The Chance I Shouldn't Have Given Him

Mara lifted a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with false concern.

"Oh no, Nat doesn't look well," she said, glancing between us with a sigh. "Maybe I should go alone. You should stay here and look after her."

Without waiting for an answer, she spun on her heel and rolled her suitcase toward the door, already halfway out.

Callum panicked.

"Mara, stop!" He went after her at once. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not letting you fly out there alone."

She paused, looking torn. "But what about Nat?"

Callum didn't even think before answering, "She's a grown woman. It's just a cold. She'll be fine."

Then he looked at her again, his voice already softer. "Wait for me downstairs. I'll pack a bag."

Once Mara was gone, whatever strength I had drained away. I slumped back onto the couch, dizzy and burning with fever, while Callum rushed around the apartment, pulling clothes from drawers and stuffing chargers and shirts into a duffel.

Not once did he look back.

I watched him pack for someone else as I shivered with fever. For reasons I could not explain, my mind drifted back to the day we first met.

It was at a children's home.

Callum wore a crisp white shirt, sitting cross-legged on the floor, patiently playing board games with the kids. I volunteered there on weekends, and that day, he arrived with a charity group.

After that, he pursued me as if I were the only thing he had ever truly wanted.

It didn't take long before I fell for him.

For the next five years, Mara was everywhere—her syrupy smile at every gathering, her name in every plan, her calls constant, as if she owned some permanent part of him.

I told myself I understood.

They had grown up together and were practically like family. And after Callum started dating me, he really had pulled back from her.

Mara had even complained about it once, calling him a terrible friend who ditched people the second he got a girlfriend.

Then she turned around and reassured me, "Nat, honestly, Callum's doing the right thing. No matter how close we are, he has a girlfriend now. He should have boundaries."

That was when I fully let my guard down.

Even when their closeness felt like too much, I convinced myself not to worry.

'They are like siblings,' I told myself. 'If there were anything between them, Callum never would've chosen me.'

Lost in those memories, I barely noticed Callum zipping up his bag.

He zipped the duffel, picked it up, and headed for the door.

I looked up at him, feeling a sharp, bitter ache twist in my chest.

Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "Callum, can you not go?"

He stopped.

For a moment, he only stared at me, like the question had caught him off guard.

So I asked again, slowly this time. "Can you not go on this trip with Mara? Can you stay home with me?"

I thought, 'If he chooses me, just this once, maybe I could let it all go.'

I was foolish enough to believe forgiveness was still possible.

Yet, Callum shook his head.

Then he crouched down in front of me and brushed his hand over my hair. "Mara and I have known each other since childhood. She feels like a sister to me. I can't feel at ease knowing she's traveling solo.

"You know how reckless she is. She loses things, forgets things, gets herself into trouble. Honestly, I'm worried she might not even make it back safely."

His voice turned patient, gentle, like he was explaining something obvious to a child. "She also said that once we're married, she won't be able to drag me out like this anymore. So, she just wants one last trip before the wedding."

He took my hand. His voice turned even gentler. "After we're married, I'll take you anywhere you want to go. I promise."

Then he gently squeezed my hand. "So don't fight Mara over this little bit of time, okay? Be good. Stay home, take your medicine, and wait for me."

I lowered my gaze and tried to smile.

I tried, truly, but my face wouldn't move.

I thought, 'Fine. That was your chance.'

Honestly, I should never have given him a chance at all.

Maybe my silence was too heavy; unease flickered across his face. He reached out, as if to gather me into his arms.

I pulled back before he could touch me.

"Mara's waiting downstairs," I reminded him. "You should go."

It was as if he'd been waiting for my permission all along.

The second I said it, he grabbed his car keys, picked up his bag, and walked to the door.

But just before leaving, he stopped and looked back. "Nat, wait for me to come home. When I get back, I'll give you the biggest wedding."

His eyes softened. "And then you'll finally have a family."

Something shifted inside my chest.

It was not hope. It was not warmth. It was only the final, silent snap of something that had already fractured too many times.

I looked at him and gave him the faintest smile. "Goodbye."

Seeing me smile seemed to ease him.

Callum lifted his hand and made a little heart with his fingers.

It was Mara's favorite gesture.

Then he smiled at me as if nothing had happened. "Wait for me, Nat. I'll be home soon."

The Fake Death Package

My phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

It read, 'We offer professional fake-death services—revenge against cheating men and homewreckers. Honest prices and guaranteed results.'

Beneath the message was a mess of strange words and a suspicious link, practically daring me to click.

Without really knowing why, I opened my laptop and entered the link.

The website screamed danger, promising at least five new viruses, but I pressed on anyway.

After all, what did I have left to lose?

When my parents died, they left me more money than I could ever spend. Most of it just sat in a trust, untouched, waiting for a version of my life that no longer existed.

The site offered a menu of tragedies: car crashes, drownings, hiking mishaps, and medical emergencies.

My cursor hovered over one choice: sudden cardiac arrest.

Ten days from now, I was supposed to marry Callum.

Then I recalled Mara's words, 'I'll be Natalie's bridesmaid. When we walk down the aisle, just pretend she's not there. Pretend I'm the bride.'

I pictured the dress Mara picked out: a long, white gown.

Anyone present would have thought she was the bride.

My finger paused above the mouse, trembling.

Just as I was about to click, my phone rang.

Callum's name flashed on my screen—a video call.

I answered.

His face lit up my screen, eyes shining with excitement.

Behind him, Mara waved at me with a huge smile. "Nat, I'm only borrowing Callum for a few days. Don't be mad, okay?"

Callum reached back and pinched her cheek, as if he'd forgotten I was watching.

Then he looked back at me, guilt softening his eyes. "Nat, I promise we'll be back before the wedding."

A promise. Again.

He had made promises like that so many times before, and always broke them.

On our first anniversary, Mara called, and Callum left during dinner.

He said, "Nat, I promise I'll just check on her and come right back."

He never came back that night.

When he finally returned the next morning, there was a fresh gash across his forehead. He said he had gotten into a fight defending Mara.

The moment I saw the blood, my anger vanished.

Another time, at a party, he drank for Mara until he could barely stand. The next morning, he wrapped his arms around my waist and swore, "I'll never take drinks for her again."

At the very next party, he still took her glass.

Looking back, I realized how lonely I had been, and how badly I had wanted to be chosen.

So every time they crossed a line and called it friendship, I forgave them.

They were so bold about it, so casually shameless, that after a while, I even started to wonder if I was the one seeing things wrong.

Was I, truly?

I shrugged.

I pushed the thought away.

Moments after I placed the order for the fake-death package, my phone rang.

The voice on the other end sounded young, polite, and almost professional. "When would you be available to meet? We'll need to go over the details and prepare everything in advance."

I turned toward the window. Outside, the sky had already begun to pale.

Morning was creeping in.

'So this is survivable,' I thought. 'The hours after Callum leaves don't kill me after all.'

"Today," I answered. "The sooner, the better."