Every year on April Fools' Day, my boyfriend teamed up with his "bro-girl" best friend to play a sick prank: he would fake a proposal to me. Last year, my heart pounded with anticipation as he slipped the ring onto my finger. But the moment it was on, a hidden spring mechanism in the trick ring snapped shut, crushing my skin. I screamed in agony. My boyfriend and his best friend, Chloe, just erupted into hysterical laughter. They didn't care that my finger was turning purple and dangerously close to losing circulation. To apologize, my boyfriend, Liam, swore on his life that this year, the proposal would be real. So, when he frantically called me, begging me to meet him at the exact spot of our first date, I believed him. I got a blowout, had my nails done, spent two hours on my makeup, and bought a brand-new dress. I even had the engagement announcement drafted and ready to post on Instagram. But the second I walked through the door, my heart full of joy... a massive, heavy paper plate completely covered in shaving cream and frosting was smashed directly into my face. A bright, loud, feminine laugh exploded from the crowd. "I told you she’d show up! You owe me fifty bucks, Liam! You lose!" Liam stepped up and gently wiped the frosting off my face, using the same tender touch he always had. "You dressed up so pretty today, too. Shame about the outfit." "I made a bet with the guys on whether we could actually get you to show up today. I bet you wouldn't. If I won, I was going to propose to you tomorrow. If I lost, I'd propose next year." "Sorry, babe. Since you showed up, I guess we aren't getting married this year either." I stood perfectly still, looking at him through the sticky mess on my eyelashes. "So. Do you even know what tomorrow is?" He smiled casually, brushing it off. "Of course I know. It's our six-year anniversary. How could I forget?" The heavy, sickeningly sweet frosting clung to my skin. In that exact moment, a profound, suffocating exhaustion washed over me. It was all so pointless. Our anniversary was less important than an April Fools' joke. Just like I was less important than his "bro-girl" best friend. I reached down and slid off the matching promise ring we had both worn for the last six years. "Then let's break up." The sharp clink of the silver ring hitting the hardwood floor silenced the entire VIP room. Liam frowned slightly, looking annoyed. "Stop being dramatic. It's just a little frosting. I'll help you wash it off when we get home. You know how Chloe is, she used to go way harder with her pranks. She actually held back for you." "I went through a lot of trouble to get you out here. Don't make me look like a whipped, spineless boyfriend in front of my friends." Chloe immediately put on a pouting, victimized face. "Geez, Elena, it was just a joke. If you hate it so much, we won't play anymore, okay? There's no need to threaten a breakup over it." "I told you guys she couldn't take a joke, but you insisted on inviting her. Now look what happened." She crossed her arms and threw herself onto the leather sofa, looking incredibly put out. Instantly, the glares from the rest of the friend group turned cold and hostile toward me. Chloe was the only girl in their tight-knit frat-bro circle. She was the undisputed princess of the group. If she was unhappy, everyone scrambled to coddle her. Liam was no exception. The very first time I met her, she organized a game of Truth or Dare. Everyone else's dares were harmless, stupid pranks—like singing loudly in the street. But when it was my turn, she dared me to fake an orgasm in front of the entire room. I quietly said I wasn't comfortable with that kind of inappropriate punishment. Chloe instantly burst into tears and ran out of the bar. The entire group of guys sprinted out after her. Including Liam. What was supposed to be my welcome party ended with me sitting alone at an empty table. Liam didn't say anything about it afterward, but from that day on, he never brought me to another group hangout unless Chloe explicitly gave him permission. Liam glared at me, his brow furrowed in a stern warning. "Elena, apologize to Chloe." If this were the past—if I was still desperately trying to fit in, still terrified of embarrassing Liam in front of his boys—I would have swallowed my pride. I would have proactively apologized and explained myself before he even had to ask. But right now, seeing that me threatening to end our six-year relationship carried less weight than Chloe looking slightly annoyed... I finally understood. From the very beginning, my place in his heart was inherently inferior to his "purely platonic" bond with his female best friend. I picked up the expensive trench coat and the designer handbag I had bought specifically to impress his parents later this week. I looked back at their judgmental, scrutinizing faces. "Liam. We're done. I mean it. It's over." I turned and walked out, my brand-new heels clicking unsteadily against the floor. As the heavy door swung shut behind me, I could faintly hear Chloe's teasing laughter from inside. "Are you really not going to chase after your little stage-five clinger?" Liam let out a cold, arrogant scoff. "She's just throwing a tantrum to get attention. If I actually chased her, what would happen to you?" "Besides, she doesn't have anyone else in this city to rely on but me. She's easy to handle." My heart, already burning and raw, was sliced wide open. His words were like freezing wind scraping against an open wound. Six years ago, Liam had stood in this exact same restaurant and confessed his love to me, swearing I was the only