It was supposed to be our Valentine’s Day—just the two of us. But Holden brought his little godsister along anyway. He pulled two gift boxes out of his bag, sliding one toward Daphne and one toward me. I opened mine, stared at the sleek designer sneakers resting inside, and quietly snapped the lid shut. “Don’t like them?” Holden asked, his brow twitching. Before the word could fully leave my lips, Holden snatched the box back and shoved it into Daphne’s lap. “You never like anything I get you anyway,” he scoffed. “Here, Daphne, you take them. At least someone around here knows how to appreciate a gesture.” Daphne clutched the shoe box and the matching jersey to her chest, her face lighting up with theatrical joy. “Oh, thank you, Holden! You always know “exactly” what I want.” I looked down at the label on the box. Size 7. I wear a size 6. Daphne is a size 7. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them. He had bought them for her all along. It had been like this for three years now. Whether it was a national holiday, our anniversary, or my birthday, Holden always bought two gifts. One for Daphne, and one for me that just so happened to be whatever Daphne liked. He had promised to take me to a romantic fine-dining restaurant for Valentine’s Day. Instead, we ended up at this greasy late-night taco joint—Daphne’s absolute favorite dive. Holden popped a straw into a soda can and handed it to Daphne before turning to me, his tone flat. “Maren, if you’re done picking at your food, you can head home. You didn’t like my carefully planned gift anyway, so there’s no point in dragging you along for the rest of the night.” I set my fork down, met his eyes, and said, “Okay.” I wouldn’t go with them tonight. And I would never go with him again. … Holden frowned as he looked at my barely touched plate. “Maren, you need to stop being so damn picky. Take a lesson from Daphne—she eats anything.” It wasn’t that Daphne ate anything. It was that every single time we went out, Holden picked the places “she” craved. On my birthday last year, we were standing right outside the upscale steakhouse I’d wanted to try for months. Daphne casually mentioned she wanted burgers, and Holden turned around on his heel and marched us straight into a fast-food joint. Daphne reached across the table and slid my plate over to her side. “If Maren’s not eating, I will. I could never do that whole ‘starve myself just to look pretty’ routine anyway.” I looked down at my high heels. A drop of grease had splashed onto the soft beige leather, and my stomach tightened. These shoes cost me hundreds of dollars—a splurge I rarely wore because I was saving them for special occasions. I had put them on tonight specifically for Valentine’s Day. I’d spent hours doing my hair, applying my makeup, putting in contact lenses, putting on a brand-new dress. And Holden hadn’t even noticed. He had brought me straight to a greasy roadside bench. Holden leaned over, grabbed a half-eaten taco right out of Daphne’s hand, and bit into it. “And who was begging me to monitor her diet last week? Eat any more and you’re going to turn into a little piggy.” Daphne feigned outrage, reaching out and wiping her greasy, sauce-stained fingers right across the front of Holden’s sweater. My heart leaped into my throat. I looked at the dark stain blooming across his chest, bracing myself for the explosion. That was Holden’s absolute favorite cashmere sweater. Once, I had accidentally spilled a few drops of tap water on it, and he had blown up at me, lecturing me for three days about my “carelessness and lack of respect for his things.” A minute passed. Then two. Holden didn’t say a word. In fact, he picked up a napkin and gently dabbed a streak of sauce from the corner of Daphne’s mouth. My gaze was too intense to ignore. Holden caught me staring and flicked his eyes toward me. “Didn’t you say you were leaving? Why are you still standing there?” This was our holiday. He had brought a third wheel, ruined my night, and now he was treating me like an eyesore standing in his way. I reached for my purse on the table. Before my hand could touch it, Holden swiped the car keys lying right beside it. Seeing my expression, he offered an offhanded explanation. “My plans with Daphne are running late tonight, and you know how impossible it is to call an Uber at midnight. I need the car. Just take a ride home yourself, okay?” When Holden bought that car, he swore it was for “us”—so he could drive me to work and make my commute easier. But I had only ridden in it for less than a month before Daphne moved back to the city. When I asked him to drive me to work, he said it was too early and he couldn’t wake up. When I asked him to pick me up, he said the detour wasted too much gas. Yet Daphne lived twenty miles across town, and he picked her up and dropped her off every single day without fail. He claimed it was because Daphne was his mother’s best friend’s daughter, and he had promised both mothers he would take care of her. He forgot that he had once promised my mother he would take care of me, too. I didn’t utter a single word. I grabbed my bag and turned on my heel. The main road where cars could stop was nearly a mile away. Holden didn’t walk me out. He didn’t even bother saying “be careful.” He was too busy bickering playfully with Daphne behind me. The sidewalk was crowded with couples walking hand-in-hand. An elderly flower vendor moved through