At her mother’s funeral, Cassie Monroe fell right into Evan’s arms, clinging to him for dear life. Watching the two of them—sickeningly cozy—and Cassie’s restless seven-year-old nephew, I chose to stay quiet as a mouse. That is, until her nephew threw one of the ceremonial fireworks dangerously close to the urn. With a bang, gray dust puffed everywhere. I leaned toward the stunned Cassie and whispered, “Your mom just went off with a bang.” “Sam, it’s all in the past. Why can’t you just let it go?” Evan Walker, my boyfriend of seven years, looked at me with utter disappointment. “I’m telling you now: if you go today, we’re done.” His handsome face no longer felt familiar; I barely recognized him. “No matter what history you two have, Cassie’s mom just passed away. You can’t let it go, even for that? Since when did you get so heartless?” Heartless? That almost made me laugh out loud. The funeral Evan was insistent on attending wasn’t just any service; it was for the mother of his “star trainee.” And his treasured trainee? Cassie Monroe, who’d bullied me every day for three years in high school. I could never forget Cassie’s two-faced, innocent expression—or her mother’s smack across my face in front of the entire school. Evan knew my whole history with Cassie, and yet here he was, telling me I was “heartless” for asking him not to go. “Even if it means we’re done, you’re still going?” I expected myself to get hysterical—after all, before Cassie showed back up, Evan and I rarely fought, even when we spent three years apart because of work. For us, “break up” was an unspoken taboo. But Evan didn’t answer. His only response was to finish tying his shoes by the entryway, his choice clear. When the door slammed shut, I felt exhausted. In the TV’s dark reflection, I saw myself slouched and worn, looking just as I did years ago, curled up in my dorm’s corner. Back then, punches, slaps—they never stopped. Back then, I was too weak to fight back. But now? Even if Evan and Cassie thought they could trample over me, I’d make them pay.
After mulling it over, I did my makeup, slipped on a black velvet dress, and got a car to Greenfield Memorial Funeral Home. I know Evan’s vanity well; he cared more than anything about preserving his “good man” image, even telling me to play along with his little “henpecked husband” act in public. And now, he was determined to make me the villain so he could move on to Cassie with a clean slate. I wasn’t about to make that easy. Honestly, the first time Evan and I fought over Cassie should have been my wake-up call. He was no longer the man who once “rescued” me from the past. When I arrived, Evan seemed shocked to see me but quickly tried to come over, smiling. Before he could touch me, a small figure flung herself right past me and straight into his arms. Evan’s face froze for a second before softening again as he soothed Cassie, who sobbed dramatically into his chest, clearly relishing every second. The pity in his eyes? I didn’t miss that. I stood back and watched, unbothered. This little scene was precisely what I’d expected. Cassie’s all-time favorite pastime was using her pitiful, doe-eyed look to lure in other people’s boyfriends, just to toss them back with scorn. Cassie finally looked up, blinking as if just noticing me. She flinched, acting like a scared rabbit. “Mrs. Price,” she stammered, “I…didn’t see you there. Sorry, I just got so emotional….” Her eyes teared up again, playing innocent for the bystanders. “Oh, you got emotional, so naturally you ran into my boyfriend’s arms?” Caught off guard, Cassie’s face twitched before she stepped back from Evan’s embrace. “I’m sorry, Evan; I crossed the line.” With tears rolling down her cheeks, the murmurs around us grew. To anyone watching, I looked like the bad guy. “Sam, that’s enough,” Evan said, frowning and gently pulling Cassie close, comforting her again. I watched them calmly, then found myself a seat that offered a perfect view of their romantic little display. Picture-perfect. “Ow, monster punch!” I winced as a sharp pain hit my side. Turning, I saw Cassie’s nephew, Tommy, his nose running, throwing a toy robot at me. “Scared yet, monster? Pew pew!” I ignored him, but that only egged him on. He kicked my shin while his mom watched from a few feet away, clearly unfazed and absorbed in her conversation. “Little guy, that’s not very nice,” I said patiently, but he spat at me in response. Looking at his wild grin, a thought popped into my head. “Hey, you know how your toy shoots lasers? Can you do that?” His eyes lit up as he sniffled and mimicked his toy’s laser attack. “No, no, not like that. Real lasers make real lights—see? Like over there,” I said, pointing to a crowd getting ready to light up sparklers for the memorial. The moment I said it, a series of sparks went off, flashing in Tommy’s wide eyes. “See? Way cooler than just pretending.” He grinned, looking eager. I casually stepped back, putting some distance between us, just in case. Who knew what he’d do next? Sure enough, not long after, I heard a loud crack. Right in the center of the funeral hall, Cassie’s mother’s urn had fallen with a loud thud, scattering gray ash all over. The whole room fell silent. Even Cassie stared, shocked and still, as Tommy’s giggles broke through the hush. Well, wasn’t this the perfect disaster. I walked over to Cassie, leaned in, and whispered, “Your mom just went off with a bang.”
