pulling away slowly. When enough time has passed, break it off. Please?” With bloodshot eyes, I promised him I would. I kept that promise. Using Jackie’s voice, I stayed by her side through the screen for three whole years. I was there when her depression flared up again, and I was there when she climbed back to the top of her career. And then, I slowly began to pull away, just like he asked. Today, I decided three years was long enough. Long enough for her to let go of a dying flame. So, I pressed send: “We shouldn’t see each other anymore. It’s over.” The very second I hit send, Verna’s personal phone on the coffee table lit up. There, glaring on her screen, was the exact breakup text I had just sent. … “Theo, the water’s perfect. Go ahead and get in. I’ll join you as soon as I dry my hair.” Verna’s voice drifted from the bathroom, warm and tender through the steam. I froze. I stared at the avatar on her screen. That account—I’d been using it for three years. “We shouldn’t see each other anymore. It’s over.” Word for word. Exactly what I had just typed. The bathroom door swung open. Verna stepped out, wrapping her robe around herself and towel-drying her hair. When she saw me standing rigid in front of the coffee table, she paused. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She walked over, her hand instinctively reaching out to adjust the collar of my pajamas. I flinched back, my lower back hitting the armrest of the sofa. A sharp pain shot through my spine. Her hand hung in midair. “Theo?” Her eyes followed mine, landing on the glowing screen of her phone. Her face went completely blank. The phone buzzed. It was the custom notification sound she’d set only for him. She lunged forward, grabbing the phone. Her fingers shook violently as she unlocked it, staring at the screen. She read those seven words over and over, three times. “No…” her voice was barely a whisper. “He wouldn’t…” She began typing, deleting, typing again, unable to send a single message. Then she dialed. Once. Twice. Three times. In my pocket, Jackie’s old phone remained completely silent. I had kept it on silent for years, terrified she would find out I was posing as her online boyfriend and misunderstand. “Pick up… please, pick up…” her voice trembled, sweat breaking out on her forehead. I had never seen her like this. No, that wasn’t true. I had seen her like this. In my chat history with her as “Jackie.” During her worst depressive episodes, she had begged me just like this, pleading for “him” not to leave. But in real life, the face she showed me was always perfectly composed, flawless, and distant. “Verna,” I said. She didn’t hear me. She kept dialing. “Verna!” She snapped her head up. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face twisted in sudden rage. “Shut up!” The words hit me like a slap. I froze for a second, and then, a dry laugh escaped my throat. She seemed to snap out of it, quickly softening her expression. She slipped right back into that polished, polite mask of hers. “I’m sorry. I just… I have something urgent to handle.” She turned and marched toward the bedroom, immediately pulling clothes from the closet. “What’s so urgent?” She was moving so fast she missed a button on her blouse, not even caring. “It’s an emergency.” She didn’t look at me. “What kind of emergency? We’re supposed to go try on our wedding outfits tomorrow.” Her hands paused. Finally, she spared a glance in my direction. There was no guilt in her eyes. Only irritation at being held back. “Go try your suit on alone. Choose whatever wedding dress you like, I don’t care. Just put it on my card.” “Put it on your card?” I repeated, the words tasting bitter. “Verna, what could possibly be more important than our wedding?” Her face went cold. She looked at me the way she would look at an annoying stranger. “Theo, you’ve always been the sensible one.” “Why are you acting so childish all of a sudden?” Before I could say another word, she grabbed her car keys and slammed the door behind her. “Mr. Hawthorne, is your fiancée still unavailable today?” The consultant at the bridal shop wore a practiced, professional smile, but her tone carried a pity she didn’t bother to hide. I sat alone in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. This was the second time she had stood me up. Around me, the whispers of the shop assistants drifted over. “Is that him? The illustrator? I have no idea how he managed to bag Verna.” “She hasn’t shown up once. Didn’t even try on her dress. This wedding is as good as off.” I ignored them. In the dressing room, I pulled out Jackie’s old phone. The screen was flooded with hundreds of unread messages from Verna. [Jackie, why are you ignoring me?] [Did I do something wrong? Tell me, I’ll change.] [Please call me. Just for a second.] [Jackie, are you leaving me?] [Please, don’t leave me.] Then, a sixty-second voice memo. I hesitated for a long time before tapping play. Her voice was choked with tears, the low hum of her car engine rumbling in the background. “Jackie… I’m sorry… please give me another chance… I can’t survive without you… I’ll literally die… I will…” The woman who had just told me to “shut up” and called me “childish” last night was currently sobbing so hard she could barely breathe on my other screen. There was a knock on the dressing room door. “Mr. Hawthorne, Miss Natalie is here.” Natalie. Verna’s childhood friend. I wiped my face quickly, changed out of the suit, and walked out. Natalie was sitting on the plush sofa, legs crossed. When she saw me, she pulled a black card from her designer handbag and tossed it onto the table with a sharp slap. “This is for the remaining balance. Verna is busy. She doesn’t have time to waste on stuff like this.” She stood up, walking over to me, her voice dropping to a low, mocking hum. “Let’s be honest for a second, Theo.” “You know exactly why Verna chose you. You’re quiet. You’re easy. You don’t cause trouble.” “She’s giving you the title of husband. Just sit there, be grateful, and play the part. Don’t start demanding things like ‘love.’ That’s not for people like you.” My hand twitched, wanting to slap the smug look off her face. She caught my wrist before I could. “Angry?” She tightened her grip. “Just a friendly warning: Verna is in a terrible mood lately. Don’t push her. If you don’t want this spot, there’s a line of men waiting to take your place.” She shoved my hand back, making me stumble a couple of steps. “The PIN is her birthday. Pick whatever suit and dress you want. You’re only wearing them once anyway.” With a dismissive pat to her skirt, she turned and walked out. I stood alone in the empty, silent boutique. In my hand, a phone filled with my fiancée’s desperate cries for another man. On the table, a black card thrown down by her best friend. “Mr. Hawthorne, are you happy with this suit?” “No,” I whispered. “I don’t want it.” When I got back from the shop, I felt feverish and dizzy, so I went straight to bed. In the middle of the night, a sharp, white-hot pain suddenly ripped through my abdomen. Cold sweat drenched my shirt, and my vision swam. Shaking, I reached for my phone and called Verna. It rang for what felt like an eternity before she finally picked up. “Yeah?” The background noise was filled with airport announcements. My heart sank into my stomach. “Verna… my stomach hurts so bad I can’t get up… Can you come home and take me to the hospital?” Silence stretched over the line for a few agonizing seconds. “Theo, I have an actual emergency right now. You’re a grown man. Can’t you just call an Uber?” An emergency. Of course. Your precious “Jackie” wanted to break up with you. What could be bigger than that? I lay on the cold hardwood floor, my limbs freezing. And then, driven by some dark, masochistic urge, I reached for Jackie’s phone and typed out a single line: [I want to see you.] Send. Almost instantly, I heard Verna scream at someone next to her through the line. “Rebook it! Rebook it right now! Put me on the next flight to Seattle! I don’t care how much it costs!” Seattle. That was the city I had randomly chosen as “Jackie’s” home to make the lie feel real. She was at the airport. She was abandoning me, flying across the country for a ghost. “Verna,” I whispered into the receiver. “What if I die tonight?” Her voice came back, cold and entirely hollow. “Stop using death to manipulate me. This desperate act of yours is suffocating.” She hung up. I stared up at the ceiling, the floor freezing beneath me. The pain in my abdomen flared again, more violent than before. I curled into a ball, my consciousness slipping away. Using the absolute last ounce of my strength, I dialed 911. “Acute ruptured appendicitis! If he’d gotten here any later, he would’ve developed severe peritonitis!” “Where’s his family? We don’t even have anyone to sign the consent forms!” The surgery took three hours. I spent three days in the hospital. Verna didn’t call once. Not a single text. Jackie’s phone, however, was bombarded with hundreds of frantic notifications every single day. [Jackie, I’m in Seattle. Where are you?] [I’ve checked every coffee shop, every park you ever mentioned. Why won’t you see me?] [I’m waiting at the café we talked about. I’ll stay here until you show up.] I turned the phone off without feeling a single thing. The day I was discharged, it was pouring. I handled the paperwork myself, walked out into the rain, and took a cab back to the apartment we had shared for three years. When I pushed the door open, everything was exactly as I had left it. I began to pack. No tears, no screaming. Just quiet, deliberate motions. I folded the clothes she’d bought me and placed them neatly back in the wardrobe. My own clothes went into my suitcase. In the study, I pulled the dust covers over the expensive art supplies she’d gifted me. Piece by piece, I erased every trace of my existence from her living room. That was the scene Verna walked into. She had spent three days waiting at an airport and a coffee shop in Seattle, waiting for a ghost that never came. She looked hollowed out—her makeup was smudged, her hair was a mess, and her eyes were webbed with broken red vessels. When she saw me zipping up my suitcase, she froze. “What are you doing?” her voice was raspy. I didn’t answer. I reached down, moved the potted monstera from the coffee table to the floor, and slid the engagement ring off my finger. It was a simple platinum band. Nothing flashy. She had placed it on my finger herself the night she proposed. I remembered her words: “Theo, marry me. Let me take care of you forever.” I set the ring down on the center of the coffee table, right next to my house keys. “Theo, I’m talking to you!” Her tone sharpened. She strode over and grabbed my wrist. “What kind of tantrum is this?” I looked up, meeting her eyes. “Verna, I’m not throwing a tantrum.” She blinked, her grip loosening. She rubbed her temples, letting out a heavy sigh as her voice softened into a patronizing tone. “Fine. I admit I was harsh the other night.” She pulled her wallet out and slid a credit card into my hand. “I’ll double your allowance this month. Put the ring back on. Stop making a scene.” Always money. “That night, my appendix ruptured,” I said, my voice completely flat. “I almost died.” Her hand dropped. A flash of panic crossed her face, but she quickly masked it. “…Was it bad?” “The surgeon said another hour and I wouldn’t have made it.” Her lips parted slightly. “I’m sor—” “Don’t,” I interrupted, pushing the card, the ring, and the keys back toward her. “You don’t need to apologize, and I don’t plan on forgiving you.” I took my suitcase and headed for the door. She lunged from behind, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. She was holding on with everything she had. “Theo… please let me explain. I really, truly had something crucial to handle that night…” “I know,” I said quietly. “Your Jackie wanted to break up with you.” She went entirely rigid. “How… how do you know about that?” I pried her fingers off me, one by one, and turned around to face her. I gave her a small, empty smile. “Verna, I’ve always known.” She stumbled back half a step, the color draining from her skin until she looked like plaster. Then, the panic vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating look she used to crush her competitors in boardrooms. “You went through my things? You spied on me?” “It doesn’t matter.” I picked up my suitcase. “We’re done. The wedding is off.” “Theo,” her voice cut through the quiet apartment. “Have you actually thought this through?” I didn’t stop. “What are you going to do on your own? Paint? Does your little freelance work even cover rent in the city?” My grip tightened on the suitcase handle. “Once you walk out that door, there’s no safety net. No one to catch you.” I opened the door. “You’ll regret this.” The hallway was dead silent. I dragged my suitcase toward the elevator, never looking back.
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