My fiancé gained ten pounds before our wedding physical. I broke up with him on the spot. He rubbed his temples, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “Is my appearance really that important to you? I can lose the weight, Amrita. I promise.” I just shook my head. “No, it’s not that,” I said, my voice steady. “At your last check-up, you were diagnosed with fatty liver disease. For your health, you promised me you’d eat clean.” I calmly held up my phone, showing him the screenshot. A private Instagram story he’d hidden from me. The background was our newly renovated condo, the one we were supposed to move into after the wedding. In the photo, a delicate hand with a perfect manicure was placing a box of beef into a bubbling hot pot for him. “I’m the one eating boiled vegetables and chicken breast with you every night,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “So who’s the girl treating you to hot pot, barbecue, and pizza?” 1 The color drained from Allen’s face. “Amrita, listen to me, I can explain…” Before he could get the words out, his phone buzzed on the table. It had been doing that at the same time every day for weeks. I’d always assumed it was work. Now I knew better. I didn’t even look up. “Put it on speaker.” The phone rang for a full thirty seconds, a shrill, insistent sound in the tense silence. Finally, he swiped to answer, his thumb hovering over the speaker icon before pressing down. “Allen, honey,” a sweet voice cooed from the speaker. “I made that spicy poached fish you love. When are you coming over?” A cold sweat broke out on Allen’s forehead, his lips trembling. He finally managed to choke out a single sentence. “I’m not coming.” Then he scrambled to hang up. But it was too late. I recognized that voice. It belonged to his ex-girlfriend of ten years, Isabelle. A humorless laugh escaped my lips. “After all this time. Of course, it’s still her.” I snatched my car keys from the table and walked toward the door. “Come on,” I said, looking back at him. “Let’s go have some of that fish, shall we?” The drive to our—to my—condo took twenty minutes. The renovations had just been finished last month. I’m a sentimental person; I wanted to wait until we were officially married to spend our first night there together. The bed, a custom piece I’d designed myself, had cost me over ten thousand dollars. I’d never even laid down on it. But apparently, another woman had. A wave of nausea washed over me. I felt sick. “Amrita… Isabelle just got laid off, and her landlord scammed her out of her deposit. She had nowhere else to go. She called me, crying… We all went to college together, you know? I was just letting her crash for a few days…” He kept rambling, his excuses a meaningless buzz in my ear as we waited for the elevator. I tuned him out. The moment I opened the door, a sharp pain lanced through my chest, even though I thought I was prepared. I’d been so busy with work, and Allen had insisted the paint fumes were still too strong, that I hadn't been back to see the place. I didn’t recognize it. A fluffy pink throw was draped over the sofa. A bouquet of yellow roses and baby’s breath sat on the coffee table. The kitchen was fully stocked, and a clay pot on the stove was simmering, sending fragrant steam into the air. It felt like a giant hand was squeezing my throat, cutting off my air. “Woof! Woof!” A small Pomeranian scampered out of the bedroom, followed closely by Isabelle. The two of them, woman and dog, looked more like they belonged here than I ever would. The sheer audacity of it all made me want to laugh. Isabelle wrung her hands, the picture of innocence. “Amrita, I’m so sorry. I’m in a really tough spot. I’ll move out as soon as I find a place.” Before I could say a word, Allen exploded. “Isabelle, I’ve done more than enough for you!” he roared. “You have two days. Find a job and get out. If you can’t, go back to your hometown and stop screwing up my life!” He stomped into the living room, grabbing the pink throw and the vase of flowers, and hurled them into the trash can. “This is my and Amrita’s home! I let you stay here out of pity, don’t push your luck!” His words brought tears to Isabelle’s eyes. She scooped up her dog, looking lost and hurt. “Allen… please don’t be so cruel.” “Don’t call me Allen! You don’t have the right!” He was putting on quite a show. You’d almost think she’d moved in without his permission. He pointed a shaking finger at the dinner table. “And I never wanted to eat this crap! You’re the one who insisted on cooking it!” The next thing I knew, he’d flipped the entire table over. Isabelle shrieked as hot oil and broth splattered onto her arm, a red welt instantly forming on her skin. Silent tears streamed down her face. She looked at Allen, her voice trembling with grief. “Do you really not want my food? Or are you just scared of her, saying things you don’t mean?” Her voice cracked. “Every time you came here, you were starving. She has you on that crazy diet, she won’t even let you eat a proper meal. I feel so sorry for you, and this is how you treat me?” The sobs wracked her body. “Nothing happened with Leo back then, I swear. We were just drunk. I loved you so much, Allen. How could I ever betray you?” “Shut up!” A flash of raw agony crossed Allen’s face. Right. I’d almost forgotten. They hadn’t broken up because they fell out of love. They broke up because Allen was convinced she’d cheated on him. 2 Allen and Isabelle had been high school sweethearts. First loves. They’d been together for ten years, all through college and his PhD program. A decade is a long time—long enough for someone to become a part of you, woven into the very fabric of your being. If Allen hadn't walked in on Isabelle in bed with his best friend, Leo, they probably would have been married by now. After the breakup, it took Allen a full year to pull himself together. He was my father's star student, and with a little encouragement from my dad, we started dating. When Isabelle found out, she staged a suicide attempt and went on social media, accusing me of being a homewrecker. All of their mutual friends treated me like an invader, an unwelcome presence in their circle. But Allen had been my rock through it all. He stood by me, defended me, and made me believe our foundation was solid. I truly thought we were fine. I never imagined that after all this time, he and Isabelle would still be tangled up like this. If a mutual friend hadn't forwarded me that hidden Instagram story, I would still be in the dark, happily planning our wedding. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Isabelle’s choked sobs pulled me back to the trashed apartment. I couldn’t stand to be there for another second. I turned and walked out. “Amrita!” Allen scrambled after me. As he left, he tossed a small pack of bandages to Isabelle for her burn. A gesture that was supposed to look cold, but was really just a twisted form of caring. “Amrita, wait, slow down! Let me explain!” he pleaded, catching up to me. “I never wanted her in our home, I swear! But she’s crazy, she threatened to kill herself if I didn’t help her… She was always like this, even back in school. Her family life was a nightmare—abusive dad, mom ran off… She’s not like you, Amrita. You have a great family, a support system. She has nothing. It’s… it’s pitiful.” I almost laughed again. “So it’s my fault for having a good life?” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “No, that’s not what I mean! I’ll handle it, Amrita, I swear. I’ll get her out. Just… please, forgive me.” His eyes were red, desperate, like he was on the verge of tears. Just then, his phone started vibrating again. Call after call. He rejected every one. On the last one, he answered and shouted into the phone, “Isabelle, you’re insane! Stop calling me!” Then, as if to prove his loyalty, he blocked her number right in front of me. “Amrita, I only love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Please… don’t leave me.” I’ll admit it. In that moment, I wavered. We’d been together for three years. There were real feelings there. And our families were a good match; marrying him was, on paper, the most logical choice. I didn’t say anything. I just drove us back to our old apartment. Allen was a model of devotion all evening. “Amrita, from now on, I’ll keep my distance from that psycho, I swear… And I’ll lose the weight before the wedding, I’ll get back to my goal weight!” He swore up and down. “If I ever contact her again, may I drop dead!” His promises echoed in the quiet apartment. But when I woke up in the middle of the night, his side of the bed was empty. I called his phone. He said there was an emergency at work, he had to go in. But I could hear it. A faint, almost imperceptible sound of a woman crying in the background. A bitter smile touched my lips. He really did think I was a fool. I hung up and sent him a two-word text: We’re done. His calls started immediately, one after another. His texts flooded my screen. [Amrita, answer the phone! You’re killing me!] [Babe, please don’t do this.] [I’m begging you, just pick up…] But by morning, he still hadn’t come home. 3 I packed my bags and left the apartment where we had built a life for three years. It was my father’s birthday. The last thing I wanted was to worry him, so I plastered on a smile and pretended everything was fine. The house was full of guests. Just before dinner, the doorbell rang. It was Allen, holding a gift-wrapped box. He greeted my father with a cheerful, “Happy birthday, Dad!” I didn’t want to make a scene in front of our family and friends, so I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and played along. Halfway through the party, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, putting on a show for everyone. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper only I could hear. “Amrita, stop being mad,” he murmured. “I promise, this was the last time. I already told that psycho to get out of our house for good.” He was in the middle of his earnest, heartfelt promise when he froze. He hadn’t noticed her. The very psycho he was talking about was standing in the doorway. Isabelle’s eyes were bloodshot, and she looked like she was about to collapse. When she called his name, her voice was a raw, broken rasp. Allen was stunned. His body went rigid, a look of pure, cornered panic on his face. “What are you doing here? Isabelle, are you trying to ruin my life?” he hissed. “We broke up years ago! If you keep harassing me, I’m calling the cops! Now get out!” He shoved me behind him, a shield between me and her, as he glared at Isabelle. But Isabelle was beyond reason, her tears turning into a hysterical frenzy. She latched onto his sleeve. “No! I’ll follow you for the rest of my life! You’ll never get rid of me!” Her voice rose, drawing the attention of every guest in the room. “I’ve thought it all through, Allen! I still love you! I can’t live without you! The thought of you marrying another woman is killing me! Call me pathetic, call me shameless, I don’t care! I’m not letting you go!” Allen’s face cycled through shades of red and white. I just wanted the floor to swallow me whole. The room was filled with the whispers and stares of my family’s closest friends. A wave of dizziness washed over me, the world tilting on its axis. With the last shred of my composure, I turned to Allen. “Take your drama outside. Get this crazy woman out of my house.” Isabelle let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Oh, that’s easy for you to say, isn’t it, Amrita? Who do you think drove me crazy in the first place?” She pointed a shaking finger at me. “Allen and I had ten years together! If it weren’t for you, we’d be married by now! You think he actually loves you? He’s only with you for your family’s money and connections! If you were like me, crawling out of the mud, do you think he’d even give you a second look?” “Isabelle, shut your goddamn mouth!” Allen’s voice was strained with panic. He grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the house. As I watched them disappear, the dam inside me finally broke. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left. The three years of our relationship felt like a diseased growth on my body. Cutting it out was going to hurt. When I finally stumbled out of the bathroom, my stomach empty and my body trembling, the guests were all gone. Only my parents were left, waiting by the door. I collapsed into my mother’s arms, the sobs I’d been holding back tearing from my throat. “Dad, Mom… I don’t want to marry him.” My mother held me tight, her hand gently rubbing the back of my neck, just like she did when I was a little girl. “Okay, honey. We won’t. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” “All we want is for you to be happy, sweetheart,” my father added, his voice thick with emotion. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, my head pounding with a dull ache. And then, the world went black. I had a fever of 104. By the time they got me to the hospital, I was burning up. I drifted in and out of a long, disjointed dream. When I finally woke up, it was dark outside. My parents had stepped out to get me some food. I was alone in the quiet room. I finally felt like I could breathe again. And then the door creaked open.
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