“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m on my way now.” Gerard’s voice was anxious as he threw on some clothes he could find, ready to leave.

Just as he reached the door, he paused like he’d remembered something.

“What were you about to say earlier?”

But I’d already tucked my emotions away. “Nothing. We’ll talk when you’re back.”

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed, his side untouched.

With just a few days left before I was planning to leave, I went ahead and quit my job. Most of the clothes I packed last night were meant for donation anyway. I carried the bags outside to meet the delivery guy, but the noise across the hall stopped me in my tracks.

The place was buzzing with workers hauling in brand-new furniture.

Even in the crowd, my eyes landed on Gerard instantly. He had his arm around Gwyneth’s shoulder, directing the workers as they arranged the furniture.

That attention to detail? Classic Gerard.

When we moved in together, he did the same—took time off work to oversee everything personally.

“Home should feel just right,” he’d said back then.

But now, the home we shared barely had any trace of him left.

“Miss? Hey, Miss? Your shipping code?” The delivery guy’s voice snapped me out of it.

The noise must’ve caught their attention too because before I knew it, as soon as the delivery guy left, Gwyneth came bouncing out.

“Hey,” she began. “I’ve been having too many nightmares, so Gerard bought this place for me. We’re neighbors now!”

She leaned in close, playing up the wide-eyed, innocent act. Her exaggerated blinking was almost comical.

But I couldn’t bring myself to like her, no matter how hard I tried.

I turned to leave, but before I could get far, she suddenly stumbled backward, as if some invisible force had shoved her.

She crashed into a worker moving a cabinet and hit the edge with her lower back.

“Ahhh!”

Her cry of pain was laced with tears, and Gerard came rushing out at the sound.

He immediately pulled her up, his hands gently massaging the spot where she’d hit. Concern poured out of him in waves.

“Yvaine, can you stop acting like a jealous little girl?” His disbelief stung almost as much as his words.

Gwyneth looked pale and started waving her hands weakly.

“Gerard, don’t… don’t be mad at her. This… This is my fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have moved in and caused trouble. I’m just… not supposed to be here.”

“Don’t say that,” Gerard replied. “You’re my sister!”

A headache pounded at my temples. Watching their little “family bond” unfold for the hundredth time was nauseating.

Before I could close my door, Gerard blocked it with his hand. “Yvaine, apologize to Gwyneth!”

I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Why the hell should I apologize for something I didn’t do?”

“You’ve done worse plenty of times!” he shot back.

I let out a bitter laugh. He always believed what he wanted to believe.

Gwyneth, meanwhile, shook her head like a martyr. “Please don’t fight because of me. I’m sorry—it’s my fault I didn’t stand properly…”

Gerard held her hand and glared at me like I was the villain.

“I can’t believe I never saw you for what you are,” he said. “So petty, so vicious—you can’t tolerate even the smallest things.”

His words cut deeper like a knife than I’d like to admit.

But I still didn’t apologize.

Gwyneth kept whining about the pain, so Gerard scooped her up and carried her downstairs.

Watching his back as he walked away, I suddenly remembered I had to visit the hospital myself.

My sleep had been a mess for ages. I couldn’t even pinpoint when the insomnia started.

After going through bottles of melatonin, I finally decided to get some actual help.

The hospital wasn’t too crowded today, and I got my prescription quickly.

But on my way out, I saw them again.

It wasn’t surprising, really—this was the closest hospital to our place.

Gwyneth was in Gerard’s arms, cradled like a princess, while he carried her meds in one hand. People couldn’t help but stare as they passed, envy written all over their faces.

“Look at her boyfriend,” I heard a pregnant woman say, elbowing her own man.

Gwyneth looked shy, but Gerard didn’t seem to care.

We bumped into each other right at the elevator.

I didn’t say much, but Gwyneth started fidgeting in his arms. Her face was bright red.

“Gerard, put me down already.”

Gerard frowned. “You’re hurt. Stop moving.”

Then, out of nowhere, he turned to me. “What are you doing here? Are you sick?”

I held up the bottle of medicine in my hand. “Just some insomnia.”

