The year I turned thirty, all my single friends married. Even my mother, who’d always opposed my dating, finally relented. “When are you getting married?” she’d ask pointedly each time I visited. “You’re almost thirty…” Before I could answer, my boyfriend Jackson would cut in sincerely, “Auntie, it’s my fault. Phoebe and I are engaged—we’ll set a date after New Year.” His earnestness and her smile made me believe our rocky relationship was finally heading toward a happy ending. But before the wedding, I dropped by his office. On the company photo wall was a collage from a recent team trip—Jackson in every shot with another girl: hiking, boating, cycling. She leaned against him, smiling brightly as if staking her claim. That night, we had our worst fight. I accused; he called me paranoid. “She’s just a kid who sees me as a brother,” he argued. Later, I unlocked his phone. My chat was muted. His only pinned chat was with a cute cat avatar—the girl sharing daily details, him replying patiently to every message. A bitter smile touched my lips. All those times he’d ignored me, his care had gone to her. Fine. He could have her. I didn’t want him anymore. 1 It was three in the morning when the bedroom door creaked open. Jackson sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, lost in thought. After a long silence, he placed a small box on my nightstand. The sound of the shower running startled me. I opened my eyes and looked at his phone on the pillow beside me. A new message notification glowed on the screen. As if possessed, I swiped it open. As I scrolled through his chat history, my suspicions were confirmed. My conversation was muted. While he had nothing to say to me, he had endless words for another girl. Over the past six months, his replies to her had evolved from cold and perfunctory to patient and engaged, culminating in a daily exchange of life's trivialities. [Are you asleep? Thanks for driving me home.] [Let me buy you dinner to say thank you! (cute cat emoji)] [Goodnight, sweet dreams~] The bed dipped beside me as he lay down. The phone's light flickered. He was silent for a long moment before he turned and wrapped his arms around me. "You're awake?" "I'm sorry," he murmured into my hair. "Something came up today. I couldn't make it to your wedding dress fitting." "My business partner had an emergency. He asked me to drive his sister to the next city for a dance troupe audition. He said it was crucial for her future…" "I thought I could make it back in time." His excuses felt hollow, flimsy. My hand, clenched into a fist, felt strangely weak, as if all the strength had been drained from my fingertips. It was like trying to hold onto sand, watching it slip through the cracks. It was a bitter, helpless feeling. A familiar sting pricked my eyes, and a tear escaped, landing on the back of his hand. He flinched as if burned. He sighed, pulling me closer, burying his face in my neck. "I'll be more careful from now on," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry." "We'll reschedule the fitting." "Once this project is done, we'll go abroad for our wedding photos, okay?" His warm breath ghosted across my skin, followed by a trail of soft kisses. The temperature in the room began to rise, but a single, stark question cut through the haze of intimacy. "Jackson, do you still want to marry me?" 2 I met Jackson when I was eighteen. After graduation, it seemed I had finally earned a sliver of my mother's approval by outperforming the child of her ex-husband—a constant, invisible competitor in my life. It felt like the only way to divert her attention, even for a moment, was to be better, to be more successful. But I always seemed to disappoint her. In my junior year, a story I wrote was adapted for the school play. Watching my words come to life on stage planted a seed in my heart. As I continued to trudge through the endless, joyless calligraphy and violin lessons she forced on me, that seed began to sprout. I wanted to make my own choice, just once. I didn't choose the practical, stable career path she had laid out for me. For the first time in my life, I defied her. The price was being thrown out of the house. I had less than twenty dollars to my name. She was trying to break me, certain I would come crawling back, ready to fall in line. If it hadn't been for my best friend, I probably would have ended up on the streets, just as she'd predicted. To pay for tuition and living expenses, I slept four hours a night and worked every other waking moment. I was a waitress at a diner at dawn, a barista in the afternoon, and a clerk at an internet café late into the night. It was exhausting, but I had never felt so free. Then, on an ordinary afternoon, filled with the drone of summer cicadas and the tinkle of a wind chime, he appeared. A boy who carried the heat of the summer in his bright, intense gaze. He burst into my life and changed everything. 3 The next morning, he was gone. Staring out at the sunlight, my mind drifted back to the night before. My question had been met with a long, heavy silence. His passionate kisses had stifled any further words, and the unresolved topic had been buried. I rubbed my temples. A glint of light caught my eye. Sometime during the night, he had taken the ring from the box and slipped it onto my finger. The diamond sparkled, so bright it made my eyes water. … To reassure me, it seemed, Jackson started coming home for dinner every night, no matter how busy he was. We would curl up on the sofa and watch cheesy soap operas. On weekends, he would take me to plays and late-night movie premieres. We would walk home under the stars, just like we used to. For a while, it felt like we had gone back in time. My mother once told me I couldn't even bake a decent cake, unlike my stepsister, who excelled at everything. Our tenth anniversary was coming up. I decided I wanted to bake Jackson a cake. Late one night, after he'd fallen asleep, I tiptoed into the kitchen. Following a video tutorial, I carefully measured and mixed. Slowly, a cake took shape under my hands. It turned out I wasn't completely useless after all. 4 The next morning, as I reminded Jackson to take the wedding