1 Woke at night with severe cramps, I messaged our group chat for help before passing out. When pings woke me, my boyfriend Julian and best friend Clara had swapped over a hundred messages. My plea for ibuprofen lay ignored at the bottom. They chatted wildly, debating the World Cup, griping about work, planning a Northern Lights trip. Curled under my duvet, I scrolled up. Last month, I’d cried here about my boss throwing coffee on me. No reply. But when Clara posted a puppy video, Julian blew up the chat. Last weekend, I asked about lunch. They debated games until 3 AM, ignoring me. Suddenly, I recalled Julian’s words creating this chat: “Great, right? Those who love you most sharing your joy and pain.” Notifications kept popping. I tapped “Leave Group.” They never cared. I was done with a life where my voice only echoed in emptiness. … When the sky began to turn a bruised gray, the pain woke me up again. My phone was completely dead silent. Not a single private message from either of them. I leaned heavily against the wall, dragging myself to the bathroom. The face looking back at me in the mirror was terrifyingly pale. Right after I splashed freezing water on my face, Julian called. “Wake up, lazybones. Come downstairs, we’re going to be late for work.” I grabbed a random sweater, threw it on, and stumbled down the stairs, my legs feeling like jelly. Julian rolled down the window of his sedan. Clara was already sitting in the passenger seat, aggressively typing on her laptop balanced on the dashboard. I pulled open the back door and shivered violently as the blasting AC hit my cold sweat. “What took you so long? The newsroom is swamped today.” Julian put the car in drive while Clara turned around, handing me an iced Americano. “Thanks for suffering through this early commute with us every day, Chloe!” I hesitated for a second, then quietly set the iced coffee down in the cupholder. Ever since the incident where my boss humiliated me by throwing coffee on my shirt, I hadn’t been able to drink it. But they weren’t there to see it happen, and they clearly didn’t care to remember. During the drive, Clara continued typing furiously while bantering back and forth with Julian. I sat alone in the backseat, pressing my burning forehead against the freezing glass window just to keep the agonizing cramps at bay. Their voices began to blur into white noise, as if a thick, invisible glass wall had slammed down between the front seats and the back. Clara bounced rapidly from topic to topic, and no matter what she brought up, Julian effortlessly volleyed it back. More and more of their conversation became an inside joke I couldn’t understand. “That Italian place was incredible.” “God, the new editor is such a nightmare.” A sudden thought hit me like a physical blow. When was the last time Julian and I talked like that? I honestly couldn’t remember. Only when we pulled up to the media building did Clara suddenly let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh no! I didn’t finish writing the closing segment!” Julian smoothly backed into a parking space and said casually, “That’s what happens when you stay up all night watching soccer. Just have Chloe finish it for you. She’s just doing desk work today anyway.” Clara’s face lit up. She shoved her laptop directly into my chest and pressed her hands together in a pleading gesture. “You’re the absolute best, Chloe! Please, please, please? I’ll buy you boba later!” “I don’t think I can—” Before I could even finish my sentence, she gave me a lightning-fast hug, spun around, and sprinted toward the glass doors of the building. Julian was right behind her. He pressed a completely absentminded kiss to my forehead and jogged after her. I had watched them walk away like this a hundred times. At first, I was the one who asked Julian to keep an eye on Clara because she was new to the field team. Then, I was the one standing on the sidewalk, watching them drive off together for breaking news coverage. And now, somehow, I had become the ghost they left behind. At noon, right after I emailed Clara the finished segment, a warm boba tea slid across my desk. A coworker sitting nearby let out a sharp whistle. “Well, well. If it isn’t the golden couple of the newsroom, back from the trenches.” Julian shot him a freezing glare. “Watch your mouth.” He leaned against the edge of my cubicle, his long fingers naturally reaching out to massage my temples. “Is it that time of the month? You looked like you were going to pass out this morning.” I gave a weak nod and wrapped my cold fingers around the plastic cup. The tea was already ice cold. A memory from our first year together suddenly flashed through my mind. Back then, Julian was constantly traveling