1 Austin and I planned to marry after seven years apart. To celebrate, he invited me to Cascade Peaks, where we first met. When I arrived, he and my best friend Serena were already skiing together. The resort ran a buy two get one free lift ticket deal and I was the free extra. At a group photo, I stood frozen on the ice while Austin took the shot. In it, I looked awkward and miserable. He put an arm around me and said you are not photogenic, Paige. Next to Serena, you fade. He promised a solo picture but spent the afternoon skiing with her instead. Later, his post showed them laughing in the sun while I was a blurred shadow at the edge. The truth hit hard. For years, I had shared our relationship with Serena on trips, holidays, and even our keychains. If I was always the third wheel, it was time to get off their track. … When the gondola finally rotated to our turn in the queue, only two empty seats remained. Austin naturally extended his hand, guiding Serena into the cabin first. They sat close, laughing at some private joke, completely oblivious to the fact that the lift operator had blocked me behind the metal safety barrier. The gondola rose slowly, disappearing into the gray, winter sky. It was almost laughable. I didn’t wait around. I stripped off my hired gear, returned it to the locker, and walked out of the resort to catch the public bus back to the city. As the engine roared to life, I clutched my phone, a pathetic sliver of hope still lingering in my chest. What would they do when they realized I was gone? Would they feel a pang of regret for leaving me behind? Would they feel guilty? But throughout the bumpy, three-hour ride back to our apartment, my phone remained dead silent. It was only when I collapsed onto the living room sofa, exhausted to the bone, that Austin’s name finally flashed on my screen. “Paige, where did you go? Serena bought a ton of souvenirs and my hands are completely full.” His voice carried a light, irritated edge. “You just vanished without saying a word. Do you have any idea how worried we were?” Worried? Through the receiver, I could hear Serena’s bright, bubbly laughter echoing in the background. I remained quiet for a long second, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I wasn’t feeling well. I went home.” His tone softened slightly, though it still held a hint of scolding. “I told you to wear your thermals, but you wanted to look cute. You probably caught a cold. We’re on our way back now.” He paused. “Take some medicine first. The cold tablets are in…” “The left drawer of the master bedroom nightstand. You put them there after your last flu.” Serena’s voice cut in, answering for him. I opened the drawer. Right next to the blister pack of pills sat a half-used tube of her favorite lip balm. A wave of dizziness hit me. Looking around, I realized this apartment was overflowing with Serena’s presence. Her silk pajamas were currently spinning in our washing machine. Her expensive face wash sat on our bathroom counter. A pair of her personal slippers rested in our shoe rack. This was supposed to be my future home. I was the one paying half the mortgage. Yet, she looked far more like the mistress of this house than I did. I hung up the phone and walked out onto the balcony, desperate for a breath of fresh air. There, shoved into the dampest, darkest corner of the drying rack, was the wool sweater I had washed yesterday. It was cold, wet, and already beginning to smell musty. Meanwhile, Serena’s delicate activewear occupied the prime, sunlit center of the rack. Even my clothes were pushed aside to make room for hers. I stared at the musty sweater for a long time. Then, I reached out, pulled it off the hanger, and threw it straight into the trash can. Austin didn’t walk through the door until eleven that night. He immediately came over to press the back of his hand against my forehead, his touch familiar and warm. “I bought you some ibuprofen. Come on, sit up and take it.” I leaned away from his hand. “Austin, why have you never posted a picture of me on your social media?” His response was smooth, practiced. “My feed is strictly for work. It’s full of partners and clients. Posting personal stuff looks unprofessional.” I let out a quiet laugh. My face was unprofessional. But Serena’s smile was apparently perfect for his brand, considering she made an appearance on his page every other week. The exhaustion finally settled deep into my chest. “Let’s call off the wedding. We’re done.” Austin froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. “Paige, are you serious?” His voice rose, tinged with disbelief. “We’re already engaged. You’re throwing a tantrum over something this petty?” “Is it just this one thing?” I asked, looking up at him. The gentle facade on Austin’s face began to crack, his voice growing sharper. “The invitations are out. The venue deposit is paid. You want to