My boyfriend was hospitalized, so I spent the afternoon making chicken soup and rushed to the hospital to see him. But as I approached his room, I overheard his conversation with a friend: “Your first love is back. Isn’t it time to let that three-year stand-in of yours step aside?” “I mean, now that you’re done with her, let me have a turn. I’ve never been with a woman like her before.” I waited, expecting him to shut his friend down. But instead, Brandon’s voice was calm, almost amused. “Sure, why not? She’s easy enough. Just say a few sweet things, and she’ll jump into bed with you.” That night, while the untouched soup sat cold on my kitchen counter, I found his secret Twitter account. It was filled with years of posts obsessing over his first love, detailing how he had never really gotten over her. I didn’t confront him. I didn’t demand answers. Instead, I quietly booked a one-way ticket to Sea City. On the day of our three-year anniversary, Brandon slipped on the office stairs and sprained his ankle. When I got the call, I rushed to the hospital. He explained that he had been hurrying to the restaurant, worried I’d been waiting too long, and missed a step. I took a few days off work to stay by his side and care for him. On the day he was discharged, some of his friends stopped by to visit. Feeling reassured that he wasn’t alone, I decided to head home and make him some soup. With a warm thermos of freshly made chicken soup in hand, I carefully timed my return to the hospital. The door to his room was slightly ajar, and as I got closer, I overheard voices inside. Brandon’s best friend was laughing, clapping him on the shoulder. “So Aurora’s back, huh? You didn’t have to be that excited about it. Rushing to the airport to pick her up and then falling down the stairs? Classic.” Hearing the name Aurora made my heart skip a beat. Aurora was part of Brandon’s tight-knit college friend group—three guys and one girl. She also happened to be his first love. They dated for two years in college before breaking up when she moved abroad. Even though they ended things, everyone in their circle always talked about how they were “meant to be.” Sometimes, Brandon’s friends would even tease him about it in front of me. In their minds, if Aurora hadn’t left, I wouldn’t even be in the picture. Brandon used to shut them down whenever they brought it up. But this time, maybe because I wasn’t there, he stayed silent. Dylan, his friend, grinned mischievously. “So, your first love is back. When are you planning to kick the stand-in to the curb?” “And hey, once you’re done with her, can I have a turn? I’ve never dated someone like her before.” At this, Brandon finally looked up. He frowned and gave Dylan a light shove. “Chill out,” he said. “Aurora hasn’t said anything yet. Besides, I’m still recovering. I need her to take care of me for now.” My ears were ringing. The world around me seemed to blur as shock gave way to numbness. Dylan didn’t seem to notice. He peeled an orange—one of the ones I had brought earlier—and smirked. “She looks so sweet and innocent, but you’ve told me how wild she is in bed. I’m curious about the contrast.” I clutched the warm thermos in my hands, but the warmth did nothing to stop the icy chill spreading through my chest. I never imagined that the man I loved for three years would talk about me like this behind my back. Brandon’s voice came through the door, cold and detached: “Go ahead if you want. She’s desperate for love—easy to get. I barely had to try to get her into bed.” My chest tightened, the pain sharp enough to take my breath away. Inside the room, they both started laughing, low and cruel. The sound made me feel physically sick. I ran to the bathroom, clutching my mouth, and dry-heaved over the sink. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. So this was what I meant to him. Just a stand-in for his first love, someone he didn’t even respect. I used to think he just didn’t love me as much as I loved him. But now I realized it wasn’t just indifference—it was outright contempt. To him, I wasn’t even a person. I was nothing more than a placeholder, no different from trash on the side of the road. Looking back, it all made sense. His friends had always joked about him and other women, even in front of me, without a care. They treated me like a maid whenever they came over, barking orders while I cooked and cleaned. And why wouldn’t they? Brandon had never stood up for me. Their disrespect was just a reflection of his own. All the “kindness” he showed me was nothing more than an act. I wiped my tears, walked back to the kitchen, and dumped the chicken soup—two hours of effort—straight into the trash. For the first time, breaking up with him felt like the clearest decision I’d ever made. When I walked back into the hospital room, my emotions were firmly under control. Brandon’s face immediately darkened when he saw I’d come back empty-handed. “I thought you said you were making soup for me,” he snapped. “Why are you here with nothing?” Dylan chimed in, clearly enjoying the drama. “Yeah, Stella, Brandon was just telling me how thoughtful you are. Where’s the soup?” His smirk widened as he added, “You know, Stella, there might not be many more chances for you to cook for him. Better make the most of it while you can.” I instinctively glanced at Brandon, half-expecting him to shut Dylan up. But he didn’t. He just sat there, silent, his expression unreadable. Maybe now that Aurora was back, he no longer felt the need to pretend. Or maybe he thought letting Dylan taunt me was a fitting punishment for not bringing the soup. Either way, it didn’t matter anymore.
