In the past, a post like that would have sent me into a spiral. I’d have bombarded him with questions, and when my jealousy inevitably annoyed him, I’d have spent all night apologizing.

Liam knew it would hurt me. He knew it would make me jealous. He pushed my boundaries relentlessly. Over the years, he'd conditioned me to be the perfect, pliable girlfriend he could control with a push and a pull. But abandoning me at our wedding was the last string he’d ever get to pull.

He seemed to forget his little training sessions only worked for one reason: because I loved him.

Liam spammed his feed with more updates—photos of him and Scarlett in poses that were far too intimate. In one, he kissed her forehead. I didn't feel a thing.

I was busy. I was planning a wedding with my actual groom-to-be. Communicating with him was effortless. He didn't just agree with my decisions; he built on them, offering suggestions that elevated them. He’d even created a private Pinterest board for our future home, already filled with my favorite architectural styles and interior designs.

Focusing on these wonderful new things brought a genuine smile to my face. A smile that might have lasted longer if a message from Liam hadn't popped up.

"Are you still sulking? I sent you souvenirs, didn't I? Even some of that local art."

"I'm sure you saw the new pictures of me and Scarlett. Hope you haven't been crying your eyes out."

"This is what happens when you give me the silent treatment. Just say you're sorry, and I'll change my profile picture back."

It was the same old script. No matter who was at fault, Liam always twisted the narrative until I was the unreasonable one. He was a master of it.

I'd once accused him of gaslighting me. He'd just scoffed and said he was "just being honest."

Now, with the clarity of distance, I could see our entire relationship for what it was. He never saw me as a partner, only as an object, a territory whose borders he could endlessly test.

When I didn't reply, he took my silence as surrender. He sent an insulting webcomic image with a message: "Scarlett said this is a perfect representation of our 'friendship.' Let's use these for our matching profile pictures. I'll take this one, you take that one."

It was a cartoon of a tall, confident male figure, trailed by a pathetic, cowering shadow.

I wasn't amused.

Liam, however, didn't wait for my opinion. He’d already changed his profile picture to the male figure.

I replied, "You and Scarlett can use them. I don't like it."

"Fine. See if I care," Liam shot back, his message laced with irritation.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, he and Scarlett had matching profile pictures. They even tagged me in an Instagram Story with the caption: "She told us to use them. Friends should support each other."

I muted his notifications, turned off my phone, and started packing. I spent the whole night stuffing my life into boxes and purging everything that reminded me of Liam. Not a single gift he'd ever given me was spared.

As I was hauling the last box out of the apartment, my neighbor spotted me. "Hey! Off on your honeymoon? I've been seeing all of Liam's posts from the trip. The scenery is gorgeous! Though, I have to say, that woman he's with in the photos doesn't look much like you."

I shook my head. "That's not me. We didn't get married. I'm single now."

My neighbor's eyes widened slightly, and she gave me a knowing, sympathetic nod.

Just as I slipped into my car, my phone rang. It was Liam, finally remembering he'd missed his own wedding. "Did your relatives give you a hard time at the wedding? How are your parents?"

"They're fine. No one said anything."

"I'll be home Sunday. I want you to make your roasted ribs; Scarlett's been craving them. Oh, and clean the apartment. Scarlett's going through a tough time and has nowhere to go, so she's going to stay with us for a few months."

"Clean it yourself. I'm busy."

Liam's voice turned nasty. "Don't give me that 'I have a job' crap. You have plenty of time. Who do you think you're kidding? Clean the apartment now, or you can pack your bags and Scarlett can have the master bedroom."

"Oh," I said, and hung up.

A moment later, a long list of Scarlett's needs landed in my texts. He wanted me to buy her the best of everything but hadn't sent a single dollar. He actually expected me to fund a shopping spree for his precious childhood friend.

"After you've got all her stuff, drive to the airport and pick us up. And make sure you disinfect the whole house before we get back. Scarlett's a germaphobe."

"Also, find a new home for your cat, Milo, in the next couple of days. Scarlett doesn't like cats, and she's allergic."

Following Liam's barrage of texts was one from Scarlett herself.

She sent me a message dripping with fake innocence, but it was clearly a flex: "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to impose, but Liam insisted. He said I should make myself at home, and since I'm his best friend, you'll treat me like your best friend too, right?"

They were probably both waiting for me to explode, just like I used to. But to their surprise, I simply blocked both their numbers and immediately listed the condo—which was in my name—for sale.

From that moment on, Liam was a stranger to me.