the crowd, offering roses to every pair she passed. But as she approached me, her eyes swept over my solitary figure, and she walked straight past without a second glance. When my ride finally pulled up, the driver glanced past me toward the curb. “Hey miss, is your boyfriend coming? I can’t idle here long.” I opened the door and slid into the back seat. “No. It’s just me tonight.” The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror, offering a sympathetic smile. “Get into a fight with the guy? Letting a girl as pretty as you walk away upset on Valentine’s Day… he must be out of his mind.” In the hours I had been out tonight, this stranger was the first person to tell me I looked pretty. I turned my head toward the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold. “No fight. And no boyfriend. I’m just out getting some fresh air.” Everyone knew Valentine’s Day was meant for lovers. Everyone except Holden. … The first thing that caught my eye when I stepped into the apartment was the memory wall in the entryway. In those framed photos, I was looking at the camera with an effortless, radiant smile, while Holden was looking at me. Holden used to love documenting our life. He had built this gallery wall himself, promising he would fill it with a new picture every Valentine’s Day to mark our journey together. Year One: The high point of the Ferris wheel at midnight, snapped right as the lights flashed around us. Year Two: A summer music festival, captured during the wild, echoing climax of my favorite song. Year Three: A high-end seafood dinner, snapped right when my cheeks were stuffed full of lobster, both of us laughing endlessly. Year Four: Daphne came back into his life. Now, we were in our sixth year together. The gallery wall had remained frozen in time for three years. Without those three old photos hanging there, I would have started to believe those happy early days were nothing more than a fever dream. A massive wooden frame housing only three solitary pictures looked absurdly sparse. I reached up, unhooked them from the wall, and stacked them quietly in the corner. I pulled out my phone and sent Holden a text: [Holden, come home early tonight. We need to talk.] An hour passed before his reply came through: [Okay.] I sat on the couch and waited until eleven o’clock. Holden didn’t come home. I called him; it went straight to voicemail. I texted him; no response. A second later, a notification popped up on my social feed. Holden had just posted an update: “Rare chance to catch a game and unwind. Nothing beats watching sports with a true soulmate.” Accompanying the text was a photo of the roaring crowd inside the basketball arena, with Daphne leaning close to his shoulder. My fingers tightened around the glass screen until my knuckles turned white. My eyes lingered on the words “unwind” and “soulmate”. So, being with me had become a chore he needed to escape from. Tickets for a holiday game required booking weeks in advance. He had planned this entire evening from the start—specifically to avoid spending Valentine’s Day with me. I set the phone down on the coffee table, stood up, and switched off the entryway lamp I had left on for him. … When I woke up the next morning, Holden’s arm was heavy across my waist. I didn’t know what time he had snuck back into bed, but the sweet, sickly scent of Daphne’s signature perfume lingering on his skin made my stomach churn. I shoved his shoulder hard. “Holden. Get up and take a shower.” He grunted, his eyes barely opening as he fumbled beneath his pillow and pressed a small object into my hand. “Maren… here’s your gift. Just let me sleep a little longer.” His so-called gift was a cheap plastic souvenir keychain from the stadium. I tossed the keychain onto the nightstand and walked out of the bedroom. On the living room coffee table sat a bouquet of red roses—the exact cheap, cellophane-wrapped bundle the elderly vendor had been selling on the street last night. The moment I reached down to touch the petals, Daphne’s sharp voice pierced the air from the hallway. “Holden bought those for ME! Put them down!” Daphne rushed forward, snatched the bouquet out of my reach, and glared at me defensively, clutching the flowers to her chest. I stared at her, completely stunned. She was wearing my silk pajamas, her hair pushed back, her face covered in a thick layer of a grey clay mask. I walked past her into the bathroom and opened my skincare drawer. The imported, three-hundred-dollar overnight mask I had barely brought myself to use was completely empty. Holden rushed out of the bedroom, his hair messy from sleep. “What’s going on? What’s all the noise about?” I pointed at Daphne’s face, my voice shaking slightly. “That mask cost me a fortune. I barely touched it myself. You gave it to her?” Holden rubbed his eyes, annoyance creeping into his tone. “Daphne is like a sister to me. What’s the big deal if she uses a little face cream?” A sister? She wasn’t even a cousin. Daphne rolled her eyes dramatically, crossing her arms over my silk pajamas. “Maren, you aren’t even married to Holden yet and you’re already acting like a dictator. Imagine how awful you’ll be if you actually get married. It’s just skincare, don’t be so stingy. I’m calling Auntie Glenn to tell her how you treat me.” Daphne pulled out her phone. Holden immediately grabbed her wrist, his expression turning anxious. “Maren, just apologize to Daphne. If