call it off now? Do you want us to be the laughingstock of the city?” Before I could answer, his phone chimed, cutting through the heavy tension. The ringtone was a soft acoustic folk song. It was a track I had recommended to him a dozen times. Every time, he had called it nice but never bothered to save it. But when Serena took an interest in indie folk music a month ago, the song suddenly became his ringtone. He answered, and Serena’s trembling, tearful voice filled the quiet room. “Austin, Mittens is throwing up blood. I’m so scared…” Austin’s face paled instantly. He grabbed his car keys and jacket, already moving toward the door. “Calm down, Paige,” he threw over his shoulder. “Just get some rest. We’ll talk about this when I get back.” The front door slammed shut. The sound felt like a sharp slap to my face, shattering whatever illusions I had left. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in months. “Sean,” I whispered when he picked up. “Is your offer to open that bistro back home still on?” Austin didn’t return until the following morning. He walked in carrying a large paper bag from my favorite bakery, filled to the brim with every flavor of pastry they made. In the past, I would have squealed with joy, taken a dozen photos, and posted them online to show off how sweet my fiancé was. Now, I only felt a dull ache. Over our seven years together, my weight had climbed from a petite hundred and ten pounds to nearly a hundred and thirty-five. In the beginning, he used to squeeze my waist and tell me my curves were adorable. But gradually, his comments changed. “You should probably watch what you eat, Paige. It’s not a good look when a girl lets herself go. Cut back on the sugar.” So, I had stopped eating them. Austin set the box on the coffee table, pushing it toward me with an apologetic smile. “I stayed up all night thinking. I know I haven’t made you feel secure lately. From now on, I’ll post our photos on my main feed. Don’t be mad anymore, okay?” I didn’t say a word. I simply reached into the box and picked up a cinnamon danish from the side. A neat, semi-circular chunk was missing from the pastry. Someone had already taken a bite out of it. Austin cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed. “Serena came with me to the bakery. Her blood sugar was dropping, so I let her have a bite to tide her over. If it bothers you, I can go buy another box.” I closed the lid of the box. “No need. It’s a waste of money.” Believing the storm had passed, Austin let out a sigh of relief. He immediately busied himself around the apartment, cleaning the kitchen and sweeping the floors with unusual enthusiasm. When bedtime rolled around, he slid into bed and wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, his intentions clear. I pushed him away, pointing to the painkillers on the nightstand. “My cramps are starting early this month. I’m not in the mood.” Austin laughed, pulling me closer. “Serena told me that having regular intimacy actually helps with cramps. It keeps the circulation going. Honestly, once a week is too little anyway. It’s not healthy for you.” My body went completely rigid. My cycle. My pain. The private frequency of our intimate life. He had discussed all of it with Serena over casual conversation. A wave of hot anger surged through me. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Austin, you discuss our private life with her? What am I to you? A joke?” He stared at me, his brows furrowing in frustration. “Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill again? Serena is pre-med. She was just offering medical advice because she cares about you. She’s practically family. Is this really necessary?” I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Serena gets cramps too, doesn’t she? Why don’t you go over and help her with her circulation?” His expression darkened instantly. “Watch your mouth, Paige. What did Serena ever do to make you this bitter?” I could criticize him all I wanted, but the moment I mentioned Serena, I crossed his sacred line. I bit my lip, refusing to let the tears fall, but he wasn’t finished. “I guess this is what happens when you grow up in a broken home. You’re always looking for a fight, blowing every tiny detail out of proportion.” I froze. The words cut straight into the rawest, most guarded wound of my childhood. My parents divorced when I was seven. I spent my school years being whispered about, labeled as the unwanted child. When I met Austin, he held me late into the night and swore he would protect me from that pain forever. I had trusted him. I had handed him the keys to my deepest vulnerabilities. And now, he was using them as a weapon to tear me down. My throat burned. I couldn’t help but remember the boy he used to be. The boy who knew I was severely allergic to roses, who would read the ingredient list on a bottle of body wash ten