To pay off Edward’s debts, I spent three years delivering takeout through freezing sleet and torrential downpours. The day I found out I was pregnant, an order notification pinged on my phone just as I was about to log off for the night. A five-dollar tip. With our joint account permanently overdrawn, five dollars meant two days of groceries, so I accepted the run. The GPS guided me up into a private hilltop community overlooking the bay. When the towering double doors clicked open, I couldn’t help but glance past the entryway. Calacatta marble islands. Wide-plank white-oak floors. Soaring glass walls framing a lush, manicured terrace. It was an exact, breathtaking replica of the dream home Edward and I had sketched onto cocktail napkins late at night. The uncanny resemblance made my breath hitch. I stood frozen on the welcome mat until a familiar, honeyed voice drifted from the grand foyer. "That’s the last box of condoms, babe. Once we burn through these, you’ll have to run right back to your little delivery girl." Then came Edward’s voice. The very same voice that had murmured tender, sleepy promises against my skin this morning sounded chillingly detached, stripped of every ounce of warmth. "What choice do I have? She’s the gullible idiot who volunteered to pay off my business loans. If I dump her now, I look like a monster." A light, mocking giggle answered him. "And what about you? Letting her believe you lost everything, watching her skip meals just to wire you rent—doesn’t your conscience ever twinge?" Their shared laughter pierced the quiet afternoon, ringing in my ears like shattering glass. I stood on the flagstone porch, an icy numbness sinking deep into my bones. Sabrina had supposedly finalized a bitter divorce six months ago. My heart had broken for her; I thought she was alone, penniless, and rebuilding from scratch. I had clipped coupons and lived off instant oatmeal so I could wire her extra grocery money. Yet here she was, lounging in an eight-figure modern estate with the man who claimed he was breaking his back on non-union construction sites. My hand drifted down, resting flat over my stomach. "We don’t need them, sweetheart," I thought, my throat tightening. "We’re going to be just fine on our own." … The paper bag slipped from my fingers, spilling takeout across the porch as I spun around and ran. My head spun; my chest heaved. Panic swallowed my sense of direction, and I stumbled blindly down the estate's winding, tree-lined driveways. Just as I reached the gatehouse, a security guard stepped out, his flashlight cutting through the dusk. "How many times do I have to tell you couriers? No bikes past the front gate!" The sky opened up, unleashing a sudden, violent squall. I tried to push past him, but my waterlogged sneakers skidded on the slick stone, and he blocked my path, his face hardened with disdain. "You think people like you belong in this neighborhood?" I rarely took deliveries in this district and didn't know the private access roads. Shivering, I tried to offer an excuse, but he cut me off with a sharp flick of his hand. "The folks who live up here have real money. The cheapest property on this ridge goes for ten million dollars." The roar of the rain drowned out the rest of his lecture, but that number clanged incessantly in my skull. Ten million dollars. How many takeout orders would it take to earn ten million dollars? Only an hour ago, I had been celebrating in secret, believing Edward’s final balloon payment had cleared. I hadn’t even minded when the app docked my earnings for late drop-offs caused by blown tires. Three years ago, Edward claimed his tech startup went under, leaving him saddled with predatory personal guarantees. Overnight, our comfortable life turned to ash. To keep him from drowning, I signed up for courier apps. Every single expense in my life had been converted into delivery routes. A month of electricity was fifteen deliveries. A warm winter sweater was twenty-eight deliveries. So for three long years, I never bought a new piece of clothing. When dusk fell over our basement apartment, I sat in the dark to save pennies on the electric bill. Seeing the guard take a threatening step closer, desperation ripped the words from my mouth. "I’m Sabrina’s friend!" He stopped, his eyes raking over my dripping nylon windbreaker, my cracked phone screen, and my frayed shoes. A dry sneer curled his lip. "You think I’m stupid? The lady living in the villa having a friend who hauls burgers on a moped? Get out of here before I have your bike towed." The rain pelted my face like needles. I rode through the blinding storm back to our rental. When I unlocked the door, the humid, stifling air inside nearly suffocated me. In an act of quiet, petty rebellion, I walked over to the thermostat and cranked the air conditioner down to sixty degrees. Half an hour later, the deadbolt turned. Edward stepped inside, shaking out his wet umbrella. He froze, looking startled to find me curled on the floorboards, shivering and soaked to the skin. "June? Why are you sitting on the floor?" He crossed the room, scooped me into his arms, and set me gently onto the worn sofa. "You must be starving." Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a warm, foil-wrapped parcel. "I grabbed a grilled breakfast sandwich from that all-night diner near the transit hub. Sourdough, melted cheddar, no onions, extra crisp bacon—just the way you like it." He remembered every minor preference of mine. He was so attentive, so gentle, yet he managed to house another woman in a private palace across town. Under his watchful, affectionate gaze, I forced myself to unwrap the foil and take a bite. It tasted like sawdust. "June, it kills me seeing you run yourself into the ground like this," he murmured, dropping to his knees and resting his warm palms over my bare, trembling shins. "I picked up an extra framing shift on the job site today. Brought home two hundred bucks, transferred a hundred and eighty straight to your account. Take tomorrow off. Please." He brushed a wet lock of hair from my forehead. "Don’t catch a cold. It’s my fault we’re in this mess. But I promise you, June, one day I’m going to give you the life you deserve." He