My girlfriend, Alyssa, promised that once I gave her a hundred gifts, she’d finally post me on her Instagram. Make us official. I pulled three consecutive all-nighters, pushing through bone-deep exhaustion to finish the last one right before my birthday. But that night, the person she went public with on her feed was my best friend, Tyler. “Promised Ty I’d post him once he finished his gift~” her caption read. The accompanying photo was a silly stick-figure doodle Tyler had drawn on a napkin. Meanwhile, the large oil painting of the two of us—the one I’d spent sleepless, tearful nights painting—lay forgotten, tossed carelessly into the damp corner of her mudroom. Our mutual friends commented almost immediately: “Bold move. Aren’t you worried Sam will see this and throw a fit?” “So sweet though! When do we get to eat wedding cake?” Alyssa replied within seconds: “Blocked him hours ago, nothing to worry about. If he makes a scene, I’ll just make a post custom-set to ‘Only Him’ to shut him up.” “And as for the wedding, the sooner the better, but we’ll have to see what the groom thinks.” She tagged Tyler again. I stared at the glowing screen. I realized then that when you are the one who is truly loved, even a napkin scribble gets showcased to the world. Swallowing the bitter lump of disappointment, I spent an hour typing out a long, raw text, pouring my heart into the blue bubbles. It took Alyssa until the next afternoon to reply. “Morning babe, just woke up. Read your texts.” “Love you too.” This time, I didn’t write back. Just woke up? Exactly an hour earlier, Tyler had posted a photo of the two of them together on his stories. “Shopping, dinner, and her.” A hollow laugh escaped my throat. A woman who couldn’t keep her boundaries straight wasn’t a woman worth keeping. … At 11:59 PM, the familiar sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. Alyssa opened the door, carrying a shopping bag containing the exact clothes Tyler had been wearing in his photo today. She stopped when she saw me sitting on the sofa in the dark. “What are you doing home?” she asked, her voice tight with surprise. “I thought you said you had to work late tonight.” I rubbed the promise ring on my finger. The text where I’d mentioned working late was five days old. I had only forced myself to take those extra shifts to free up time for the painting. My throat felt dry. “Today is the fifteenth, Alyssa.” She hesitated, casually glancing down at her watch. “Oh. Really? I must have gotten the days mixed up.” The second hand on the wall clock ticked in the heavy silence. She walked over, leaning down to kiss me. “It’s late, babe. Let’s go to sleep.” I flinched, pulling my face away. Alyssa froze, a flash of disbelief crossing her face. My eyelids trembled. I had always loved her with a physical intensity; usually, her proximity drew me in like gravity. But tonight, the pull was gone. “I know you’re mad,” she said, straightening up, her expression souring. “So I forgot your birthday. We celebrate it every year anyway, it’s not that big of a deal.” “Besides, you’re twenty-seven. A birthday just means you’re a year older. There’s no point.” When I remained silent, she sighed, a patronizing concession. “If you’re going to pout about it, I’ll make it up to you with a gift next time. Okay?” “No point?” I repeated her words, looking up to meet her eyes. But last month was Tyler’s birthday. She had cancelled her meetings, cleared her schedule, and thrown him a massive party. She Venmo’d him three separate times, spending thousands of dollars. When I had gently tried to express my discomfort back then, she told me, “Birthdays only come once a year, Sam. They’re precious.” Why did the rules change when it came to me? I let out a cold laugh. “That’s not what you told Tyler last month.” Alyssa stiffened, stepping closer, casting a shadow over me. Her voice took on an impatient edge. “I told you, I forgot. Do you really have to overanalyze everything and hold a grudge? Besides, Tyler is your best friend. He’s family, not some stranger.” Family. But she had forgotten so much more than just a birthday. From our anniversary dinner to the weekend we were supposed to travel to visit my dad’s grave—she forgot every single thing. I leaned back against the cushions. “Right. He’s family. You’ve gone public with him on social media, so how could he be a stranger?” My gaze drifted to the shopping bag in her hand. “Actually, I think I’m the stranger here.” She pulled the bag behind her back. “His clothes are delicate and need to be hand-washed. A guy doesn’t know how to do that, so I was just helping out… And about the Instagram post, my finger slipped and I tagged the wrong account. Do I really have to explain every little thing to you? Sam, aren’t you tired of being so paranoid? It was just a silly post anyway.” I stayed quiet. She had never once washed my clothes. “No girl wants to play the maid,” she had told me once. A slipped finger? Who would believe that? Alyssa turned toward the guest room, then paused, looking back at me with deep disappointment. “You’ve really changed. You’re starting to feel like a stranger to me.” When the door clicked shut, I sat in the quiet. I felt the exact same way about her. The next morning, she was already gone when I woke up. I went to the kitchen. The fridge was covered in sticky notes I had left her. I used to wake up early to make her breakfast before my overtime shifts, leaving it warm for her. She had never touched them. The food in the fridge had gone moldy. Without hesitation, I swept it all into the trash. After breakfast, I opened the guest room door. The hundred gifts I had lovingly gathered over the years were crammed into a damp cardboard box in the darkest corner. But Tyler’s stick-figure drawing was framed beautifully on her nightstand. My hands shook as I carried the damp box to the backyard fireplace. I tossed the gifts in, one by one. Alyssa suddenly burst back into the house, apparently having forgotten something. Seeing the smoke rising from the backyard, her eyes widened in panic. She rushed out. “What are you burning?! Is that the drawing Tyler made for—” She stopped, her shoulders sagging in relief when she realized what was actually in the flames. I didn’t say a word. I just watched her. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, avoiding my gaze. “Oh, it’s just that old junk. You realized how useless they were, right? Honestly, they were just taking up space anyway. I’m glad you’re finally thinking straight.” She reached out to ruffle my hair, the way she used to. “I just came back to grab a file. Make sure you clean up the ashes.” I tossed the final oil painting into the fire. The smoke smelled of old cardboard, burnt acrylics, and the cheap lavender sachets I’d bought for her closet years ago. It felt like watching a slow autopsy of my twenties. “What did you think I was burning?” I asked quietly. She didn’t answer. She grabbed her file from the guest room, slid Tyler’s framed drawing into her briefcase, and walked out. I leaned against the doorframe, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “No one cares about that garbage but you.” “Shut up,” she snapped, her face darkening. As she turned to leave, her briefcase caught on the edge of the nightstand drawer, pulling it completely open. A thick, beautifully bound scrapbook fell out, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Panic flashed across her face. She scrambled to grab it, but I beat her to it. When I opened it, the blood in my veins ran cold. It was a meticulously printed collection of her chat logs with Tyler. Every single screenshot was laminated and bound. My hands trembled violently. My eyes stung. “You said this was childish,” I whispered. “You said you hated stuff like this.” The book felt like lead. Just months ago, I had suggested making a scrapbook of our messages to keep for our future. Alyssa had scoffed, calling it immature and pointless. So I let it go. And yet, here it was. She had custom-made one for Tyler, keeping it right under our roof. Alyssa snatched it from my hands, her chest heaving. “Who gave you permission to touch my things? Do you have any concept of boundaries?” She frantically brushed the dust off the cover, slipping it back into her folder. “What about my boundaries, Alyssa?” my voice cracked. “My gifts are thrown in a damp box while you keep your secret love letters right here. You’ve checked out of this relationship, and I’m not even allowed to look?” “Stop talking nonsense!” she yelled, her brow furrowed. “Tyler and I are completely platonic. Don’t ruin his reputation just because you have a dirty mind. Go take a cold shower and clear your head.” She walked toward the door. Anger surged, hot and sharp. I grabbed her wrist. “Platonic? He literally texted me a picture of the two of you in bed! He calls you ‘sweetheart.’ How can you stand there and lie?” With a violent shrug, she threw my hand off. I lost my footing, slipping on the hardwood floor. My head slammed hard against the sharp wooden edge of the bedframe. A blinding, white-hot pain shot through my skull, blurring my vision. “You…” Alyssa paused. She half-reached out a hand to help me up, but quickly pulled it back, her expression twisting into disgust. “Don’t go into my room again,” she said coldly, turning her back on me. I blacked out from the pain. When I finally came to, the room was dark. Alyssa was sitting in the armchair nearby, tapping lazily on her phone. “Finally awake? It’s your own fault for being so clumsy.” I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry. She locked her phone and glanced at me, clearly bored. “I have to get back to work.” The front door slammed, sending a tremor through my chest. After a long while, I dressed and went out to the living room. Alyssa was standing on the balcony, on the phone with Tyler. Her voice had a soft, gentle patience I hadn’t heard in years. “Have you eaten yet?” she was saying. “Do you want me to bring you some cake? Sweet treats always cheer you up.” Tyler’s giggling voice drifted through the receiver. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want your boyfriend getting mad again.” Alyssa laughed. “It’s not a big deal. We just won’t tell him. He’s too oblivious to notice anyway.” My heart felt like it was being scraped by a rusted nail. In the beginning, she had loved me like that. If I mentioned wanting cake, she would buy five different flavors. If I tagged her in a post about flowers, she would drive across town to find the exact bouquet. But people change. I took a deep breath. “Alyssa.” She didn’t even turn around. I stepped onto the balcony, forcing her to look at me. “Alyssa, we’re over. Let’s break up.” She briefly pulled the phone away, giving me a dismissive look. “Sure, babe. Whatever you say. I’m busy right now, go watch TV or something, okay?” A profound, heavy exhaustion settled into my bones. I had envisioned our breakup as a massive, screaming match. I never expected it to end with such hollow indifference. I closed my eyes as hot tears slid down my cheeks. I went back to the bedroom, staring at my unpacked clothes, not knowing where to start. My