times just to be safe. The boy who carried me on his back to work for a week when I sprained my ankle. But everything had shifted the moment I introduced him to Serena. In the beginning, he complained that she was interrupting our private time. But somewhere along the line, he started asking, “Should we invite Serena? The more the merrier.” I had thought he was just being kind. Only now did I realize his heart had drifted long ago. Austin seemed to realize he had gone too far, his eyes softening with sudden regret. But the floodgates of my resentment had already burst. I shoved him toward the door, screaming at him to get out. He tried to knock a few times, but eventually, his footsteps faded down the hallway. “Lock the door, Paige,” his voice echoed faintly from the corridor. “It’s windy tonight. I’ll come back and apologize tomorrow.” As the silence settled over the empty apartment, my tears finally flowed freely. This was the end. Truly. As I began pulling my suitcases out of the closet, my phone rang. It was our wedding planner, her voice polite but hesitant. “Hi, Paige. We received a request from Austin to make a few changes to the floral arrangements for the reception. He wants to swap out the white lilies for champagne roses. We just need your final sign-off.” I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning white. “Did he request this himself?” The planner hesitated. “Well, a Miss Serena suggested it. She mentioned it would look much more romantic.” My heart felt like it had been dropped into ice. I was highly allergic to roses. Direct contact could trigger severe hives and restrict my breathing. Austin knew this better than anyone. He had originally banned roses from the venue entirely, even asking our guests not to wear rose-scented perfumes. Yet, for a passing whim of Serena’s, he was willing to turn my wedding into a hazard. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. My voice was entirely flat. “There’s no need to sign off on anything. The wedding is off.” The next morning, I walked into the bridal boutique to settle the cancellation fees. As I approached the glass doors of the fitting room suite, a familiar silhouette caught my eye. Austin was standing behind Serena, carefully trying to zip up the back of a delicate white gown. Suddenly, the zipper split, exposing the bare skin of her back. Austin instinctively reached out to cover her, but the sudden movement caused his nose to bleed. I pushed the door open. All three of us froze in a suffocating silence. Austin was the first to scramble for an explanation, wiping his nose quickly. “Paige, it’s not what it looks like. Your dress details needed to be adjusted, but since we were fighting, I couldn’t ask you. Serena’s measurements are almost identical to yours, so I just asked her to try it on for size…” I looked at my dream wedding gown, now stretched and torn at the seams on another woman’s body. It was pathetic. Just as the anger began to bubble up, the heavy studio spotlight above us began to creak and sway. In a split second, the metal fixture snapped, plunging down toward the three of us. In that terrifying instant, Austin’s reflexes kicked in. He lunged forward, throwing his body over Serena to shield her from the falling debris. A sharp shard of shattered glass sliced across my calf. Warm blood began to pool down my ankle, dripping onto the pristine boutique carpet. Oddly, I didn’t feel any pain. Austin scrambled up, his eyes wide with panic as he looked at me. But before he could take a step in my direction, Serena let out a sharp sob. “Austin… my ankle. I think it’s bleeding…” His attention snapped away instantly. Without a backward glance, he rushed to her side, lifting her into his arms. I didn’t say a word. I turned around, walked out of the store, and drove myself to the urgent care clinic, where a doctor put three stitches into my leg. By the time night fell, my phone was still completely silent. Austin had forgotten. Today was my twenty-sixth birthday. I opened my phone one last time. Serena had updated her social media. The photo showed Austin’s side profile, his head bowed as he carefully applied antiseptic to a tiny scratch on her ankle. His expression was so tender, so focused, that I couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at me that way. I let out a dry laugh and booked a room at a nearby hotel. Then, I drafted my resignation email to my boss and called my mother. “Mom,” I said, my voice steady. “Cancel the banquet. It’s over between Austin and me.” The next morning, I woke up to a single text message from Austin, sent in the dead of night. There was no inquiry about my injury, no mention of my birthday. Serena’s ankle is too sore for her to travel back to her place. She’s going to stay at the apartment for a few days. Since we’re short on beds, do you mind staying at the hotel a bit longer? I turned off my