My boyfriend was cooking dinner when his phone lit up on the coffee table. A message popped up from a female coworker. "Miss you." I thought for a moment, then replied for him. "Come over. She’s not home." Chapter 1 It was a miracle Ethan wasn't working overtime this weekend. I’d begged him for weeks to make his signature BBQ baby back ribs. While he was busy in the kitchen, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. I tapped the screen, but it stayed dark. I leaned in closer. A privacy screen. A cold knot formed in my stomach. I suddenly remembered something a coworker told me over drinks: "When your man puts a privacy screen on his phone, he’s got secrets." That sentence felt like a splinter under my skin. I tried to convince myself it was just a coincidence, but doubt spreads like wildfire. Luckily, he hadn’t changed his passcode yet. I unlocked it. There was one new notification. A text from a number I didn’t recognize. The message was short, simple, and devastating. "Miss you." My heart seized. I stared at those two words. I scrolled up. The chat history was empty. Deleted. But those two words were enough to tear my world apart. I tried to steady my breathing, but my hand shook, knocking a coaster off the table. Ethan poked his head out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. "Everything okay, babe?" I forced a smile, sliding his phone into my pocket. "Fine. Just wondering how the ribs are coming along." "It’s gonna be a while," he grumbled, wiping sweat from his forehead. "The glaze isn’t reducing right. Next time, let’s just order takeout." I froze, then nodded. "Sure." Ethan seemed to have forgotten—I’m from the East Coast. I prefer savory. I hate sweet BBQ sauce. He was the one who loved the sugar-heavy ribs. When we first bought this condo, he had stood in that empty kitchen, eyes shining with pride. "This is my command center, Sarah. No entry without the chef's permission!" Back then, he loved this home. He loved making memories with me. The phone in my pocket felt heavy, like a lead weight burning against my thigh. Once my heart rate slowed, I made a decision. I pulled out the phone and typed a reply. "Come over. She’s not home." I needed to know who she was. And I needed to know what Ethan would do. Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. I smoothed my shirt and walked to the door. My hand hovered over the cold metal knob. I took a breath and swung it open. The woman outside froze. The excited smile on her face died the second she saw me. I looked her over. Younger. Fit. Pretty. I couldn't help but compare myself to her, and the conclusion was brutal—she had me beat in every category. "You must be Sarah." "You know me?" "Ethan mentioned you." The thought that my name was just part of their pillow talk made me sick. She seemed to realize she was still holding something. She lifted a Tupperware container. "I’m just here to return this." "Ethan brought ribs to the office last week. My blood sugar crashed, and he insisted I eat his lunch." Staring at the container—the one Ethan and I bought together at Target—I remembered how annoyed he was this morning when I asked him to cook. Rage, hot and bright, flared in my chest. I turned and shouted toward the kitchen. "Honey! Someone’s here for you!" Ethan walked out, wiping his hands on a towel. When he saw her, he stopped dead. I watched them closely. There wasn’t the panic I expected. Just confusion. "Hailey? What are you doing here?" Ethan asked. "I was in the neighborhood," she said, her voice smooth. "Remembered I still had your Tupperware. I texted you." "Texted me?" Ethan frowned, glancing at me, then back at her. His face hardened. "Just leave it on the table." But she didn't leave. She stood in the doorway, her eyes locking onto mine with a challenge. "Aren't you going to invite me in, Sarah?" I let out a dry laugh and stepped aside, looking at Ethan. "Yeah, Ethan. Invite your guest in. Perfect timing, you’re making ribs again." I emphasized "ribs." Ethan’s face went pale. "Stop it," he muttered. Sensing the tension, Hailey gave a lazy shrug. "Actually, I just remembered I have plans. I forgot because I was so excited... to return the container. Maybe next time." I didn't say a word. I just watched cold-eyed as Ethan walked her out. When he came back, his expression was dark enough to summon a storm. "What? Sad to see her go?" I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. Ethan glared at me. "Don't start, Sarah. She's just a colleague." Did he really think I was that stupid? "A colleague? Do colleagues text 'Miss you' to each other on weekends?" Ethan rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. "We’re working on a massive project together. High stress. We joke around to blow off steam. That's all." I didn't believe a word of it. We screamed at each other for an hour. After that night, the air in the condo turned toxic. I started wondering if I had overreacted. Maybe I was crazy. But Ethan’s explanation was full of holes. Living like this was suffocating. 2 I told my best friend, Jess, about my suspicions. She laughed for a solid minute. After my parents died in a car wreck, Jess and Ethan became my only family. "You're spiraling, Sarah," Jess said. "Don't you remember college? Ethan spent an entire semester eating ramen just so he could buy you coffee every morning. He rode the bus for an hour just to get you those specific bagels you liked. The guy worships you." I smiled weakly. "Yeah. I guess I forgot." Jess launched into a nostalgic retelling of our college romance, but it felt like she was talking about two strangers. That was ten years ago. I was two months away from turning twenty-eight. Before she left, Jess grabbed my hand. "Sarah, just talk to him. Fix it. Get a ring on that finger soon." "Don't let this drag on." We both knew what she meant. The "Sunk Cost Fallacy." Ten years was a lot of time to lose. That night, I texted Ethan. I sent him a photo of myself in a new lace negligee I’d bought. Normally, he’d reply instantly with something like, "On my way. Don't move." Tonight, three hours passed before a bubble appeared. "Working late." I closed iMessage and opened Instagram. I searched his handle. The green dot was lit. Active Now. He wasn't working. I looked down at my hands. I’d chewed a ragged edge into my thumb nail. After my parents died, I developed a habit of biting my nails when I was anxious. Ethan used to gently pull my hand away. He bought that bitter-tasting polish to help me stop. Now... I felt a surge of irritation. I wanted to leave him on read. But Jess’s voice echoed in my head. Fix it. I typed again. "It's okay. I'll wait up for you." He didn't reply. 