My boyfriend was always busy. When my appendix nearly ruptured and I needed emergency surgery, he was in the middle of a multinational board meeting. He told me the surgeons were top-tier, so his presence wouldn't change the medical outcome anyway. When a pipe burst and flooded our brownstone into a miniature lake, he was boarding a flight. Through the static of airport announcements, he told me to handle it with the building management myself. Even the night my mother passed away, he was out entertaining clients at a steakhouse. He sent a brief text - "My condolences" - followed by a bank transfer to cover the burial plot. It wasn’t until I stood outside City Hall, holding the notification of our eighth canceled marriage license appointment, that the truth finally settled in. I stared at the cold words on my screen, then looked up at the historic brick facade of the municipal building. Today was supposed to be our fifth anniversary. It would have been the day we finally made it official, if the last seven attempts hadn't been derailed. My phone vibrated again. It was a custom alert for his childhood friend’s social media. Ruth Conrad had posted a photo. Propped up in a sterile hospital bed, her face pale but smiling, she was flashing a victory sign. "Gideon still cares about me the most~" I locked the screen and turned around. This time, I didn't text him back to ask which day we would reschedule. Because deep down, I knew there wouldn’t be a next time. … The first time he canceled was three years ago. Ruth had just gone through a messy breakup. In the middle of the night, she called Gideon, weeping and threatening to jump from her balcony. Gideon threw on a pair of slides and ran out the door, spending the night talking her down until dawn. When I called to ask when he’d be home, his voice was a harsh, hurried whisper. Can you stop crowding me? Ruth is incredibly unstable right now. I gripped my phone, swallowing the words I actually wanted to say. Ruth’s parents were gone, and her older brother had died saving Gideon’s life years ago. I knew Gideon felt a debt to her. I understood it. So I waited. I waited for five long years, expecting that debt to eventually be paid. I took a cab back to the place we called home. In the entryway sat a pair of plush pink slippers. They weren't mine. Ruth had a key to our place. Gideon claimed she needed a safe haven in case she ever felt overwhelmed and couldn't reach anyone. Walking past the living room, I noticed a half-empty matcha latte on the coffee table, a vivid red lipstick mark staining the straw. The master bedroom was on the left; my bedroom was on the right. We had been sleeping in separate rooms since our third year together. At first, he framed it as a courtesy - so he wouldn't wake me when he came home late from the office. But then Ruth started staying over more frequently, sleeping in the guest room right next to the master suite. Closer to him than I ever was. I began to pack. Five years of living together, yet my entire life fit neatly into a single suitcase. The heart, however, was a different story. I had left mine somewhere in this house, and I knew I would never get it back. At 2:00 AM, the front door clicked open. Gideon walked in, carrying the distinct, sharp scent of hospital antiseptic. Still awake? His voice was slightly hoarse. I didn't answer. He walked over to the edge of my bed, reaching out naturally to touch my shoulder. Could you whip up some pasta? Ruth said the hospital food was inedible, so I didn't eat either. My stomach is killing me. I looked up at him. He was striking - strong jaw, deep-set eyes under dark brows. Even worn thin by exhaustion, he was the kind of handsome that made your chest ache. Gideon, I said, we need to talk. His brow furrowed, that familiar twitch of irritation settling over his features. Tomorrow. I'm exhausted. In the past, I would have pushed, letting the words spill out of me. But tonight, I felt entirely hollow. I nodded. Okay. He blinked, caught off guard by how easily I had let it go. The next morning, I woke up early. Or rather, I barely slept at all. When I walked downstairs, Gideon was already seated at the dining table, scrolling through his tablet. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps. You're up. There's some plain pasta in the pot. Help yourself. His tone was perfectly even, as if the night before had never happened. I walked into the kitchen and lifted the lid. It was just dry noodles with a couple of wilted spinach leaves thrown in. Nothing like the rich bone-broth ramen with soft-boiled eggs and chopped scallions I used to make for him. I poured a glass of milk from the fridge and sat down across from him. Are we talking today? I asked. Gideon’s fingers paused on the screen. He raised his head, his gaze heavy and guarded. Naomi, I was incredibly tired yesterday. Things are complicated with Ruth right now, I - When are things ever simple with her? I interrupted. Gideon’s face darkened. What is that supposed to mean? Exactly what I said. I