phone, went back to the apartment, and prepared to pack the rest of my belongings. But the moment I unlocked the front door, my blood ran cold. My mother was in the kitchen, her face flushed red from the heat as she bent over a steaming stove. In the living room, Austin and three of his friends were sprawled across the sofa, shouting over a video game. They were casually spitting peanut shells onto the hardwood floor, expecting my mother to sweep them up like a paid maid. Nobody offered to help. Nobody treated her like the mother of the bride. To them, her labor was completely invisible, a convenience they were entitled to. I dropped my bag, ready to scream, but my mother rushed out of the kitchen and pulled me in by the hand. She wiped her damp hands on her apron, her eyes filled with an apologetic anxiety. “Sweetie, I heard you and Austin had a disagreement, so I took the early train down to help smooth things over,” she whispered, her voice low. “You two have worked so hard to get to this point. Don’t let a little temper ruin it. Go sit with the guests. Don’t let them think we don’t know how to host.” My heart ached sharply. I grabbed her hand to pull her out of the kitchen to demand an apology from the living room. “Ah—” She let out a sharp cry of pain, flinching away. It was only then that I saw the raw, angry blisters bubble across the back of her hand and forearm. My eyes welled with hot tears. “Mom, what happened to your hand? We’re going to the hospital right now.” She looked down like a child who had broken a vase. “It’s nothing, really. Just a little spill. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Under my stubborn questioning, the truth finally spilled out. Ten minutes ago, while carrying a heavy pot of hot stew, she had slipped on a greasy wrapper someone had discarded on the floor. She had crashed hard, the boiling liquid splashing over her arm. And Austin? He had barely looked up from his game with Serena. “Careful, Auntie. The floor’s a bit slick,” he had muttered, his eyes glued to the screen. My body trembled with a cold, violent rage. I made a move toward the living room, but my mother held onto my sleeve with a desperate strength. “Please, Paige. They’re just having fun. Don’t make a scene because of me.” I looked through the kitchen doorway. Austin was currently picking out a prime slice of meat from a serving dish, gently placing it into Serena’s bowl. He hadn’t even noticed the quiet crying in the kitchen. My mother had lived a life of brutal frugality in our small town, saving every penny to send me to a top university in the city. I had promised her she would never have to suffer again once I made something of myself. And here she was, serving as a maid to a group of arrogant boys who wouldn’t even extend a hand to help her up after she burned herself. I forced myself to calm down. I wiped my face, bandaged my mother’s arm with cold compresses, and walked into the bedroom. I dragged my large suitcase out and began throwing my clothes inside, not caring how they folded. Once the bags were zipped, I took my mother’s uninjured hand and led her toward the front door. Hearing the heavy wheels of the suitcases, Austin finally paused his game. I kept my back turned to him, my heart braced for some kind of apology, some desperate plea for me to stay. Instead, a notification pinged on my phone. He had sent me fifty dollars. “Heading out?” Austin called out, his eyes already drifting back to the television screen. “Grab us a couple of pizzas from down the street on your way back.” The last shred of hope in my chest withered and died. I didn’t look back. I led my mother down the stairs and hailed a cab. It was only when the taxi pulled up to the train station that my mother finally realized what was happening. “Paige, where are we going? You’re getting married in three weeks. Don’t let a little accident between me and Austin ruin your future. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have come. Driver, please pull over!” I turned to look at her, my eyes rimmed with red. “Mom, this isn’t about the spill.” “Austin doesn’t respect you because he doesn’t love me.” I opened my phone and booked two one-way tickets back to our hometown. Back at the apartment, the guests eventually dispersed as the afternoon faded. Austin sat on the couch, realizing I still hadn’t returned. Just as he stood up to search for me, Serena suddenly began complaining of severe nausea and abdominal pain. By the time he carried her to the emergency clinic, waited through the registration, and watched her finish an IV drip, it was nearly midnight. He finally had a moment to check his phone. He pulled up his chat history with me and typed out a message. But when he hit send, a bright red exclamation mark popped up next to his text. You are no longer friends with this contact.
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