for field reports. I texted him one night: My cramps are killing me. Going to sleep early. Less than two hours later, he was pounding on my apartment door, completely drenched in sweat. His arms were overflowing with heating pads, three different kinds of painkillers, and a steaming thermos of ginger tea he had somehow managed to brew on the way. That winter was brutally cold, but the heat radiating from his palms made me feel entirely safe. Before I could fully process the memory, Julian pulled his hands away. He was staring at his phone, typing a rapid response to someone. He finished his text, glanced down at me, and frowned. “Why are you wearing a giant hoodie today?” “Didn’t I mention in the group chat yesterday that we’re having dinner with the station director tonight? You can’t wear sweatpants to that.” I blinked at him. So he genuinely hadn’t noticed that I had left the group chat. “I left the group chat. If it’s about work, just message me on Slack.” The casual smile instantly vanished from Julian’s face. He let out a heavy, patronizing sigh. “Seriously? Why? Because you’re on your period and the notifications are annoying you?” “If you’re in a bad mood, take it out on me. Block my number if you have to. Don’t throw a tantrum and leave the group chat. Clara is your best friend. Do you know how hurt she’s going to be when she sees that?” His phone pinged loudly. He glanced at the screen, immediately turned on his heel, and started walking away, tossing a frustrated sentence over his shoulder. “Whatever. If you’re sick, just stay at your desk. Clara and I are going to lunch. I’m adding you back to the chat later, and you are not allowed to leave again. Understood?” I sat silently in my rolling chair, the agonizing cramps twisting my stomach into tight knots. I dry-swallowed the ibuprofen I had Postmated for myself and dropped the freezing boba tea straight into the trash can. Then, I clicked open a half-finished Word document on my desktop. Application for Overseas Correspondent. My phone started buzzing relentlessly. When I finally packed up to leave, the group chat had over 99 unread messages. The very last one was from Julian, specifically tagging me. [Clara told me about those psychotic business owners targeting female reporters lately. I don’t feel safe letting you live alone right now. I’m packing a bag and moving into your apartment tonight.] I had literally sent them a news alert about that exact same stalker situation three days ago in this very chat. But they had been too busy debating the plot of a Marvel movie to acknowledge it. I typed a quick, [No need,] locked my screen, and climbed into the back of my Uber. After staring at the passing traffic for a minute, I unlocked my phone and added one last sentence. [I applied for the overseas correspondent position today. I might be leaving the country soon.] I hit send. Not a single new message popped up. Watching the blurry city lights streak past the window, I suddenly thought about my first year at the station. We were all rookies back then. Julian and Clara were assigned to the chaotic field team, and I was the quiet copy editor working behind the scenes. Every time Julian came back from a grueling shoot, he brought me a hot chocolate. Every time Clara struggled with an opening hook, she would roll her chair over to my desk and ask me how to inject more emotion into the script. When the three of us won our very first industry journalism award, Julian picked me up and spun me around while laughing hysterically. Clara shoved the heavy glass trophy directly into my hands. She promised we were going to conquer the entire media world together. We did conquer it. Only, they were the ones standing in the spotlight, and I was just the shadow. When the Uber dropped me off, I looked up and saw the lights in my apartment were on. I assumed I had been in such a rush this morning that I forgot to hit the switch. But when I unlocked the front door, I froze. A massive suitcase was splayed open in the middle of my living room, with men’s clothes thrown haphazardly all over my clean sofa. There was the sound of chopping coming from the kitchen. Julian poked his head out, holding a spatula. “You’re back? The soup is almost done.” Clara walked out right behind him, carrying a plate of appetizers, a bright, excited smile plastered across her face. “Chloe, you’re finally home! Julian said you guys were officially moving in together, so I bought a bunch of groceries to celebrate. Surprise!” I stood paralyzed in the entryway, feeling like I had walked into an absurd sitcom. But Clara had already spun back into the kitchen, leaning over the stove next to Julian. “Don’t add the green onions to the soup. Chloe hates