woman for him. Truthfully, it took a lot of effort for him to win me over. When I was fifteen, both of my parents remarried and started new families. I became the unwanted baggage that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. Because of that, I was terrified of dating. I was terrified of the idea of a family. I rejected him five times. The final time, a creep started stalking me while I was walking back to my lonely, empty apartment at night. Liam appeared out of nowhere and fought the guy off. He took a knife to the arm in the process and ended up in the ER. After the nurse finished stitching him up, his eyes suddenly turned red. "Elena, why do you have to be so fiercely independent? Can't you just let me protect you?" In that single moment, the ice around my heart melted. I thought to myself: Maybe... maybe dating someone this reliable and gentle wouldn't be so bad. That very night, he asked me to meet him at that restaurant and officially asked me to be his girlfriend. When I said yes, this usually sophisticated, composed guy picked me up and spun me around like a massive, goofy golden retriever. We spun until we were both dizzy and collapsed laughing onto the floor. He wrapped his strong arms around me, shielding me from the hard ground. We sat on the concrete steps outside the restaurant, and he swore to the moon that as long as he was around, I would never be lonely, and I would never be abandoned again. But tonight, the deepest, most vulnerable wounds I had ever exposed to him—wounds that had barely begun to scar over—were violently ripped open by the exact same man. I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. I opened my email app on my phone and clicked on an unread message from five days ago. It was a corporate transfer offer to our company's headquarters on the East Coast. The offer expired at midnight. I typed my reply: [I accept the transfer to the New York HQ.] It turned out those words weren't actually that hard to type. I looked up at the moon, half-hidden behind thin, wispy clouds. Liam. I'm actually not easy to handle at all. And I don't need you to handle me anymore. My train ticket to New York was booked for the afternoon of the 2nd. I didn't have much time left. As soon as I got back to the apartment, I quickly washed the sticky, smelling frosting off my skin and started packing my life away. I didn't have a lot of things. It was mostly just clothes and a few personal items. I managed to fit everything into two suitcases—one large, one small. At 3:00 AM, I booked a nearby hotel for the night. Just as I grabbed the handle of my suitcase to leave, the front door swung open. Liam stumbled in, completely exhausted from partying. He dumped a blackout-drunk Chloe onto our living room sofa, then handed me a plastic grocery bag filled with fresh pears. "Perfect timing, you're still awake. She had way too much to drink. Go boil some pear and ginger tea for her hangover, otherwise she's going to be throwing up all night." I stood perfectly still, not moving a muscle. When we first moved in together years ago, he came home completely trashed from a frat reunion, throwing up constantly. My heart ached for him. I woke up at 2:00 AM to brew him a traditional hangover remedy on the stove. But the cheap clay pot I was using couldn't handle the heat. It shattered violently. Boiling water and sharp ceramic shards exploded all over me, burning my arms and chest. When he saw what happened, the alcohol instantly left his system. He looked at my burns with absolute, agonizing guilt. From that day forward, he never let me step foot in the kitchen again. Even when he was sick with the flu and craving homemade chicken noodle soup, he would rather order overpriced delivery than let me turn on the stove. For the last few years, I hadn't cooked a single meal. He even washed and peeled the fruit before handing it to me. To this day, there was a custom wooden sign hanging on the kitchen door that he had carved himself: [DANGER ZONE: ELENA IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN.] I let out a cynical chuckle and tossed the plastic bag of pears directly into the trash can. "Sorry. Not my job. If she wants a hangover cure, she can order it on UberEats." With that, I grabbed the handles of my suitcases and stepped toward the door. He suddenly lunged forward, grabbing my wrist and shoving me aggressively against the heavy wooden door. "Alright, Elena, enough. It was fine when you were just venting at the restaurant, but packing your bags? I already told you, it was an April Fools' joke. Stop throwing a tantrum." "I know you want to get married. I want to, too. Next year. I promise we will officially tie the knot next year, okay?" The smell of stale alcohol washed over my neck as he breathed heavily. But unlike every other time in the past, his half-hearted coaxing didn't work. I shoved him away with both hands and delivered a sharp, echoing slap directly across his cheek. "Liam, I was incredibly clear. We are broken up. I am never marrying you!" The sharp crack of the slap didn't just stun Liam; it also managed to partially wake up the drunk girl on the couch. Chloe stumbled to her feet, swaying violently, and charged at me. She raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. "Who the hell do you think you are?! Who gave you the right to hit Liam?!" "If you want to break up, then break up! There are a million better girls out there! You... you're literally a nobody!" A burning, stinging pain exploded across my cheek. My eyes turned red with fury. I raised my hand, ready to slap her back into next week. But Liam