I stood there silently, my eyes locked on Brandon. This was the man I had loved for three years. I used to think, even if Brandon didn’t love me enough, it would be okay as long as I loved him. Maybe, one day, he’d be touched by my devotion. But now, it felt like the universe was laughing at my naivety. “The soup didn’t turn out great,” I said with a smile, my voice steady. “I already drank it.” I grabbed my lightest bag and walked out of the hospital room first. “Come on, hurry up and pack. Let’s go home,” I added without looking back. I wasn’t going to carry all his stuff like a personal servant anymore. That’s how it always used to be—I’d take care of everything while he walked free-handed. The car ride home was tense. Brandon was clearly upset with me, but I didn’t have the energy to soothe his ego. I needed time to process my own emotions. When we got back to the apartment, one of Brandon’s other friends, Sean, showed up holding a cat. He waltzed in like he owned the place, a smug grin plastered on his face. I froze in the doorway, immediately backing away and covering my nose. “Brandon, didn’t you tell them I’m allergic to cats?” I asked sharply, staring at the fluffy ragdoll cat in Sean’s arms. When I was a kid, a neighbor’s cat had triggered such a severe allergic reaction that I ended up in the hospital for a week. Sean rolled his eyes before Brandon could respond. “Geez, you’re so dramatic,” he said with a smirk. “This is Aurora’s cat. She brought it all the way from abroad—it cost a fortune. I had to beg her just to let me play with it for a few days.” He snorted and added, “Claire, don’t be so difficult.” Brandon, clearly annoyed with me, finally spoke. His expression was cold, his tone sharp. “It’s just a cat. What’s the big deal? You’re not going to die.” His frustration had been simmering all evening, and now, in front of his friend, he let it spill over. Grabbing the cat from Sean, he walked toward me, holding it out like some kind of punishment. “Grow up, Claire. It’s just a little fur. What are you so scared of?” Brandon knew full well how severe my allergies were, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to prove a point, to humiliate me in front of his friend. As I backed away, he kept advancing. The cat let out a sharp yowl, clearly uncomfortable with how tightly he was gripping it, and suddenly, it leapt out of his hands—straight at me. I tried to dodge, but its claws raked across my neck, and I inhaled a mouthful of cat hair. Within seconds, my throat began to close up. My chest tightened, my heart pounded, and cold sweat broke out all over my body. “C-call an ambulance,” I gasped, struggling to breathe. Brandon just scoffed, arms crossed. “Stop faking it, Claire,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. It was Sean who finally noticed how pale I’d become. “Dude, she’s not faking!” Sean said, panic creeping into his voice. “We need to call 911, now!” By the time they finally decided to act, I had collapsed onto the floor, barely conscious. The last thing I saw before everything went dark was Brandon’s panicked face as he and Sean scrambled to call for help. When I woke up, I was alone in a dark hospital room. Because of their so-called “joke,” I had nearly gone into anaphylactic shock and had to be rushed to the hospital. Now, there wasn’t a single person by my side. A nurse came in, turning on the light and quietly changing out my IV. “You have a severe allergy to cat hair,” she said gently. “You can’t afford to be around cats again.” I gave her a weak smile and asked, “Do you know when the people who brought me here left?” She frowned, clearly hesitant to answer. “You mean those three guys?” she finally said. “They left as soon as we told them you were stable.” Her brows furrowed in disbelief. “Honestly, I thought they were just strangers. They didn’t seem very concerned.” I forced out a bitter laugh. “One of them is my boyfriend,” I said quietly. “Though not for much longer.” I picked up my phone and saw a message from Brandon. “We’re heading out for dinner. If you’re fine, just get a ride home.” Twenty minutes ago, Dylan had posted a photo on Instagram. “Reunion with old friends. Feels so good!” The picture showed the four of them—Brandon, Dylan, Sean, and Aurora. In the photo, Brandon was gazing at Aurora with unmistakable tenderness. His eyes held a warmth and longing that he’d never once shown me. They looked like a couple in love, completely absorbed in each other. Staring at that picture, I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. My chest ached so deeply it felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was time to face reality. Brandon had never truly loved me. Aurora was the one he wanted. She had always been the one. And now that she was back, I was nothing but a placeholder, someone to fill the void until she returned. To him, I had no value beyond that.