them.” “It’s fine, she can just pick them out. I love green onions.” “Let’s simmer it for another ten minutes, the meat isn’t tender enough yet.” “Alright, whatever you say, chef.” The two of them bounced off each other with effortless chemistry, looking exactly like a pair of ridiculously in-love newlyweds. It made me feel like an absolute stranger intruding in my own home. That familiar, suffocating wave of exhaustion crashed over me. I didn’t even bother taking my shoes off. I walked straight to the kitchen doorway. “I never agreed to let you move in.” Julian turned around, his eyes wide with genuine confusion. “What is your problem now?” “My problem is that this is my apartment. Who gave you permission to come inside?” The air in the room instantly turned to ice. Clara rushed over, reaching out to grab my arm, but I smoothly stepped back to avoid her touch. She nervously glanced at Julian’s dark expression before frantically trying to explain. “Chloe, please don’t be mad. Julian was just terrified that you were living alone with that stalker on the loose. If I knew you were going to be this upset, I never would have let him come over.” CLANG. Julian slammed the heavy metal spatula into the cast-iron skillet. “Chloe, are you done throwing your little tantrum?” “I am bending over backwards out of pure concern for your safety, moving all my stuff here just to protect you, and this is the attitude I get?” Julian’s face twisted into a mask of pure, ugly frustration. “What the hell has been wrong with you lately? You’re constantly snapping at everyone, you act like a child and leave the group chat, and now you’re kicking us out of your house? Clara is your best friend. I am your boyfriend. Do you really think we’re trying to ruin your life?” “Julian, please stop yelling. Chloe is just having a bad week because of her period, you know how it gets.” I stood there, watching them play their perfectly choreographed good-cop-bad-cop routine, and I felt so unbelievably tired. Tired beyond the 14-hour editing shifts. Tired beyond the agonizing cramps. I didn’t scream at him like I would have a year ago. I just calmly pointed my finger toward the front door. “We are breaking up. Get out of my house right now.” Clara took a step forward, trying to grab my hand, but Julian viciously yanked her back by her wrist. “Don’t even bother with her, Clara. She’s acting like a rabid dog right now.” By the time I finished throwing his clothes into his suitcase and scrubbing their mess out of my kitchen, it was 2 AM. The next morning, I walked into the main conference room for the overseas correspondent selection. The first thing I saw was Julian leaning over the table, aggressively pointing at something on Clara’s script. When they noticed me, they both froze. “Chloe? What are you doing here?” I pulled out a chair in the very back row and sat down, keeping my eyes locked on the whiteboard. “I sent a message in the group chat yesterday.” The silence that followed was incredibly uncomfortable. Julian cleared his throat awkwardly, then immediately turned his back to me and went back to whispering with Clara. Clara mumbled something in response and refused to look in my direction. The selection process began. When it was Clara’s turn to present, Julian actually gave her a thumbs-up from the front row. She hadn’t even read two sentences before I narrowed my eyes. The script she was holding was the rough draft I had ghostwritten for her yesterday. And it was painfully obvious she hadn’t bothered to read it beforehand. When she reached the emotional climax of the story, she literally read the director’s notes I had written in parentheses out loud. A wave of hushed, mocking whispers rippled through the audience of seasoned journalists. Before she could awkwardly stumble to the end, Director Vance, the head of the department, slammed his hand on the table, picked up his half-full coffee cup, and hurled the liquid directly at her. “You dare bring this garbage onto my stage? You are a complete embarrassment to this network!” Seeing the dark coffee stains splattered across Clara’s pristine white blouse, my instinct kicked in. I reached for the zipper of my jacket, preparing to run up there and cover her. But Julian was much faster. He vaulted onto the stage, throwing his body in front of Clara like a human shield. “Director, even if her script was flawed, you have absolutely no right to throw coffee at your staff.” My fingers locked in a death grip around the fabric of my jacket. The last time the Director publicly humiliated someone by throwing coffee, it was me. I had cried in our group chat about it for hours. Neither of them even asked if I was okay. Julian’s eyes pierced through the crowd and locked