What started as a respectable funeral had turned into complete mayhem. I took my cue and made my exit, missing the shouting match that soon erupted. Someone recorded the whole scene and posted it online, and soon enough, it was trending. The comment sections were filled with debates on how to handle unruly kids, and a surprising amount of sympathy for “poor Cassie.” Seeing an opportunity, I logged into my anonymous account and sent the muted video to a gossip account. Since Cassie was already getting attention, they gladly took the footage without asking who I was. The video, which only showed Cassie clinging to Evan, made them look like a picture-perfect couple, with every clip showing Evan glued to Cassie with the softest look in his eyes. Once the video was sent, I packed a bag and took off for a brief vacation. This was only the beginning.
The trip lasted only two weeks, during which I blocked all contact from Evan, not that he tried to reach out. The peaceful grandeur of the Grand Canyon helped me reflect. For the first time, I realized I didn’t need anyone else—I could find peace within myself. But I didn’t forget Cassie. Her video had caught fire online, and though it initially garnered sweet comments about “true love,” some curious onlookers soon unearthed my existence, shifting the narrative. “Homewrecker” and “snake” filled the comments. This was exactly what I’d hoped for, but it was only a taste of what I had in store. Cassie, of course, saw this as her moment, starting live streams to cash in on her “fame.” And me? I tuned in, curious to watch her spin our story. Her live stream opened with those wide, tragic eyes, her trembling voice recounting her “forbidden” love with Evan. She played the part well, painting herself as a hopeless romantic who, in her moment of loss, found comfort in her “soulmate.” Naturally, she didn’t mention me at all. I had to admit, her move was clever—her delicate face, coupled with that pitiful act, had fans sympathizing with her. Some viewers even suggested I’d been dumped because Cassie was prettier. Apparently, to them, “Evan just fell for someone who was easier to love.” Seriously? Because she was prettier, she could just break up my relationship? So she was “delicate” and automatically excused? The internet even christened their fan club “Cloud Nine,” after Cassie and Evan, calling them a “match made in heaven.”
When I finally went back to the house Evan and I had shared, I opened the door to find Cassie standing there. She was wearing our matching fluffy slippers and my favorite silk camisole. Hearing the noise, Evan came out from the kitchen, spatula in hand, and froze when he saw me. “Sam…you’re back?” He looked as though he’d been caught red-handed. I let out a laugh. “If I hadn’t shown up, would I have walked in on something even more interesting?” “There was a big storm last night,” Evan mumbled, his voice defensive. “Cassie just needed somewhere to stay. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” His rigid tone only made it more obvious that he was lying. “If I’d come back a bit later, would you two have gone ahead and slept together?” “Oh, Mrs. Price, you’ve got it all wrong. Evan and I…we’re not…there’s nothing going on,” Cassie stammered, quickly fixing her hair and pulling the collar of the camisole just so, but I noticed the red mark on her neck. Nice try, but I wasn’t about to give her the show she wanted. No way was I going to start screaming, giving her the chance to play the innocent, hurt “other woman.” I brushed past both of them, went inside, and, ignoring their protests, locked them out of the house. Let them pound on the door all they wanted—I was done. This house was bought with money I’d made shortly after college by flipping stocks, saving up every cent for the down payment. I’d even thought it would be our home, where we’d build a future together. Now, it was the perfect place to kick him out of my life. The pounding eventually stopped, but soon after, I heard my phone ring. It was Blake Sutton, Evan’s old friend, calling in as backup. We’d only met a handful of times, but Blake wasn’t subtle. The first time we met, he’d openly looked me up and down, leaving me creeped out. So I knew this call was just him doing Evan’s bidding, putting on a “concerned” act. “Hey, Sam. I’m calling on behalf of Evan, okay? Look, Cassie really means nothing to him. You really shouldn’t lock him out in this cold weather, don’t you think? Neighbors might get a laugh, you know?” Blake’s smarmy tone grated on my nerves. “If they know what he’s been up to, why should he care what anyone else thinks? Tell Evan we’re done. I’ll pack up his things and leave them outside.” Without another word, I hung up, exhausted from my trip and the day. Finally, I fell into bed and slept. The next day, I hired a cleaning service to help sort through our things. I’d expected there to be a lot of shared memories, reminders of the years we’d spent together. But as we sorted, I found that his belongings barely filled one box. Nearly everything in the house was something I’d paid for myself. One item caught my eye: an old photograph buried in a drawer. Dusting it off, I looked closer and felt a chill run through me. It was Evan, back in high school, kissing a girl with a high ponytail and painfully thin frame. It was unmistakably Cassie. Evan had never told me he knew her back then, let alone that they’d dated. All the hazy memories I’d buried, trying to forget the bullying, came rushing back, suddenly sharper than ever.
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