violently grabbed my wrist mid-air, twisting it and shoving me backward. The small of my back slammed brutally into the metal doorknob. A sharp, paralyzing pain shot through my spine. He stood protectively in front of Chloe, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. "She's blackout drunk. Are you seriously going to pick a physical fight with a drunk person?" "Just... get out of here. Go cool off. We'll talk about this tomorrow when you're acting rational." I stared at him in absolute disbelief. He looked so incredibly indifferent, as if I were just some random, unreasonable stranger causing a scene in his home. He didn't spare me a second glance. He immediately turned his attention back to the slurring, stumbling Chloe, his voice dropping into a soft, gentle whisper to calm her down. He saved every ounce of his tenderness for her. I dug my fingernails into my palms until they nearly bled. I grabbed my suitcases and walked out the door. I checked into the nearest Marriott. I didn't manage to close my eyes until the sun started to rise. When I woke up, my phone was exploding with notifications. Aside from the generic mass texts about April Fools' pranks, most of the messages were from coworkers and friends asking why I hadn't shown up to work, and fishing for gossip about whether Liam had finally popped the question. My heart gave a dull, painful throb. I sent a mass reply saying simply, [We broke up,] feeling a deep, suffocating exhaustion settling into my bones. The ping-ping-ping of incoming texts continued. Some people thought it was a belated April Fools' joke. Some said it was impossible. Some even told me to stop acting like a spoiled brat just because I was disappointed about the proposal. After all, in their eyes, Liam was the perfect man. Gentle, reliable, and incredibly successful. He was the ultimate safety net. A rare, high-value catch. But they didn't know the reality of this "perfect man." For our four-year anniversary, he set up a ridiculously romantic, elaborate proposal fake-out, specifically to lower my guard so his "bro-girl" could drop a realistic, terrifying rubber snake on my lap. For our five-year anniversary, he used a novelty trick ring Chloe had bought online to "propose." I spent that night in the ER with the fire department using heavy machinery to cut the metal off my finger before it went necrotic. Yes, he had the ability to be an incredible safety net. But I wasn't the person he was catching. In the past, I had automatically, delusionally blocked out all these massive red flags. I kept gaslighting myself, repeating: Aside from Chloe, he treats me like a queen. But once the fog finally cleared, I realized that a relationship like this—even if it ended in a proposal—was a dead end. I let out a bitter laugh and absentmindedly opened Instagram. Amidst the sea of predictable April Fools' posts, the most prominent update was a massive photo dump from Chloe. Liam had taken her to a luxury movie theater, won her a massive teddy bear at the arcade, and played laser tag with her. Even though he technically always prioritized Chloe's April Fools' prank before celebrating our actual anniversary the next day... He had never, ever taken me to do any of those things. He always told me that arcades and laser tag were immature wastes of time for teenagers. He insisted that taking a pottery class or watching an indie documentary at home was much more "meaningful." I had genuinely believed that was just his mature, sophisticated personality showing through. So, I actively suppressed all my youthful, silly desires from my first real relationship to match his energy. But now, looking at the photos of him laughing so brightly, so carefree, surrounded by neon arcade lights... I finally realized that those activities weren't boring. He just found them boring when he was doing them with me. The comment section under Chloe's post was an endless stream of people saying how cute they looked together. All of our mutual friends had liked the post. It had more likes than the post we made when we officially announced we were dating. Just as I was about to force-close the app, a text message popped up at the top of my screen. It was from Liam. [Don't overthink the photos. I just took her out to burn off the hangover. If you have time, come back to the apartment. She said she wants to apologize to you.] I frowned deeply, my thumbs flying across the keyboard to type: [Don't bother.] But suddenly, a delivery notification popped up from Amazon. The anniversary gift I had ordered for him weeks ago had just been signed for. I had used the apartment as the shipping address. I thought about it for a second. It was best to get total closure. I also needed to drop my set of keys on the counter. A clean, definitive break. I threw on some basic clothes and caught an Uber back to the apartment building. But the exact second I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, a massive splash of freezing, chemically-smelling liquid hit me directly in the face. A violent, burning sensation instantly erupted across my cheeks. "SURPRISE! HAPPY LATE APRIL FOOLS'!" Before I could even wipe my eyes, Chloe charged at me. She was holding a rough microfiber makeup remover cloth, aggressively scrubbing and dragging it across my face. The burning sensation intensified exponentially, accompanied by a terrifying, agonizing itch that felt like thousands of tiny insects chewing into my skin. It felt like my face was being physically peeled off. I violently shoved her away. I instinctively reached up to scratch my face, but the second my fingers made contact, a