Five years. That was the length of time I’d given Elena, only for it to feel like a lease that was finally running out. My mother’s voice was a jagged edge over the phone, sharp with a frustration that had been building for half a decade. In the living room, Elena was hunched over the coffee table, deep in a game of Jenga with Toby. My cat, a tabby I’d raised since he was a kitten, was curled contentedly in Toby’s lap. They looked like a portrait of domestic bliss. I was standing on the balcony, separated from them by a sliding glass door, feeling less like a partner and more like a ghost haunting my own life. "Are you even listening to me, Miles? You’re twenty-eight. You aren't a kid anymore." "I know, Mom." "If Elena wanted to marry you, she would have done it by now. You need to start looking out for yourself. I need you back in the city this weekend. No excuses." Her tone left no room for negotiation. Before I could argue, the line went dead. I stared at the screen, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. Every year she asked, and every year I had nothing to give her. Because every year, Elena gave me the same excuse: "I want to wait until Toby is settled. Once he’s on his feet, then we can think about us." I used to tell myself it was noble. Toby’s father had been Elena’s mentor, the man who had shaped her career before he died in a tragic accident. Elena felt she owed him the world, so she took Toby in. I’d spent five years compromising, playing second fiddle to a boy who wasn't even her blood. But tonight, the compromise felt like a slow-acting poison. 1 Later that night, my mother sent over a contact card. She must have sensed my silence was a white flag. [Jordan Riggs. 5'8", ex-Army, sharp, disciplined. Both parents are in the civil service. Good family.] I didn't know how "sharp" Jordan was, but it was funny to see my mom listing combat experience as a selling point. She was definitely keeping up with the times. I sent a friend request with a brief note of my name. No immediate response. Elena walked into the bedroom just as I set my phone down. She’d just walked Toby back to the apartment she’d bought for him right across the hall. She was wearing a fresh sweatshirt, and she smelled like expensive sandalwood soap—the kind Toby used. She’d obviously showered over there. Sometimes I wondered if this apartment was our home or just a convenient hotel for her between shifts of taking care of Toby. When we moved here, she’d insisted on buying the unit across the hall "just to keep an eye on him." She’d spent the first month living over there because Toby "wasn't adjusting well to the new place." I’d swallowed my pride and accepted it. I told myself he was just a kid who’d lost his father. But Toby was nineteen now. When does a "kid" become a man who can sleep in a room by himself? "Still up? Don't you have that meeting tomorrow?" Elena asked, shedding her jacket and climbing into bed. She reached out to pull me into her arms. I didn't pull away, but I didn't lean in either. "My mom called again. She’s asking about the wedding. Again." Elena groaned, her body stiffening. "Miles, we’ve talked about this. I need to focus on my career, and Toby… he doesn't even have a girlfriend yet. He needs stability. There’s no rush." I stared at her in the dim light of the bedside lamp. "Is there ever going to be a rush for us, Elena?" She sighed, a sound of practiced exhaustion. "I’m not going anywhere. I don't get why your mother is so paranoid. If she’s worried I’m just using you, tell her I’ll sign whatever prenup she wants. I can even put down the deposit for a house in your name right now if it'll shut everyone up." I felt a cold flash of anger. Five years of devotion, and she thought she could settle the score with a bank transfer. "If you don't want to marry me, just say it!" I snapped, my voice cracking. Elena’s patience evaporated instantly. She threw back the covers and stood up. "I don't care about the piece of paper, Miles! It’s you and your mother pushing for it." Her eyes caught the glow of my phone on the nightstand. "She’s setting you up on dates again, isn't she?" I didn't answer. "Go then," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, confident low. "I won't stop you. But I’m not getting married until Toby is settled. If your mom wants you to go on a blind date, go. Maybe it’ll get her off our backs once you realize you aren't going to find anyone else you love more than me." She slammed the door on her way to the guest room. I sat in the dark, trembling. She was so sure of me. So certain that I was a dog on a leash that would always come back for a pat on the head. She was about to find out how wrong she was. 2 Elena and I met during our sophomore year of college. It was one of those cinematic moments—a campus fire drill that turned into a real emergency in the chemistry lab. She’d grabbed my hand and pulled me through the smoke-filled hallway. Between