directly onto mine. His look was an aggressive, unmistakable command. The message was crystal clear: Stand up. Take the blame for her. This wasn’t the first time he demanded this. Whenever Clara mispronounced a foreign dignitary’s name on live television, I was the one who marched into the control room and claimed I had printed the phonetic spelling wrong on the teleprompter. Julian always justified it by saying, You work behind a desk, Chloe. It doesn’t affect your career. Clara is the face of the network. But this time, staring straight into his demanding eyes, I slowly shook my head. Julian opened his mouth to bark an order, but Clara suddenly buried her face in her hands and sprinted out of the conference room sobbing. He shot me a look of pure, venomous disgust and chased after her without a second thought. The rest of the room turned to stare at me. Some eyes were curious, some were judging, and some were hiding malicious smirks. The moderator quickly restored order, and the presentations continued. The second I stepped out of the conference room after my presentation, Julian aggressively grabbed my arm and dragged me into the stairwell. Clara was standing against the concrete wall, shivering, wearing his oversized blazer. Her eyes were swollen red. Julian’s voice trembled with barely contained fury. “Are you happy now, Chloe?” “It’s just an overseas assignment! Was it really necessary to sit there and watch her get publicly humiliated? We have been friends for years, and you just threw her to the wolves without blinking.” I let out a sharp, cold laugh and looked him dead in the eyes. “She used a script I wrote. She didn’t bother to read the notes. Why the hell should I take the bullet for her incompetence?” “Because she doesn’t know how to write that kind of copy!” Julian’s voice echoed violently off the concrete walls. “You know scriptwriting is her weak spot! Why didn’t you sit down and review it with her before she went up there?” He stepped directly into my personal space, grabbing my wrist again, trying to physically pull me toward the director’s office. “You are going to walk in there right now, tell Vance you are withdrawing your application, and give the spot to Clara.” I almost laughed out loud. “On what grounds?” “Because she needs it ten times more than you do!” Julian glared down at me, speaking as if he were explaining basic math to a toddler. “Do you have any idea how psychotic that stalker is right now? Clara is a female reporter out on the streets every single day. She is terrified for her life. You get to sit in a secure office behind a desk. Why are you trying to steal her only ticket out of the city?” “Julian, please stop.” Clara weakly tugged on his sleeve, then turned to me, forcing a pathetic, trembling smile. “Chloe, please don’t be mad at him. He’s just stressed.” She reached out and tried to loop her arm through mine, exactly like she used to do when we were college freshmen. “It’s fine, it’s totally fine. It was my fault for not prepping enough. I don’t blame you.” “Let’s just go. We can ride in Julian’s car, I’ll drop you off at your place, and you guys can talk this out. No more fighting, okay?” I ripped my arm out of her grip, feeling incredibly disgusted by the stranger standing in front of me. This was the same Clara who used to passionately defend me, screaming at Julian for prioritizing his job over my feelings. I didn’t even acknowledge them. I turned my back and walked straight toward the elevators. A heavy hand slammed against the elevator doors just as they were closing. Julian shoved his way inside. Clara practically dragged me by my coat into the parking garage. “Chloe, stop making a scene. We can talk about this when we get to the car.” But the moment we reached Julian’s sedan, Clara smoothly opened the back door for me, then confidently slid into the passenger seat. Julian glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his brow deeply furrowed, but he kept his mouth shut. Seconds later, both of their phone screens lit up. I watched their thumbs fly across the keyboards, followed by a secretive, knowing glance shared between the front seats. I leaned my head against the cold glass and completely shut them out. The car was speeding down a narrow alleyway toward Clara’s apartment building when a black SUV suddenly aggressively swerved, blocking the entire road. Julian slammed on the brakes. My head violently slammed into the back of Clara’s seat. My vision exploded into a dizzying blur of white stars. A split second later, a massive brick shattered the windshield. “Get out of the car, you parasitic scumbags!” Three large men wielding steel pipes started marching toward the sedan. Julian didn’t hesitate for a microsecond. He