phone buzzed. A friend had sent me a screenshot. Tyler had posted an unflattering photo of me on his Instagram. It was a picture taken in our bedroom—a photo only Alyssa could have taken. Tyler captioned it: “Does anyone actually find this look attractive?” The comments were filled with laughing emojis and insults. And there, right at the top, was Alyssa’s comment: “Not as good-looking as you.” Tyler replied: “Good boy. Next time send me an even uglier one so I can make a meme out of it.” “Deal,” Alyssa wrote. My ears rang. My friend texted: Who does this guy think he is? This is sick. Let me know if you want me to go handle this. My phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the floor. I marched out of the room. Alyssa was still smiling at her screen on the couch. I snatched the phone from her hand and unlocked it, opening her photo library. There was an album labeled “Ugly.” It was filled with bad photos of me, some maliciously edited. But the very top album, pinned and favorited, was “Tyler.” Dozens of professionally edited, perfect portraits of him. My hands went numb with rage. I checked her texts. She had been sending those ugly photos of me to Tyler to use as reaction stickers. “Tyler is just better looking than you,” Alyssa said, scowling as she tried to grab her phone back. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. “So that gives you the right to humiliate me?” I had spent hours carefully editing her photos before saving them, wanting to preserve only her most beautiful angles. Because when you love someone, don’t you want the world to see them at their best? Tyler’s mocking voice suddenly blared from the speakerphone. “Oh, come on, Sam. Don’t be a baby. Even your own girlfriend knows I’m the prettier one.” A dark, bitter laugh escaped me. “Sure, Tyler. You look just like your father did when he was sleeping with other men’s wives. Gorgeous.” Tyler gasped. “How could you say that to me? Alyssa, he’s…” Alyssa’s face went white. “How dare you say something so malicious? He’s your best friend!” “He stopped being my friend a long time ago,” I said softly. “Since when?” she demanded. “Since the winter my dad was dying, and Tyler said he looked like a bloated pig.” The memory hit me like a physical blow. Last winter, my father was in the final stages of renal failure, his body severely swollen. I had to run to the office to hand off some contracts and asked Tyler to sit with him for a few hours. But when I returned, I heard Tyler laughing on the phone through the door. “Tell him to eat less. He looks like a bloated pig. It’s honestly repulsive.” My father had treated Tyler like his own son. When Tyler’s father was run out of town for destroying families, it was my dad who took pity on him, encouraging me to help him. And that was how he repaid us. Alyssa flinched slightly, remembering the incident. But she still defended him. “He didn’t mean it like that. It was a slip of the tongue. Are you seriously going to hold a grudge over that forever? And bringing up his father’s past is just cruel. Tyler is innocent.” I smiled, but my heart was bleeding. “Innocent?” Before Alyssa could speak, the front door swung open. Tyler walked in, carrying a basket of wellness supplements. His eyes were already red and watery. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say those things about your dad. I was young and stupid. I don’t want to lose you. Please forgive me.” He pushed the basket toward me. “I brought some of the things your dad used to like. Let’s go visit his grave together? I want to apologize to him properly.” The sheer hypocrisy made my stomach turn. I shoved him away. “Get the hell out. Don’t act like you care. You mocked my dying father, and now you’re trying to take my woman. Have you no shame?” Tyler whimpered, grabbing the hem of Alyssa’s jacket. “I… I didn’t mean it. Alyssa, tell him. I just wanted to apologize. And no matter how much I love you, I would never try to steal you from Sam…” Alyssa wrapped an arm around him, then turned to me, her hand clamping down hard on my wrist. “Enough! He came here to apologize. When are you going to let this go?” My eyes burned. “Never! My dad is gone, Alyssa! How am I supposed to let that go?” “That wasn’t Tyler’s fault! Your dad was going to die from that disease anyway!” The words hung in the air, freezing the breath in my lungs. Seeing the look on my face, her voice softened slightly. “Look, your dad is dead. It was just bad luck. Why ruin a lifelong friendship over a dead man?” I looked past her. Tyler was hiding behind her shoulder, a smug smirk plastered on his face. And there, catching the light around his neck, was a silver chain. My father’s urn necklace. His last remaining keepsake. My chest seized. I lunged forward, grabbing Alyssa’s arm. “That chain… You told me it was lost. Why is he wearing it?” Alyssa avoided my eyes, shifting to block him. “Tyler said he liked it, so I gave it to him. Your dad is gone, Sam. Tyler is just wearing it to keep the bad energy away for you. You should be thanking him.” I grit my teeth, reaching past her to rip it off Tyler’s neck. “Ah! Stay away from me!” Tyler screamed, shrinking back. Alyssa reacted instantly, shoving me away with all her strength. I lost my balance, falling backward. My shoulder slammed into the sharp metal coat rack in the hallway, the iron hook tearing deep into my collarbone. I clutched my chest as blood began to soak through my shirt. As my vision faded, the last thing I saw was Alyssa finally lunging toward me in panic.
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