she calls my mom, this is going to turn into a nightmare.” In the past, because I had genuinely envisioned a future with Holden, I cared deeply about his mother’s opinion. Daphne knew this and used it as a weapon, constantly threatening to run to Mrs. Glenn whenever she didn’t get her way. And every single time, I had backed down and swallowed my pride. Not this time. “Holden, I don’t want to marry you anymore,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “She can call your mother as much as she wants.” Holden froze, his face stiffening. He glared at me, his eyes darkening with irritation. “Maren, stop talking out of spite. It’s not a big deal. I’ll reimburse you for the damn mask, okay? Daphne, don’t take it to heart—if you like it, I’ll buy you a whole new jar.” When I bought that mask for myself, Holden had called me reckless and wasteful, lecturing me never to spend money on such useless luxuries again. Yet the moment Daphne used it up, he didn’t hesitate to buy her a fresh one. Holden turned back to me, trying to soften his posture. “Maren, you must be hungry. I’ll go make those fried eggs you guys like.” “You guys.” He meant Daphne. I hated fried eggs. I had told Holden at least a hundred times over the years that runny yolks made me nauseous. He had never remembered. Just like he had never remembered what gifts I actually wanted. I walked into the kitchen, brewed myself a cup of dark coffee, and sat at the island, scrolling through social media to pass the time. Within two swipes, the algorithm served me a viral clip from last night’s basketball game. It was the arena’s Kiss Cam segment. The camera had panned across the crowd and zoomed in on Holden and Daphne. When their faces hit the big screen, Daphne turned, wrapped her arms around Holden’s neck, and planted a loud kiss directly on his cheek. Perhaps because few couples went to a sports game on Valentine’s Day, the arena had erupted into cheers, and the video was trending wildly online. I tapped “Not Interested”, but the very next video in my feed was another angle of the exact same moment. Holden walked out of the kitchen holding a plate of fried eggs just as the clip played on my screen—the exact second Daphne kissed his face. I didn’t say a word. I simply turned my phone around and held the glowing screen up to his face. Holden glanced at it, completely unbothered. “It was just a cheek kiss. It was her first time being caught on a stadium camera, she was just excited.” “Just a cheek kiss?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Even people who don’t watch sports know what the Kiss Cam means. Did you forget you have a girlfriend sitting at home?” When non-romantic friends got caught on the Kiss Cam, they waved, high-fived, or awkwardly gestured to the screen. Daphne had leaned in and kissed him, and afterward, both of them had flashed matching heart-hands to the crowd, laughing joyfully. When Holden was beaming so brightly for tens of thousands of strangers, had he given even a passing thought to the promise he made to come home early? “Daddy, my bra strap is loose,” Daphne’s voice suddenly chimed in from the couch. I froze, thinking I had misheard her. Holden set the plate down without a second thought and walked straight over to the couch. He reached his hand right under the back of Daphne’s shirt, his fingers moving skillfully to rehook the clasp. The sheer, casually intimate absurdity of the scene unfolded right before my eyes. I felt as if the air had been sucked out of my lungs. Daphne looked over Holden’s shoulder and offered me a sweet, triumphant little smirk. “Why look so shocked, Maren? It’s just a bra strap. Brothers and sisters help each other out with this stuff all the time. I only called him ‘Daddy’ because I lost a bet to him during the game last night.” Holden stood up, his ears slightly red, and let out a soft grunt of agreement. Right in front of my face, they behaved like this. God only knew what they did when I wasn’t around. A sudden wave of intense nausea surged from my stomach into my throat. I turned, rushed into the bathroom, fell to my knees before the toilet, and began to dry-heave violently. Holden followed me in, leaning down to pat my back. “Maren, what’s wrong with you?” The moment his hand touched my spine, the thought that those exact fingers had just been inside Daphne’s shirt pushed me over the edge. I retched harder, gasping for breath. Holden’s expression darkened instantly. He pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. “Maren Ellis, what is “that” supposed to mean? You think I’m disgusting?” His voice turned sharp and accusatory. “Can you stop having such filthy, twisted thoughts? If Daphne and I actually had something going on, do you really think I’d still be dragging you along as my girlfriend?!” I hadn’t said a single word. He was the one projecting his own guilt. Seeing that I remained silent, Holden sneered and stood up. “Daphne was right. Women like you are so unbelievably dramatic. You’re allowed to have male friends, but the second a man has a female friend or a sister, it’s a crime.” I didn’t have male besties. I didn’t have godsisters or dry-brothers. I had boundaries. I stood up, turned on the faucet, and splashed freezing cold water over my face. “You’re right,” I said, wiping my dripping chin with a towel. “I am dramatic. I’m moving out tonight. You and Daphne can do whatever the hell you want.” Holden stared at me