kicked his door open, grabbed Clara by the waist, and bolted out of the car. I stumbled out of the backseat, my vision swimming, my legs completely numb. But Julian already had his arm wrapped tightly around Clara, sprinting toward the main street with terrifying speed. He frantically flagged down a passing taxi and shoved Clara into the back seat. “Chloe! Clara is the one on television, they recognize her face! I have to get her out of here!” The taxi door slammed shut. One of the men with a pipe lunged forward and grabbed me violently by the collar of my jacket. “You’re rolling with them, right? Perfect. You’ll do.” I thrashed wildly, kicking and screaming, but my body felt completely hollow. With the absolute last ounce of strength I had, I smashed the emergency SOS button on my phone before the darkness swallowed me whole. My final thought, before I lost consciousness, was sickeningly clear. Of course. No matter what the situation is, I am always the one left behind to die. When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room blinded me. Julian was standing at the foot of my bed, looking exhausted and carrying a heavy expression of guilt. Clara was standing next to him, her eyes puffy and red from crying. The second I blinked, Clara rushed to my bedside, her voice choking on dramatic sobs. “Chloe! Thank God you’re awake! We were so terrified!” Julian took a hesitant step forward, his voice completely devoid of its usual arrogance. “I am so sorry, Chloe. Everything happened so fast. That guy recognized Clara from the broadcasts, and I was terrified he was going to kill her, so my instinct was just to…” I turned my head away, staring blankly at the sterile white wall as a single tear slipped into my hairline. “We are done…” Before I could finish my sentence, Julian’s eyes darted to Clara’s forearm. The edge of a white bandage was slightly peeling off. “What happened to your arm? I told you not to move it.” “It’s fine, it just snagged on my coat. Honestly, I’m just terrified that psycho is going to leak our location to the network.” Julian reached out, instinctively and gently pressing the adhesive tape back onto her skin. His tone was casual and intimately protective. “I already called security. You’re completely off field duty for the next week. I’ll write all your scripts…” Lying in that hospital bed, watching their flawless, sickeningly sweet dynamic play out in real time, I suddenly felt incredibly bored. My phone vibrated sharply on the bedside table. It was an automated email from HR. Overseas Correspondent Application: APPROVED. I pushed my weight onto my elbows, sat up, and reached over to rip the IV needle out of my own hand. Julian finally snapped out of his trance, lunging forward to grab my wrist. “What the hell are you doing?” I looked him dead in the eyes and said it loud and clear. “Julian, I am breaking up with you. I refuse to spend another second of my life in the same room as the two of you.” They both froze in shock. Clara’s eyes instantly welled up with fresh tears. “Chloe, please don’t do this. Last night was a horrible, freak accident. Julian didn’t mean to leave you…” The guilt instantly evaporated from Julian’s face, immediately replaced by that familiar, suffocating irritation. “Chloe, can you stop using breaking up as a weapon every time something doesn’t go your way?” Clara frantically grabbed his bicep. “Julian, stop yelling at her. She just woke up, she has a concussion…” Julian violently shook her hand off, staring down at me with profound disappointment. “I know you took a hit yesterday, but I already apologized! How long are you going to drag this childish tantrum out?” He let out a sharp, mocking scoff, grabbed Clara by the shoulder, and stormed out of the hospital room without looking back. Julian never came back to visit me. After I was discharged, I went straight to the network headquarters to pack my belongings for the overseas deployment. As I was walking through the main lobby holding a cardboard box, I nearly collided with Julian. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the box. “What is this? You’re actually quitting over an argument?” “I’m taking a leave of absence. I need a break.” He let out a massive sigh of relief and casually reached out to touch my forehead. “A break is a good idea. You need to reset your mental state. Clara and I are buried in a massive investigative piece right now, but once we wrap it up, I’ll come stay with you for a few days.” He was already speed-walking toward Clara, who had just walked through the revolving doors, and he didn’t even hear my final words. “Don’t bother.” Because I will never need you again, Julian.
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