3 I sat in the living room, the lace negligee long since replaced by oversized sweats. The clock on the wall ticked past 1:00 AM. I held the photo album Ethan had made for our first anniversary. When did we go from soulmates to roommates who barely spoke? Click. Whirrr. The smart lock engaged. I looked up, hoping to catch his eye. Ethan stood in the entryway for a long time before stepping inside. When he finally looked at me, his gaze slid away instantly. That avoidance hurt more than any insult. He kicked off his shoes. "Can you stop leaving your sneakers in the middle of the floor?" he snapped. I blinked. Before I could move, he kicked my Nikes into the corner. There was a time he would line my shoes up perfectly. A time he charged my toothbrush. A time he swapped out my winter closet for summer. Those days were gone. Ethan walked into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. A new glass. He sat at the dining table, drinking alone. I stared at the glass. We used to share everything. "Why didn't you grab a glass for me?" I asked, my voice small. "I didn't think you were thirsty." He turned his back to me, scrolling on his phone. I didn't want to fight. I wanted us back. I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Get off!" He flinched like I burned him, shaking me off. I stared at the red mark on my wrist where he’d grabbed me. "Today is our ten-year anniversary," I whispered. Ethan froze. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold indifference. "Send me a link for what you want. I'll buy it tomorrow." He spoke like he was approving a business expense. "It doesn't count if it's tomorrow," I said, tilting my head, trying to channel the playful girl he used to love. He used to say I looked cute when I was mad. Now, he looked at me like I was a stranger. "Sarah." He used my full name. The invisible wall between us just got ten feet higher. "Grow up." Two words. Like ice picks. "We're twenty-eight. We aren't kids anymore. You can't build a life on anniversaries." My chest ached. The man in front of me—in his tailored suit, looking tired and cynical—was nothing like the boy in the white t-shirt who used to laugh with me in the campus quad. "Yeah," I mumbled. "I'm twenty-eight." "You know where I'm at," he interrupted, cutting off the conversation I hadn't started yet. "My career is stalling. I'm not ready for marriage..." His phone rang. He glanced at the screen and silenced it immediately. My stomach dropped. But I forced myself to stay calm. I even tried to sound sweet. "So, when will you be ready?" 4 He didn't answer. He didn't ask for more time. Instead, he said: "If you feel like you're wasting your time, then..." "Then break up with you? So I have to be the bad guy?" The words hung in the air. Ethan sighed. "I'm just not good enough for you, Sarah." I snapped. The anxiety that had been boiling all night finally exploded. "Not good enough? You didn't seem to have that problem when you chased me for two years in college!" Ethan's face turned red. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't even want to fight for us. He grabbed his keys and headed for the guest bedroom. He twisted the knob. Locked. "Sarah! Stop playing games! Open the door!" "I told you to fix that lock months ago," I said coldly. "The wind slammed it shut earlier. I can't open it either." He looked at the balcony door, checking if I was lying. The silence was heavy. "Fine," he said. "I'll go to a hotel." That broke me. I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. "A hotel? This condo is too small for you now? Or are you just done pretending?" Ethan looked shocked. I never raised my voice. "If anyone is going to a hotel, it should be me! You bought this place, right? God forbid I inconvenience you!" I was screaming now, hurting him on purpose because I wanted him to feel a fraction of what I felt. "You're always like this, Sarah," he spat. "Selfish. You never think about anyone else." "Selfish?" My eyes widened. "Last week! You invite my colleague inside? Do you have any idea how awkward that makes things for me at work?" "Awkward? She texted you 'Miss you' at dinner time! Am I supposed to ignore that?" "I'm done explaining this. Think what you want." He turned and walked to the front door. Hand on the latch, he paused. He didn't look back. "Sarah. If you really think we can't make this work... then maybe we shouldn't." I stood there, stiff as a board. I didn't answer. That was the moment I knew. Ethan didn't love me anymore. 5 Ethan didn't come home after that. Friday night, Jess messaged our group chat. "Guys! It's happening! I'm getting married!" She attached a digital invitation. She tagged both of us. "My favorite college power couple needs to be there to support me! Details are in the link. No excuses!" I waited. Ethan didn't reply. I didn't want Jess to worry. "Yay! We'll be there," I typed. Seconds later, a DM from Ethan popped up. "Make up an excuse. Tell them I'm traveling or sick. I'm not going." I hesitated. "But she invited both of us. It's rude not to go. Jess is my best friend." I watched the "typing" bubbles appear and disappear. Finally: "Sarah, let's break up." I stared at the screen. Tears hit the glass. My fingers felt numb. I typed out a paragraph, deleted it. Typed another, deleted it. Finally, out of pure spite and exhaustion, I typed one word. "Fine."
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