for a long, heavy moment, his jaw tight. Finally, he spat out two words: “Utterly unreasonable.” Daphne giggled softly from the doorway. “Maren, don’t you get embarrassed saying that? Do you even remember how many times you’ve threatened to pack up and leave?” No, I didn’t remember anymore. The count was too high. Ever since Daphne moved to this city, Holden and I had fought endlessly because of her. In the beginning, Holden would panic, apologize, and beg for my forgiveness, terrified that I would walk out the door. But as time went on and he realized I always ended up staying, his apologies turned into excuses, his excuses turned into indifference, and now, his indifference had turned into contempt. He was convinced I loved him too much to ever truly leave. But love that is constantly taken for granted is like a candle left in the wind—eventually, the flame just burns out. Holden turned and walked out, taking Daphne with him. As they left, he slammed the heavy front door so hard the entire entryway shook like a cannon had gone off. The impact rattled the wall, and the custom glass wind chime hanging behind the door snapped from its hook, crashing onto the hardwood floor and shattering into a hundred glittering shards. Our love lay there, broken beyond repair. Holden and I had spent three full days hand-blowing and assembling that glass wind chime years ago. He had tried hanging it in a dozen different spots around the apartment before finally choosing the front door. “Whenever the wind chime rings, it means I’m home,” he had told me back then, wrapping his arms around my waist. “That’s your signal to come to the door and greet me.” Now, the chime would never ring again. And I would never stand by the door waiting for him. … I was halfway through sweeping up the sharp glass fragments when a heavy knock sounded against the door. I thought Holden had forgotten his wallet, but when I pulled the door open, two uniformed police officers were standing in the hallway. “Hello. Are you Ms. Maren Ellis?” I blinked. “Yes. That’s me.” “Yesterday evening, a vehicle registered under your name was involved in a hit-and-run incident in the downtown district,” the lead officer stated, his voice professional and firm. “Mr. Holden Glenn identified you as the driver at the time of the collision.” The words struck my ears like a physical blow. My mind went completely blank. The officer called my name twice before I snapped back to reality. With shaking fingers, I pulled up my Uber ride history from last night and held the screen out to them, showing the precise timestamps and route. Then, my hands trembling violently, I dialed Holden’s number. He picked up on the third ring. “Holden,” I forced the words out of my throat. “Why did you tell the police I was the one driving your car yesterday?” Through the speaker, I could hear the faint, muffled sound of Daphne’s giggling, accompanied by the echo of splashing water. After a long pause, Holden’s casual voice came through. “Daphne and I are at the Aquarium watching the beluga whale show right now. We can’t step away. Can’t you just take the fall for Daphne this once and handle it?” He spoke in such a light, breezy tone, as if he were asking me to pick up his dry cleaning. Rage erupted in my chest. “Holden, that’s a police station, not a coffee shop! Do you even understand what a hit-and-run charge means?!” Holden’s tone instantly shifted to annoyance. “Why are you making such a big deal out of nothing? Daphne told me she just clipped a stray cat on the side of the road. The owner probably just wants some financial compensation. Just go talk to them and handle it. I’ll take you out for a nice dinner later to make it up to you, alright?” “It wasn’t a cat, it was a—” Before I could finish saying “a human being”, Holden hung up the phone. I immediately redialed his number. “The party you are trying to reach has blocked your number.” I let out a long, shuddering breath, turned to the two officers, and looked them straight in the eye. “Officers, you heard that call. I had absolutely nothing to do with this incident.” The officer recorded the audio on his body camera and nodded. “We have noted the call. However, we cannot rely solely on a phone recording to clear the registration records. Until the investigation is fully resolved, you are instructed not to leave the city.” After seeing the officers out, I collapsed onto the couch, my limbs numb and ice-cold. I knew Holden prioritized Daphne over me. But I had never imagined he would go so far as to commit perjury and frame me for a criminal hit-and-run just to protect her. He left me alone to face criminal allegations while he took her to watch whales at the aquarium. I sat in the quiet apartment for hours, watching the afternoon sun fade into twilight. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was an iMessage from Holden: [Did you settle things with the cat owner? When you’re done, bring the sneakers I gave you yesterday over to the aquarium entrance. Daphne needs to change into them urgently.] Not a single line asking if I was okay. Not a single word of concern. He treated me like nothing more than an errand girl. I let out a bitter, silent laugh. My thumb swiped across the screen, and I blocked Holden’s contact entirely. Then, I stood up, zipped my suitcase shut, and walked out of the apartment we had shared for six long years.
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