the adrenaline and the "bridge effect," I fell hard. Chasing her hadn't been easy. Elena was brilliant, cold, and possessed a tongue that could draw blood without trying. I spent months trying to melt the ice. I remembered the first time I tried to be romantic. I’d worn a crisp white shirt—no coat, despite the freezing Boston wind—and walked across three blocks to get her favorite breakfast burritos, waiting outside her dorm at 7:00 AM. When she saw me, she didn't smile. She frowned. "It’s twenty degrees out. Are you trying to get pneumonia for the sake of an aesthetic? That shirt makes you look stiff. Buy a parka." I’d stood there, red-faced, as students hurried past us. Everyone knew I was the guy hopelessly pining for the "Ice Queen." They told me to save my energy and study for finals instead. But I stayed. I helped her with her lab reports. I was the steady presence she didn't know she needed. We finally became "us" in our junior year, after Toby—who was just a boy then—nearly ran into traffic while visiting her. I’d lunged for him, pulling him back just as a car screeched past. I ended up with a shattered ankle and three months of physical therapy. Elena stayed by my side through every session. Looking back, I wondered if she ever loved me, or if she was just paying a debt because I’d saved the only thing she truly cared about. When I woke up the next morning, Elena was already gone. There was a note on the kitchen island: Toby wants that seared sea bass you make. Pick some up on your way home and have dinner ready by six. I picked up the note, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the trash. I used to cook for Toby because I loved Elena. Now that I was done with Elena, Toby was just a stranger taking up space in my life. I looked around the apartment. Every piece of furniture, every frame on the wall, I had picked out. Elena hadn't lifted a finger. Yet, across the hall in Toby’s place, she’d spent weeks agonizing over floor samples and paint swatches. The disparity was so glaring I couldn't believe I’d ignored it for five years. My phone buzzed. A message from Jordan Riggs. Hi, I’m Jordan. Sorry for the delay—long shift. Your mom mentioned you’re coming into the city this weekend. I’ll pick you up from the station. I didn't overthink it. Sounds good. See you then. 3 After a quick breakfast, I opened a chat with my mentor at the firm. Two weeks ago, he’d offered me a senior consultant position at our branch in Atlanta. It was a massive promotion, but I’d turned it down because Elena didn't want to leave Toby. I typed out a quick message: Is the Atlanta position still open? The reply came back almost instantly: I thought you wanted to stay in the city for Elena? I changed my mind, I wrote. My career is more important than a relationship that’s going nowhere. I hit send and felt a weight lift off my chest. Career, marriage, future—everything was moving forward the second I stopped letting Elena hold the brakes. I was heading out to the office to start the paperwork when I ran into Toby in the hallway. He was leaning against my door, looking as pampered and entitled as ever. "You’re heading to the market, right?" he asked, not even looking up from his phone. "Elena forgot to tell you, but I don't want the bass anymore. Make the spicy tacos instead. With the handmade shells." I stood there, looking at him. He was nineteen, handsome in a soft, boyish way, wearing a designer hoodie that cost more than my first car. Elena’s money. She spent eighty percent of her income on him and twenty percent on our "shared" life. I remembered the bouquet of roses she’d brought me last Valentine’s Day. I’d been so touched—until I realized she’d only given them to me because Toby thought they "smelled weird" and didn't want them in his room. My friends called me a doormat. I’d argued that she was just practical. God, I wanted to go back in time and slap myself. Toby noticed I wasn't moving. He flashed a new gold ring on his finger, catching the hallway light. "Elena got me this yesterday. She said I deserve the best. I’m the most important person in her life, you know?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping into something cruel. "Do you want to know why she won't break up with you, Miles? Even though she’s so much more successful?" I stared at him, waiting. "Because in her eyes, you’re just a high-end, live-in maid who happens to pay half the mortgage. You’re convenient." The words stung, but they didn't break me. I knew Elena. She probably had said something like that in a moment of clinical honesty. "If you want tacos, tell Elena to make them," I said, my voice steady. "Now get out of my way. I have a job to go to." I brushed past him, my posture straight. Toby, used to me being the "nice guy," was speechless for a few seconds. As the elevator doors began to close, I heard him screaming after me. "Elena said if you’re going to be a bitch about it, don't bother cooking at all! She’s done eating your pathetic food anyway!" I smiled as the doors shut. Good. One less chore. 