Three years of long-distance, a solid month of overtime just to scrape together enough vacation days to see my girlfriend, and then—she went completely radio silent. I waited alone in a freezing, unfamiliar train station for ten agonizing hours before she finally sent a casual, slow reply. On the phone, my best friend’s voice bubbled up, teasing and carefree: “Logan, surprise! I got to explore Chicago first. It’s amazing here, and Serena is literally the perfect tour guide!” He babbled on, sharing little inside jokes and stories as if he hadn’t noticed the thirty missed calls lighting up Serena’s phone screen. I listened in silence until he casually complained about the cold. That was when Serena finally took the phone. Her words were brief and clipped: “I’m dropping him off at his hotel first. Wait a little longer.” Before she could hang up, the words slipped out of me: “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting?” A brief pause. Then her voice turned icy. “He’s your best friend. Do you really have to be this petty?” The blatant blame in her tone stripped away any desire I had to explain myself. My defenses crumbled into nothing. I hung up. Just then, my rideshare back to New York pulled up. The driver glanced at me, his brow furrowed with concern. “Hey, buddy, it’s past midnight and this neighborhood gets pretty rough. How could your family just leave you out here like this?” I looked down at my shoes, soaked through by the melting slush and snow, and whispered, “Yeah.” Then, forcing a small smile, I added, “They won’t. Never again.” 1 It took Serena another two hours to realize I was gone. Her ringtone was a loud, grating indie-rock track that had been trending everywhere. I hated it. I’d once asked her to change it to some soft instrumental music I liked. Serena had bristled instantly. Her cold, defensive tone still echoed in my mind: “Do I have to do absolutely everything your way?” Embarrassed and hurt, I had apologized immediately. But just moments ago, Tyler posted a new update on his feed: “Annoyed. Recommended this track to a certain dummy three months ago, and I’m totally sick of it now, but she’s still using it.” Serena had replied three minutes prior: “Who are you calling a dummy?” “You!” Tyler shot back almost instantly. My phone kept buzzing with her incoming calls. I wanted to laugh. How many compartments did Serena have in her heart to keep two men dangling at the same time? Seeing that I wasn’t picking up, she switched from calls to a barrage of texts. “Where on earth did you go? Stop throwing a tantrum, okay? It’s late, and I’m exhausted.” The complaints kept rolling in. As if sensing the tension, the driver spoke up again, snapping me out of my thoughts. “You know, just two nights ago, there was a stabbing right at that station. The guy didn’t make it. The whole city’s been on edge.” “Honestly, when I saw your request pop up, I was shocked. If you were my kid, I wouldn’t have been able to close my eyes tonight.” My fingers twitched. My eyes drifted back to the screen. “Why are you being so unreasonable? So I was a little late picking you up. Big deal.” “Tyler is a guest, and he’s your brother. Can’t you just show a little grace?” My hand shook against the cold glass of my phone. A sharp, physical ache bloomed in my chest, like a rusted blade scraping against my ribs. But looking at those words with raw, bloodshot eyes, I suddenly felt a strange wave of relief. The cage was opening. A moment later, Serena sent one last text: “Whatever. I don’t have the energy to baby you right now. Let me know when you’ve calmed down.” Twenty-eight messages. Twenty-seven and a half spent blaming me. And ending with her telling me she didn’t have the energy to baby me. Exhaustion rolled over me like a heavy tide. I powered off the phone, closed my eyes, and let the darkness take me. When I finally woke up, we were back in New York, parked outside my apartment. Before I got out, the driver offered a warm, parting word. “Get inside and change those shoes, kid. They’re completely soaked.” A genuine warmth touched my chest. “Thanks. I will.” 2 While waiting for the shower water to run hot, I opened my social feed. Tyler had updated again. “My bestie waited in line for an hour just to get me this. It’s honestly mid, though. Took one sip, packing up the rest for someone special.” The “someone special” was Serena, caught in the background of the frame, smiling softly at the camera. I never knew that my girlfriend—a woman so fiercely germaphobic she refused to share a water glass with me—would happily share a drink with another man. I let out a soft, tired sigh, tapped the “like” button on the post, and then dialed my boss. “Mr. Crawford, I’ve had a change of heart. Is that overseas transfer still open?” He sounded surprised, but his voice quickly warmed with relief. “You’ve finally come to your senses. You handle this project well, Logan, and you’ll return with a double promotion. It’s only a year in Paris. Trust me, if it’s real love, a year is nothing.” I smiled quietly, offering no argument. The truth was, the moment I decided to take the job, our relationship was already over. I took a long, hot shower, letting the steam burn away the chill of Chicago. When I got out, Tyler’s