took a sip of my milk. In the last five years, she’s had three breakups, two layoffs, four bouts of acute stomach flu, one appendectomy, a car accident, and two cases of food poisoning. I set the glass down. Gideon, are you actually blind, or are you just pretending to be? He stared at me, his jaw clenching tightly. Naomi! Stop being unreasonable! Her brother died for me! I promised him I’d look after her for the rest of her life! Can’t you show a little empathy?! Always the same argument. Every single time. I looked into his reddening eyes and, surprisingly, I found myself smiling. Gideon, I said, gently pulling my hand back as he tried to reach for it. Go ahead and look after her. Marry her. Just stop ruining my life. I turned and walked upstairs. Below me, his voice echoed through the high ceilings. Naomi! Get back down here! We aren’t finished! I let out a quiet laugh. I laughed at how foolish I had been, thinking we could actually sit down and have a mature, clean break. After five years, everything that needed to be said had already been worn down to dust. The only thing left was goodbye. I had just booked a one-way ticket for three days from now when I heard the front door open downstairs. It wouldn't be Gideon. He had a partner meeting; he’d be trapped in a boardroom at this hour. Sure enough, Ruth was standing in the living room, wearing her plush pink slippers and a silk slip nightgown. Over her shoulders was my limited-edition designer silk robe - the one I hadn't even unwrapped yet. She was grabbing a yogurt from the fridge. When she saw me, her face lit up with a sweet, fragile smile. Oh, Naomi, you’re home? I thought you’d be at the restoration studio. She took a little spin, the hem of my robe fluttering around her knees. Gideon gave this to me. He said the color really brings out my eyes. You don't mind, do you? I walked over to her, my eyes locking onto her neck. I recognized the necklace. It was a vintage platinum pendant with a rare Ceylon sapphire, carved with an intricate Art Deco filigree. It was the Harrison family heirloom, given to me by Gideon's grandmother just before she passed. Now, it was resting against Ruth’s collarbone. Did Gideon give you the necklace, too? Ruth touched the sapphire, her smile widening. Oh, this? Gideon said it was a shame to keep it locked away in a safe. He told me to wear it for fun. If you want it back, Naomi, I can take it off? Three years ago, in this very living room, she had worn my sweater and my earrings for the first time. Gideon had brushed it off, saying, "She was cold, Naomi. It's just a sweater. Why are you making a big deal out of it?" Then Ruth had burst into tears, crying like a faucet. "Naomi, do you hate me? Gideon and I really don't have anything going on. If we did, we would have been together years ago..." Once upon a time, those tears made me feel guilty, like I was the petty, narrow-minded one. Now, it just felt pathetic. Take the robe off, I said. It cost five thousand dollars. Either take it off right now, or I’ll assist you. Her smile faltered, but she recovered quickly, putting on a wounded expression. Naomi, is it really that serious? It’s just a piece of clothing... It is. I pulled out my phone. Are you paying via transfer, or should we discuss this with the police? The front door clicked open again. Gideon walked in, carrying a pastry box from the high-end bakery Ruth loved. He froze when he saw the two of us in the living room. His eyes swept over the silk robe she was wearing, and he frowned slightly. Why are you wearing so little? You’re going to catch a cold. Just like that. No questions about why she was here, or why she was wearing my clothes. When things reach a certain level of absurdity, you can’t help but laugh. I let out a sharp, genuine chuckle. Gideon looked at me, his frown deepening. What are you throwing a tantrum over now? Your childhood sweetheart is wearing my five-thousand-dollar designer robe. Pay me for it, or I call the police for trespassing and theft. Your choice. Gideon looked at me with a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion, as if dealing with a petulant child. Naomi, it’s just a robe. Do you have to be this incredibly petty? Just a robe. Two years ago, it was much more than that. Ruth had knocked over and shattered a vintage mother-of-pearl brooch my mother had left me - the only physical piece of her I had left. Ruth had wept, offering endless apologies, while Gideon wrapped an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. "Out with the old, in with the new, Naomi," he had told me. "I'll buy you a better one." Fine, I said, nodding slowly. Then don’t blame me for being petty. I dialed 911 and reported an illegal intruder who had stolen high-value personal property. Ruth’s face went completely pale. Naomi, what are you doing?! Gideon told me I could come over! Gideon snatched the phone from my hand, speaking quickly to the operator. Apologies, there’s been a misunderstanding. Everything is fine. He ended the call and glared at