He paused like he was thinking. “I’ll have my assistant pick up some lavender. Put it in the bedroom; it might help.”

He was about to say something else, but the girl in his arms cut him off.

Gwyneth let out a soft whimper like a kitten.

The elevator kept going down—until suddenly, there was a loud bang, and it came to a dead stop.

The lights went out.

In the pitch black, I crouched down. My whole body started shaking.

I’m terrified of the dark.

Gerard didn’t forget. He called out to me. “Yvaine? Yvaine, are you okay?”

I choked out a shaky reply. “M-Mm-mm.”

“Gwyneth, get down for a second,” he said. “Yvaine’s scared of the dark…”

But Gwyneth started sniffling softly in the corner. “But I’m scared too, Gerard! Don’t let me down…”

Gerard didn’t say anything to me after that. His attention was all on her, soothing her in that gentle voice of his.

Meanwhile, my palms were clammy, and my body wouldn’t stop shaking.

This wasn’t the first time. Years ago, Gerard and I had been stuck in an elevator together.

The lights had gone out, and we were stuck between floors.

I was so scared I couldn’t even cry, just shook and broke into a cold sweat.

Back then, Gerard had held me. He’s a neat freak and hates any kind of mess, but that day, he hugged me so gently. No complaints, no disgust.

Just like how he was now—comforting Gwyneth.

“G-Gerard…” I whispered.

The darkness made me feel fragile; tears slipped down my cheeks.

I found myself craving the warmth of his arms again.

But then he shattered that small, stupid hope. He replied, “Gwyneth’s hurt…”

I didn’t say another word. Just buried my head in my arms and stayed quiet.

After what felt like forever, the lights flickered back on, and the elevator started moving again.

As soon as we hit the first floor, I staggered to my feet and rushed out.

When I got home, I was still in a state of shock.

Mom had sent me pictures of wedding dresses to pick from, but I couldn’t focus on them.

I just sat there, quietly watching the clock tick.

I don’t know how long it was before Gerard came back.

He walked in with a bouquet of lavender and a bag of takeout.

I opened it. A container of lobster bisque.

Gerard had forgotten I was allergic to shellfish.

He didn’t even notice. He just muttered an apology.

“You haven’t eaten yet, right? Eat this while it’s hot.”

I opened the lid and drank every last spoonful.

The hives broke out almost instantly, but I didn’t care.

“Come back for dinner tomorrow,” I said. “It’s your birthday.”

He froze, surprised, but then nodded quickly.

I got up and went to take some antihistamines.

Making a dish had never been my thing.

The only thing I’m halfway decent at making is birthday spaghetti.

But tonight, no matter what I did, it kept turning out wrong.

I didn’t want to waste it, so I forced myself to eat the failures.

I kept an eye on the time.

Once Gerard came home and had his birthday dinner, I’d leave.

For good this time.

But he never showed up.

Instead, he called.

“Gwyneth burned her fingers while cooking. I need to take her to the hospital,” he said. “You go ahead and eat without me.”

His lies have always been terrible.

My main Facebook account couldn’t see his updates anymore.

But my alternate account? It showed everything—a photo of him and Gwyneth standing by a cake, streamers floating in the background and frozen mid-air, and two of them smiling and holding hands.

“Hello? Hello?” Gerard’s voice brought me back. He was still on the phone.

I just let out a slow, shaky breath. “It’s… It’s okay. No rush.”

Then, from my alternate account, I liked his post.

I tossed the spaghetti straight into the trash.

Gerard doesn’t love me anymore.

Letting him go would probably make him happier anyway, so I dragged my suitcase out of the house.

On the way, I put together all the evidence of Gwyneth and Gerard’s years of flirting and posted it on my main Facebook account.

Plenty of our mutual friends would see it.

If I’m leaving, well, I’m not leaving quietly.

Before the plane took off, I sent Gerard one last message.

[Happy birthday. Goodbye.]

I didn’t even bother saying it was over.

Seven years of being together with no commitment—there wasn’t much to break up in the first place.

Even the abortions didn’t mean anything to him—just collateral damage in his mess of a life.

Right before I turned my phone off, the calls started flooding in, and I accidentally picked up one.