post had vanished. A flicker of amusement touched me. So Tyler wasn’t as bulletproof as he liked to pretend. Suddenly, Serena’s name flashed across my screen. A familiar dread settled in my stomach, but I swiped to answer. “Who are you trying to humiliate?” she demanded, her voice sharp and breathless, carrying a frantic edge of protectiveness I’d never heard her use for me. “You ignore my calls, ignore my texts, and then you go perform some passive-aggressive stunt on Tyler’s feed?” An overwhelming fatigue washed over me. I had worked thirty days straight of grueling overtime just to clear my schedule to see her, and this was the prize. “Serena,” I asked quietly, “whose girlfriend are you, exactly?” The line went dead silent. She struggled for words before finally sighing, her voice thick with disappointment. “Do you really have to blow everything out of proportion?” “Serena? Hey, let me talk to him…” Tyler’s anxious voice bled through the receiver. I checked the time. 11:00 PM. Which meant they had been together continuously since 8:00 AM. “Don’t bother,” Serena told him, though she was still talking into the phone. “The more you coddle him, the worse he gets.” “But he’s still my boy…” Their voices faded into a low, intimate murmur as they conferred. Then, without another word to me, the line went dead. The casual intimacy of their exchange, the easy rhythm of their shared space—it hit me then. The boundaries between them hadn’t just blurred recently; they had been dissolved for a very long time. After a restless, brief sleep, I woke to find my frostbitten foot swollen and throbbing. Using an old umbrella as a makeshift cane, I hobbled down to hail a cab to the clinic. The doctor cleaned and dressed the raw, damaged skin. I gritted my teeth against the stinging pain, gathered my prescriptions, and headed home. But the moment I unlocked my apartment door, I nearly collided with someone. The air filled with her familiar, clean scent. Seeing me freeze, Serena offered a gentle, tentative smile. “Since you wouldn’t talk to me, I had to come to you.” For a second, my throat tightened. I opened my mouth to speak, but Serena reached out and casually took the bag of medication from my hand. “What’s this?” “Frostbite.” “Oh,” she murmured, setting the bag down on the entryway console. She didn’t ask how it happened. She didn’t ask if it hurt. Her phone suddenly blared with that same irritating indie-rock ringtone. I didn’t hear Tyler’s side of the conversation, but Serena laughed loudly, throwing her head back. “You told me to come over, didn’t you? As if I’d dare say no.” My chest hollowed out. The tiny spark of warmth that had flickered when I saw her at my door vanished entirely. I limped past her to the kitchen counter, popped two of the pills, and swallowed them dry. Serena hung up and slid up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Don’t be mad,” she cooed, her cheek pressing against my back. “My phone was on silent that night. And after you left, I was miserable the whole evening.” A grim smile touched my lips. Her bright, smiling face on Tyler’s social media the next morning didn’t look like a woman who had spent the night in misery. “Besides,” she continued, “he’s visited Chicago a few times now. I just wanted to get him out of my hair quickly so I could focus entirely on you…” I froze, the glass halfway to my mouth. “He visits you often?” She excelled at playing it off, squeezing me tighter. “Jealous? Don’t worry. He’s not exactly my type, anyway. I’d never go there.” “We’re just travel buddies occasionally. It’s only because you’re always so busy.” Sensing my rigidity, she let go and announced she was going to take a shower. Before she stepped into the bathroom, she made sure to take her phone with her. 3 A few minutes later, her voice drifted through the steam, asking me to bring her a fresh set of loungewear. I grabbed a clean set and pushed the door open. Serena instantly flipped her phone face-down on the counter, flashing me a wet, brilliant smile. “Thanks, babe.” The door clicked shut in my face. But I didn’t walk away. Within seconds, Tyler’s voice echoed through the thin door, loud and mocking. “Man, you make it feel like we’re having an affair or something.” Serena’s reply was languid, amused. “You know how my boyfriend is. Total control freak.” Tyler snickered. “Show me those legs again. I didn’t get a good look earlier.” Serena scoffed playfully. “Pervert.” I walked away, unable to listen to any more. An hour later, Serena finally emerged. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright and searching, burning with a restless, physical energy. Before I could even reach for the light switch, she threw herself onto me. I placed my hands on her shoulders, gently but firmly pushing her back. “We don’t have any protection,” I said flatly. Serena blinked, caught off guard. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them: “Tyler said it’s fine if it’s my safe window.” I stared at her, disgust rising hot in my throat. “You discuss your cycle with him?” “No!” Serena immediately tried to backtrack, running a hand through her damp hair. But under my level gaze, she knew she couldn’t lie her way out of it. Her voice turned defensive. “It’s not like he’s a stranger.” I looked at her, really looked at her. Her tone, her posture, her protective instinct for him—everything about her screamed where her loyalty lay. It was clear. In this relationship, I was the third wheel. The thought of sharing a bed with her made my skin crawl. “Go sleep in the guest room,” I said. Serena stared at me, dumbfounded. “Because of that?” “I drove all this way to see you, and you’re banishing me to the guest room?” “Is that all I am to you? A physical release?” Serena glared at me, her jaw clenched in anger. I realized this was probably the cleanest moment to say the words “we’re over,” but before I could speak, she slammed the guest room door shut. I kept my mouth shut, turned off the lights, and went to sleep. I slept surprisingly well. When I woke up, there was an email from Mr. Crawford with my flight itinerary to Paris attached. “Tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late.” I sent a quick confirmation, got out of bed, and walked over to the bathroom. But when I pushed the door open, a sharp gasp echoed from inside. I froze, reaching to pull the door closed, but a hand clamped onto the handle from behind me, slamming it shut with jarring speed. “Do you not know how to knock?” Serena snapped, her eyes flashing. For a second, I felt like a trespasser in my own home. “What is Tyler doing here?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. Serena shrugged casually. “He missed you.” In the two years I had rented this apartment, Tyler had never set foot in it. But the moment Serena arrived, suddenly he was overcome with nostalgia. I said nothing. When Tyler finally stepped out of the bathroom, he gave me a brief, awkward nod and slid onto a chair at the dining table. Serena placed a plate in front of him first—a single fried egg. Tyler took a bite, his eyes lighting up. “You always know exactly how I like it. Perfect runny yolk.” Serena smiled, clearly pleased with herself, and then slid a second plate toward me. “See? I didn’t forget you. I made one for you, too.” I stared at the fork in my hand, unable to bring myself to touch the food. I don’t eat runny yolks. I never have. We had been together for six years, and she still didn’t know. “Hey, Serena, let’s play a few rounds later. I’ll carry you,” Tyler said, nudging her leg with his foot under the table. “Please, you’re terrible. I’m the one who carries you,” she teased. “Who’s terrible? I’m literally ranked top tier in the state!” Tyler’s voice grew louder, excited, as he slid his chair closer to hers. Their thighs pressed together. As Serena leaned over to laugh, the loose collar of her shirt shifted, revealing a wide, unobstructed view of her chest. My head throbbed. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Tyler’s ears flushed pink, and he subtly leaned back, though his eyes lingered. A wave of physical nausea hit me. The fork clattered against the plate. I turned my gaze directly to Tyler. “Did I fail to mention that we are no longer friends?” 4 He froze, his face burning with humiliation. He clearly hadn’t expected me to strip away the polite facade so brutally. Serena’s brow furrowed. “You guys fought? When?” I kept my eyes on him. “Four days ago. When he tried to tag along on my trip to see you, and I told him no.” So, out of spite, he had gone to Chicago ahead of me. “Just because of that?” Serena looked exasperated, that familiar dismissive expression returning to her face. But it wasn’t just that. For the past year, Tyler had systematically sabotaged every piece of quality time Serena and I had tried to plan. Every time I set aside a weekend to visit her, Tyler would miraculously fall ill, or drag me into some crisis, or insist on a spontaneous trip. When I bought a promise ring for Serena, he went out and bought an almost identical band to wear on his own hand. I wasn’t blind. I had cut him off as cleanly as I could. But I hadn’t realized a person could be quite this shameless. Tyler slowly stood up, his eyes welling with performative tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll just leave.” With a loud scrape, Serena stood up so fast her chair nearly tipped over. She stepped firmly between Tyler and me. “If you’re throwing him out,” she said, her voice dropping, “then I’m leaving too.” “Then leave,” I replied instantly. My voice was flat, devoid of any anger. Serena’s face went completely blank for a fraction of a second. I had never told her to leave before. In every argument we’d ever had, I was always the one to bow my head and apologize. But I was just so incredibly tired. Serena stood her ground, her jaw tight, staring at me as if waiting for me to break. Tyler snorted, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door. “Come on, Serena. Let’s go. Why do we have to stay here and take this?” “The more you let him walk all over you, the worse it’s going to get!” He dragged her out, and the door clicked shut. A profound sense of relief washed over me. I walked over to the kitchen, scraped the runny egg into the trash, and went to my room to pack my bags. That night, as I was winding down, another close friend of mine sent a barrage of texts. “Holy shit, Logan, look what I just saw!”
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