invitations with him, I caught a glimpse of a restaurant reservation on his phone. My heart skipped a beat. A flicker of hope. The sun was shining. I hummed as I pruned the wilting roses on the windowsill. After getting dressed up, I picked up the cake and headed to his office. I hadn't been there in a long time. Perhaps too long. The receptionist stopped me at the door. "Hi, I'm here to see Jackson." "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Thorne?" I shook my head. She was new. Her expression soured when I said his name, her tone shifting. She glanced at the cake in my hand. "No appointment, no entry." I was taken aback by her hostility. I tried calling Jackson, but he didn't answer. She rolled her eyes and started texting someone. "Please leave," she said, her voice sharp with impatience. Just then, Liam, Jackson’s best friend and business partner, stepped out of the elevator. The receptionist’s face lit up. "Liam! You're here!" Liam smiled back, then his eyes fell on me. He looked surprised. "Phoebe? What are you doing here?" "Am I not allowed?" I asked, a smile playing on my lips. He quickly backtracked. "Of course, you are! I just haven't seen you here in a while. Why are you waiting out here?" He glanced between me and the receptionist. "Come on in." "Liam!" the receptionist protested. "She doesn't have an appointment…" Liam’s expression darkened. "This is Mr. Thorne's fiancée. She doesn't need an appointment." The girl's eyes widened. I shot her a questioning look before following Liam inside. Behind me, I could hear her urgently speaking into her phone. In the hallway, I asked casually, "When did that receptionist start? Is she a relative of someone?" "A friend asked me to give her a job," he said, rubbing his nose. "She's new. Don't mind her." 5 As we entered the main office area, a sweet aroma hung in the air. There was a small, elegant dessert on every desk. "This is amazing! Did Mr. Cheng’s sister make this?" one woman whispered. "Yeah, this is the second time this month, right?" "Don't forget the cookies from last week!" I walked into Jackson’s office. It was empty. On his desk was a half-eaten slice of cake and a bag of almond cookies. My fingers tightened on the ribbon of the cake box. "You're here." Jackson looked surprised to see me, a flicker of something strange in his eyes. "Why didn't you call?" "I did. You didn't answer," I said flatly. He patted his pockets, then came over and took my hand. "Sorry, I was in Nick’s office. My phone wasn't with me." His gaze fell on the cake box. Just as he was about to speak, a cheerful voice came from the doorway. "Jackson! Time for lunch! When are we leaving?" A young woman with a bright, sunny smile walked in. She froze when she saw me. I looked her over. She was pretty, with fair skin and a youthful energy that was impossible to ignore. "And you are?" I asked, turning to Jackson, though I already knew the answer. He squeezed my hand. "This is Nick’s sister, Tessa," he said, his voice low. I stared at him for a long moment, then let out a cold laugh. The girl looked at me nervously. "You must be Phoebe. It's nice to meet you. Jackson talks about you all the—" "Where are you two going?" I cut her off. Tessa looked at Jackson, flustered. Jackson stood up, pulling me with him. "Just to grab some lunch. You haven't eaten, have you? Join us." She looked like she wanted to protest, but seeing our joined hands, she just lowered her eyes and forced a smile. 6 In the parking garage, as Jackson opened the passenger door for me, his eyes instinctively darted towards Tessa. My heart, which had been tentatively warming up, was instantly doused in ice water. A lump formed in my throat. The car ride was tense. We were each lost in our own thoughts. A sad, melancholic song played on the radio. Who, I wondered, was the real third wheel in this relationship? … The restaurant was a new, trendy spot that was impossible to get into without a reservation. We knew each other so well; a single glance could speak volumes. As he held the door for me, he didn't even spare Tessa a look. "Welcome. Do you have a reservation?" Jackson showed them the text from that morning. It felt like a cruel joke. The waiter led us to a private room. Almost every dish on the table contained almonds. Jackson and I both hated almonds. It was painfully obvious who this meal was for. My heart sank. I leaned forward, my hands clasped under my chin. "Do you two have lunch together every day?" I asked Tessa directly. She stammered, "I… I just graduated and I haven't found a job yet. My brother's been busy at lunch, so…" Jackson cut in, his brow furrowed. "Her brother just got a girlfriend. He asked me to look after his sister. I saw she was alone at the office, so we just grabbed lunch together." "Phoebe, don't misunderstand," Tessa added quickly. "It's just…" "Didn't you know he has a fiancée?" I interrupted. "Do you think it's appropriate to have lunch with an engaged man every day?" She was speechless. Jackson's face darkened. "Can you stop being so paranoid? Now I can't even have a meal with a friend?" "A friend?" My voice rose. "An engaged man, spending every day with another woman—you think that’s normal?! You promised me!" "Jackson was just being nice to me…" Tessa started to explain, but her phone rang, cutting her off. She quickly excused herself. A moment later, she rushed back in, her eyes red, her knuckles white as she gripped her phone. "Jackson! The dance troupe just called! There was a mistake in my application, and I have to resubmit it by five o'clock today! It's the last day… Can you please, please drive me? I won't make it in time!" Jackson shot up from his seat, completely forgetting about me. "Don't worry, I'll take you." I grabbed his wrist. "You can't go." He turned, his eyes filled with disappointment and impatience. He yanked his arm away. "Can you stop being so unreasonable?!" I stared at his retreating back, my voice hoarse. "Jackson, have you forgotten what day it is?" He paused for a fraction of a second, then walked out without looking back. And just like that, the last thread holding me together snapped.
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