It hit me suddenly—Brandon was always typing away on his Twitter app, yet I’d never seen him post anything. A knot of unease twisted in my stomach as a thought surfaced. I began digging through his social media, searching for answers. His own Twitter account was blank, but in his “Following” list, I found an account named Miss U, Aurora. My hands trembled as I clicked on it. The IP address matched his. The account had been active for six years, with thousands of posts. It felt like I had just opened Pandora’s box. What I found inside left me speechless. Every single post was about Aurora. The words overflowed with obsession, longing, and a love so painfully raw it was almost suffocating. The account began as a diary of their relationship but later turned into a public shrine to his unending devotion to her. “November 9, 2021: I got into a relationship with someone else. I won’t wait for you anymore.” That was the day Brandon finally agreed to date me. I had no idea how many times I’d confessed my feelings to him before he reluctantly said yes. Now I understood why. That was the day Aurora left for Europe. “March 10, 2022: I slept with someone else. What choice do I have when you’re dating someone new?” I remembered that night vividly. Brandon had shown up at my apartment drunk, begging me not to leave, whispering sweet nothings until I gave in. “May 16, 2023: Are you really never coming back? I hate you—I’ll never forgive you!” That was the night he put a diamond ring on my finger. He’d held me so tightly and promised, with a look of tenderness in his eyes: “Claire, I’ll marry you.” My breathing grew shaky, and I couldn’t bring myself to read any further. I scrolled to the most recent post, the one he had written just a few days ago: “I’ve lost to you again. After all these years, I still can’t let you go. I’ll love you forever.” Attached was a photo of him and Aurora, holding hands and smiling. Tears slipped down my face, blurring the screen. I felt like I had been ripped apart, betrayed in the cruelest way imaginable. For three years, I had poured my heart into a relationship that was never mine to begin with. Brandon’s love had always belonged to Aurora. Even after she left him, even after she abandoned him for years, he continued to cherish her. He would have done anything to win her back. And me? I was nothing. My hands shook as the truth settled in. No wonder Brandon never fought with me—he never cared enough to. No wonder he never noticed when I was upset—I was never important to him. No wonder he had been so distracted that he fell down the stairs. It wasn’t because he was rushing to meet me—it was because Aurora’s sudden return had completely consumed him. I forced myself to stay calm as I took screenshots of everything, saving every post as evidence. At least now I knew the truth. If I hadn’t overheard him that day, if I hadn’t stumbled upon his secret Twitter account, I might have spent my entire life believing his lies. I might have kept fooling myself into thinking he had let go of his first love. But now, I was done. I had seen the kind of man Brandon truly was. Beneath his polished, charming exterior was a selfish, deceitful heart. There was no reason to stay in this relationship any longer. As I sat there, my phone buzzed with a call from my boss. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to sound normal as I answered. “Claire, there’s an opportunity to transfer to the Sea City branch,” my boss began. “It’s a director-level role, and I think you’d be perfect for it. The position doesn’t come around often. What do you think?” I hesitated. This wasn’t the first time I’d been offered a chance to advance my career. Last year, I had turned down a dream opportunity in France because I wanted to stay in Riverdale and build a life with Brandon. But now? Now there was no reason to hold myself back. “Thank you for the opportunity,” I said firmly. “I’d love to take the job in Sea City.” For the first time in months, I felt a sense of clarity. The pain in my chest was unbearable, but my brain was screaming at me to save myself. After hanging up, I immediately booked a flight to Sea City for a few days later. When I was discharged from the hospital, I went straight home to pack. I didn’t bother trying to find Brandon. He was probably with Aurora anyway. The next day, as I sat in the back of a cab on the way to the airport, I saw Brandon’s secret Twitter account had been updated again. “Seeing her again, I couldn’t hold back.” The attached photo was another picture of him and Aurora, their fingers intertwined. I stared at it for a moment before scrolling past, my heart aching but my resolve unshaken. A text message from Brandon popped up on my phone: “You were discharged yesterday? Where are you? Why isn’t your stuff here?” I ignored it. He called me over and over, but I declined every single call. Then, just before my flight, a call came in from an unfamiliar number. I answered, and Brandon’s panicked voice shot through the line: “Claire, where are you? When did you come home? What’s going on?” I let out a quiet laugh, the sound bitter and devoid of warmth. “Brandon,” I said calmly, “I know Aurora’s back.” “She’s the one you’ve always loved, isn’t she?” I could almost feel his silence on the other end of the line. “Now that your first love has returned,” I continued, my voice steady, “it’s time for the stand-in to step aside.” The flight attendant’s announcement chimed in the background, signaling takeoff. “Claire, what are you talking about? Where are you?” Brandon demanded, his voice rising in frustration.
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