me. Naomi, do you have to make everything look this ugly? Who is the one making it ugly? I pointed directly at Ruth. She has a key because you gave it to her. She wears my clothes and my family heirloom because you allow it. Why are you even with me? Am I just a prop in whatever twisted game you two are playing? Ruth shrank back behind Gideon, let out a soft, trembling sob. Gideon, I didn't mean to... I just thought the robe was beautiful, and I wanted to try it on... Try it on? I laughed. To the point of cutting off the tags? To the point of lounging around in it? Gideon took a deep breath, pulled his wallet from his coat, and tossed his black card onto the coffee table. Is this enough? If not, I’ll wire you more. I looked at the sleek piece of plastic, feeling an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. Five years. Every conflict ended this way. He threw money at it, as if a transaction could erase every insult, every humiliation. I walked into the study, grabbed my tablet, unlocked it, and pulled up a specific folder. I brought it back to the living room and held it out. This is the timeline of Ruth’s emergencies over the past five years. Three years ago, our first appointment to get a marriage license: she threatens to jump from a balcony. Two years ago, my birthday: she gets food poisoning. Last year, our engagement dinner: she gets into a car accident. This Valentine’s Day: she gets acute appendicitis. Every single milestone of ours, she manages to derail with perfect precision. Gideon, are you genuinely blind, or do you just enjoy the drama? Gideon stared at the screen, his mouth tightening into a thin line. I swiped to the next page. And this is Ruth’s private burner account on Twitter. The tweets were laid out in a damning row. "Success again~ He actually dumped that woman to come rescue me [giggle]" "Men are so easy. Keep them drowning in guilt, and they’ll never leave~" "Finally got the sapphire necklace! It’s an antique, but at least it’s a family heirloom~" "This silk robe is gorgeous. I cut the tags so she can’t wear it [laughing emoji]" Ruth’s face lost all color. You... you hacked my account?! I turned the tablet toward Gideon. Every single one of these tweets was posted from this house’s IP address. Gideon stared at the screen, his fingers clenching so hard they turned white. For a second, I thought he would snap. I thought he would demand answers, or at least look at me and say he was sorry. But when he raised his eyes, his voice was quiet, almost pleading. Ruth just lacks security, Naomi. Her parents passed early, her brother... she only has me. Can’t you just be the bigger person for once? The heating in the townhouse was running high, but a sudden, violent chill swept through me, making my teeth chatter. Five years. I was already planning my exit, yet having the courage to ask the question only to receive an answer like this was a different kind of pain. The next evening was Franklin Harrison’s seventieth birthday party. I hadn't wanted to go. But the elder Mr. Harrison had called me himself, his voice weak and raspy over the phone. Naomi, sweetheart, you have to come... Has that foolish boy of mine been mistreating you again? Tell me, and I’ll straighten him out. My heart softened. Franklin had always been exceptionally kind to me. Five years ago, when Gideon first brought me to meet his family, Franklin had taken my hand in his, his eyes warm and paternal. If this boy ever treats you poorly, you let me know. I’ll break his legs myself. Before the dinner, Gideon came to find me. The dinner starts at six. I’ll pick you up. I kept my eyes on my work, not looking at him. Go ahead without me. Naomi, his voice dropped an octave, warning me. My father isn't in good health. Do you really have to pick now to throw a tantrum? I set down my tweezers and turned to face him. Your father has been nothing but kind to me, and I respect him. I am going for him, not for you. Gideon stared at me, his gaze lingering. I used to love seeing him in a tailored suit. Tonight, it just made me feel slightly sick. The sapphire necklace is back, he said quietly. Ruth gave it to me. She didn't 'give' it back, I corrected him. It was returned to its rightful owner. And I wired the five thousand for the robe to your account. His voice carried an edge of controlled frustration. Every single cent. Are we good now? I looked at him, letting out a soft sigh. Gideon, you will never understand what the actual problem is. The celebration was held at the Harrison estate - a grand, sprawling colonial house adorned with lights and packed with New York’s elite. The moment I walked through the door, I saw Ruth. She was standing beside Lydia Harrison, Gideon's mother, laughing brightly. Lydia was holding her hand, nodding along to whatever she was saying. Gideon paused next to me, muttering under his breath, I didn't invite her. She must have come on her own. None of my business, I said, slipping my hand out of his arm and walking ahead. I spent some time chatting with Franklin