4 The transfer paperwork went through without a hitch. I booked a one-way ticket for Saturday morning. When I got home Friday evening, tired and ready to pack, my key wouldn't turn in the lock. I froze. I tried again. Nothing. I pressed my thumb to the scanner. Access Denied. I pulled out my phone and called Elena. Straight to voicemail. I sent a text. Did you change the locks? No reply. This is my house too, Elena. My name is on the deed. I pay half the mortgage. Open the door. Silence. My blood began to boil. I walked across the hall and pounded on Toby’s door. Toby opened it, a smug, "shocked" expression on his face. "Oh, hey Miles. Locked out? That’s a shame." "Where is Elena?" Toby blocked the doorway, crossing his arms. "You didn't want to cook for me, so Elena is in there making me dinner right now. She’s my sister, basically. It’s her duty to take care of me. We have a special bond. You got a problem with that?" I took a deep breath, clutching my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. "Tell her to come out. Now." "No," Toby smirked. I looked past him. I could see Elena’s silhouette in the kitchen, moving back and forth, humming a tune. She heard me. She definitely heard the pounding. She just didn't care. "Fine," I said. "What are you gonna do?" Toby taunted. "Call the cops? It’s her house." I didn't say another word. I turned back to my own door and dialed 911. "I’d like to report a lockout and request the fire department for a forced entry. I have the deed on my phone. My partner has locked me out of my primary residence." The commotion of the fire department arriving wasn't quiet. When the saw hit the lock, Toby came running out. "Elena! Miles has gone crazy! He’s breaking the door down!" Only then did Elena finally deign to appear. She stepped out, wiping her hands on an apron, her face darkened with a cold, simmering rage. She watched the firefighters finish their job and then turned to me. "This is our home, Miles. You’re making a scene." "Oh, so you know it’s our home?" I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Funny, considering you deleted my biometrics and changed the codes. What do you call that?" Elena’s eyes flickered to Toby. He looked away, playing the innocent victim. She knew exactly what had happened, and as usual, she chose him. "Toby was just playing around, Miles. You didn't have to escalate it to this." She turned to Toby, ruffling his hair. "Go back inside and finish your dinner. I’ll handle this." In the past, I would have stayed to argue. I would have demanded an apology. But I was just so tired. I walked into the apartment, ignored Elena’s lecture about "acting like a child," and went straight to the bedroom. I grabbed my suitcase and began throwing my essentials—passport, laptop, clothes—inside. Elena stood in the doorway, her arms crossed. "Where do you think you’re going? You’re throwing a tantrum now?" I didn't look at her. "I haven't even gotten mad at you for destroying the door, and you’re acting like the victim? Stop packing and—" I stopped, gripped the handle of my suitcase, and looked her dead in the eye. I gave her a small, sad smile. "Are you stopping me because you’re finally ready to marry me?" The question hung in the air like a dead thing. Elena froze. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She didn't move to block me anymore. She just stood there, her silence confirming everything I already knew. She stepped aside, letting me pass. She was so sure I’d be back by Sunday. She thought this was just another "episode" she could wait out. I walked out the door without looking back. Half an hour later, a text popped up on my phone. Elena: What time is your train back on Sunday? I'll pick you up from the station. I didn't reply. Usually, I was the "instant replier." I’d text her while eating, while working, while in the shower. Her silence was a weapon; mine was a revolution. Back at the apartment, Toby lounged on the sofa next to Elena. He wrapped an arm around her neck. "Another fight? He’s so dramatic. Not everyone can be as easygoing as me." He leaned in closer. "He’s still on that marriage thing, isn't he? It’s been five years, Elena. If you wanted to, you would have. You can marry him if you want, really... don't worry about me." Elena knew him better than that. She’d seen how he reacted when she’d tried to date anyone else in the early years. He’d throw fits, get "sick," or sabotaged the dates. She told herself she was protecting him from getting hurt again. "Should I really not worry about you?" she asked softly. Toby looked down, his eyes instantly brimming with tears. Elena sighed, patting his shoulder. "Just a little longer. Until you’re settled." Toby looked up at her then, his gaze intense. "Elena... why don't you just break up with him?"
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