blinding, piercing pain shot through my nerves. "Cough... cough... my face... what is that?!" Liam sprinted out of the kitchen, grabbing my wrists forcefully to stop me from scratching. His voice was laced with genuine panic and fury. "Chloe! You said it was just micellar water! Why is her face breaking out in hives?!" Chloe's face flushed a deep, guilty red. "I... I don't know! I just grabbed a random bottle from the bathroom! Besides, she's always wearing that pathetic, innocent 'no-makeup makeup' look trying to compete with me! I hate it! And you told me yourself you didn't like how it looked, which is why you agreed to let me prank her!" My entire body was trembling uncontrollably. My limbs were going numb, and my airway was beginning to tighten. "And you really thought... she actually wanted to apologize to me?! Liam... you are a psychopathic monster. You don't even deserve the phrase 'clean break'!" Gasping for air, I tried to stumble toward the bathroom to wash my face. But after taking a single step, the world violently spun, and everything went black. "ELENA! ELENA, WAKE UP!" When I finally regained consciousness, the sun had already set. The burning, throbbing pain on my cheeks was still incredibly intense. While I was fading in and out in the ER, I vaguely remembered the doctors telling me I had suffered severe chemical burns and required several stitches on my chin and right cheek where the skin had split from the aggressive scrubbing. My shifting on the hospital bed woke Liam, who had been dozing in the chair next to me. "Elena, thank God you're awake. You terrified me. The doctor said you had a severe anaphylactic shock reaction to an industrial-strength disinfectant." "She genuinely wanted to apologize to you today. But you know how stubborn and defensive she is. Her actions were definitely out of line, but she honestly didn't mean to hurt you this badly. Please don't be too angry with her, okay?" His voice was frantic, tumbling over itself. But in all his desperate words, there wasn't a single shred of concern about whether I would be permanently scarred, or whether I was in excruciating pain or feeling insecure about my ruined face. All of his energy was focused entirely on exonerating her. I looked at him. I looked at the face of the man I had loved so deeply for six years, and suddenly, he looked like a complete, terrifying stranger. Tears silently spilled over my lashes and slid down my bandaged cheeks. "I'm not angry. I just feel an overwhelming sense of regret. I never, ever should have dated you." His body stiffened. Just as he opened his mouth to reply, his phone screen lit up on the nightstand. Liam glanced at the caller ID—[The Tyrant]—and instantly swallowed whatever he was going to say. "I need to step out for a second. Get some rest. I'll be right back." He practically sprinted out the door. Driven by some dark, masochistic curiosity, I quietly slipped out of bed and followed him. Through the narrow crack of the heavy fire-escape door at the end of the hall. He was sitting on the concrete stairs right next to Chloe. "It's okay, don't beat yourself up over it. She's not going to stay mad. She always forgives us eventually. She always has." Chloe lightly punched him in the shoulder. "If she can't even handle this, imagine how nuclear she would go if she found out the only reason you asked her out was because you lost a bet with the guys! And that the only reason you chose April Fools' Day to propose was because we picked it out as a joke!" In that singular moment, it felt like a flashbang had detonated inside my skull. A deafening, high-pitched ringing drowned out every other sound in the universe. Liam frantically clamped his hand over her mouth, looking around the stairwell in a panic. "SHH! Keep your voice down! That was six years ago! Take that secret to your grave!" My legs completely gave out. It felt as though every single bone in my body had been violently magically extracted. I couldn't even stand up. The questions that had been haunting me like ghosts for years finally had their answers. Why, when forced to choose, I always lost to Chloe. Why Liam, who claimed to love me so deeply, always enabled and permitted her to abuse me. I had delusionally believed he was just overly loyal to his "found family" of frat brothers. I never, ever imagined that every single thing he had ever given me was a fabricated, toxic lie. Even the moment I thought was the beginning of my salvation... was built entirely on a humiliating, cruel joke. In their eyes, I was never Liam's beloved girlfriend. I was just a pathetic, entertaining clown they kept around for laughs. In this moment, the last remaining shred of my dignity was completely, utterly annihilated. I pressed both hands forcefully over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. I had to leave. I had to escape this suffocating, artificial nightmare. I called an Uber, grabbed my suitcases from the hotel I had booked the night before, and went straight to Penn Station. I paid an exorbitant fee to change my ticket to the very next Amtrak train heading to the East Coast HQ. Just before I boarded the train, a text from Liam popped up on my phone. [The doctor said you need to be kept under observation. Don't wander off. Where are you? I'm coming to find you.] Looking at his fake, hypocritical concern, I laughed until tears streamed down my face. I didn't reply. I permanently blocked his number, and the numbers of every single one of his friends. Liam. I am officially resigning from your sick little April Fools' game.
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