in the study. He patted my hand, sighing softly. Naomi, I know you’ve put up with a lot. I shook my head. It’s fine, Mr. Harrison. It’s all in the past. And it was. I was leaving the country in less than forty-eight hours. Everything that had transpired here would soon be a lifetime away. When the dinner began and the toasts were being made, Franklin suddenly spoke up, raising his glass toward our table. Gideon, you and Naomi have been together for five years now. When are we going to hear wedding bells? Dad, Gideon offered a strained smile. We’ve both been swamped with the new venture. Once things settle down - Busy! You’re always busy! Franklin slammed his cane against the floor. Naomi has waited five years for you! How much longer do you expect her to wait?! Oh, Mr. Harrison, Ruth’s sweet voice chimed in from across the table. Gideon is incredibly talented, of course his career has to come first. Besides, Naomi is so understanding. She doesn't mind waiting, do you, Naomi? She flashed a triumphant, mocking smile. I picked up my glass and took a slow sip. You’re right. I understand perfectly. I set the glass down and stood up. Excuse me, I need to use the restroom. Behind me, I could hear Franklin’s angry protests and Gideon trying to quiet him, but I didn't look back. I walked out to the second-floor terrace, leaning against the stone balustrade. I pulled a cigarette from my purse and lit it. I had quit three years ago, but tonight, I needed something to take the edge off. Smoking isn't great for an art conservator's hands. The voice was deep, smooth, carrying a hint of amusement. I turned around. And you are? Jude Harrison, he said, stepping into the dim light. He was holding two glasses of Pinot Noir, offering one to me. Gideon’s uncle. I took the glass but didn't drink. Is the uncle out here to lecture me, too? Just escaping the noise. I read your paper on the restoration of the "Pompeii Fragments". I felt a sudden jolt of surprise. That project had been completed under a strict pseudonym. How did you know that was me? Your brushwork, Jude said, taking a slow sip of his wine. Your technique is incredibly distinct. You have this habit of hiding your starting stroke and finishing with a perfectly rounded edge. I saw it once in a gallery years ago, and I never forgot it. He turned to look at me, his eyes catching the light of the garden below. You’re a genius, Naomi. The wind brushed past us, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine. I remained silent. Jude didn't press. He simply stood beside me, sharing the quiet space. After a long moment, he spoke again. Gideon doesn't deserve you. I let out a soft laugh. Is this the part where the uncle apologizes on behalf of the family? No, Jude said, shaking his head. Just stating a cold fact. He leaned closer. I’m putting together a team for a major international recovery project. We’ve located a cache of looted medieval manuscripts in Florence. I need a master-class conservator to oversee the authentication and restoration. It’s a three-month contract, based entirely in Italy. He looked at me intently. I believe it aligns perfectly with your current plans. What do you say? When I returned to the main hall, the party was in full swing. Ruth was at the center of a small crowd, pouring wine for Franklin and sweet-talking the older guests. Gideon stood nearby, looking hollow and distant. I tried to slip past them to say my goodbyes to the host, but as I walked by, Ruth suddenly let out a sharp cry and stumbled directly into me. The dark red liquid splashed across the front of my cream silk dress, staining the fabric in a brutal, ugly smear. Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! Ruth cried out, instantly grabbing a napkin and dabbing frantically at my chest. Naomi, I swear I didn't mean to, I just tripped - Gideon immediately stepped in, pulling her back by her waist. Are you okay? The question was directed at her, though his eyes darted to me for a fraction of a second. I looked down at the ruined silk, and a memory from five years ago flashed through my mind. We had been at a gallery opening, and someone had accidentally spilled a drink on me. Gideon had gone absolutely livid, demanding an apology on the spot. "If anyone ever treats you with disrespect, Naomi, I’ll ruin them," he had promised me back then. It’s fine, I heard myself say, my voice flat. I’m used to it. Gideon’s face hardened. Naomi, she said it was an accident. Don't start - Whether it was an accident or not, you know the truth. I turned toward the exit. Behind me, I heard Franklin calling my name, Ruth’s soft whimpering, and then Jude’s calm, cutting voice: The first rule of the Harrison family is to protect our own, Gideon. Have you forgotten that? The night air was freezing. I got into the waiting cab, where my luggage was already packed in the trunk. As we neared JFK, my phone began to buzz violently in my bag. It was Gideon. When the hell did you pack up your entire life?!
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