leaned in, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, burying his jaw in the hollow of my throat. As he exhaled against my skin, a faint, lingering aroma hit my senses. A sharp, metallic rose steeped in crushed pink peppercorn. "La Fille de Berlin." Sabrina’s signature perfume. My stomach seized violently. A sudden, bitter wave of nausea surged up my throat, and I gagged, twisting violently out of his embrace. Edward’s brow furrowed with immediate, tender alarm. "June? What’s wrong? Are you sick?" The worry in his dark eyes was so convincing it made me want to scream. I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "How many years have you been rehearsing this role?" When Sabrina was going through her divorce last year, she had constantly begged to borrow Edward. "June, Edward looks so imposing," she had sobbed over coffee. "If he comes with me to get my things from the house, my ex won't dare lay a finger on me." I believed her. I practically shoved Edward out the door to protect her. On the night the judge signed her divorce decree, she invited the two of us to an upscale steakhouse. Halfway through a bottle of Cabernet, she let her head fall onto Edward’s shoulder. The moment Edward’s hand slid naturally, intimately onto her waist, sirens had blared in my head. Back then, I had broken down, demanding to know if their little rescue act had become something else. He had grown defensive and angry: "Are you seriously jealous? I only deal with her baggage because she’s your best friend!" Sabrina had wept too, swearing on her life that there was nothing between them. Guilt had swallowed my instincts whole. Later, worried she couldn't make rent on her own, I scraped two thousand dollars from my secret emergency fund and sent it to her bank account. She never claimed the transfer. At the time, I thought she was simply being considerate of how hard I worked. Now I knew the truth. My fiancé had already given her all the luxury and security in the world. He was just performing poverty for me. Swallowing down the bile, I shook my head weakly. "I haven't eaten all day. My stomach is just upset." Edward released a long, visible sigh of relief, offering an easy, teasing grin. "God, for a second there, I thought you were pregnant. You know our situation... we can’t afford a baby right now." The corner of my mouth lifted in a faint, hollow smirk. "Don’t worry," I whispered. "I'm not." "This baby won’t ever be yours." He opened his mouth to say something more, but his phone buzzed sharply on the coffee table. The second he caught the caller ID, he turned his back to me, but the frantic voice leaking through the speaker was unmistakable. "Edward... the storm knocked out the power here. It’s pitch black and the backup generator failed. Can you come over?" "Hang on," Edward answered quietly, his voice instantly slipping into a protective, soothing cadence. "I’m on my way." He hung up, turned around, and put on a tired, apologetic expression. "The foreman just called. The lower level of the commercial build is flooding and they need hands with the pumps. Go to sleep early, all right?" He grabbed his coat from the hook and hurried out into the night. He was in too much of a rush. His urge to comfort Sabrina eclipsed every instinct for caution; he hadn't even bothered to construct a believable lie. I sat alone in the dark, laughing silently until tears ran cold down my jawline. An hour slipped away. Then two. The phone screen lit up against the scarred coffee table. "June. You were the courier today, weren't you?" "We need to talk." … Sabrina picked a downtown brunch spot we used to frequent during our college days. Only it had recently been gutted and remodeled into an artisan bistro where a simple side of shaved fennel and arugula went for twenty-six dollars. I looked at the linen-bound menu once, set it down, and took a sip of iced water. Sabrina caught my hesitation, offering a soft, patronizing smile. "Order whatever you like, June. It’s on my tab." I didn’t reopen the menu. I looked directly across the marble table into her carefully mascaraed eyes. "How long have you two been sleeping together?" Her smile froze. "Sabrina, when you looked at me over the past year, did you ever feel a shred of remorse?" Rattled by my bluntness, her tone spiked, sharp and defensive. "June, I met Edward first! If it hadn’t been for that mess at the hospital, I’m the one he would have married!" I stared at her, my mind spinning backward. Four years ago, when we both worked as clinic administrators, Sabrina made a catastrophic charting error that breached federal compliance. Her father was in long-term hospice and her mother was battling severe rheumatoid arthritis; their entire family survived on her salary. I stepped forward and took the blame. It cost me my position and got me quietly blacklisted from the regional healthcare network. When I eventually found work at a private physical therapy office, Edward walked through the door as my very first intake. He asked for my number under the guise of insurance billing questions. Soon, we were dating, and everything felt effortless and right. We brought Sabrina along on nearly every outing. Every dinner reservation was made for three. On Valentine’s Day, Edward brought two bouquets—a dozen red roses for me, and a smaller bunch of white lilies for her. Edward used to joke with an exasperated grin that Sabrina and I were practically attached at the hip. And Sabrina would throw an arm around me, pointing an accusatory finger at him: "I’m here to keep you honest! If you ever break June’s heart, I swear I’ll ruin your life!" Back then, I would laugh, resting my head on her shoulder, declaring that female friendship outlasted any romance. I thought I had everything a person could dream of. Yet all along, they had a private history, and I was just the stage prop in their melodrama. Tears sprang to my eyes before I could stop them, hot and silent. Sabrina wavered, her aggressive posture slumping into something practiced and pleading. "June... I know I hurt you. But haven't I suffered enough in that horrific marriage? Can't you just let me have this one good thing?" A breathless, incredulous laugh escaped me. "Because your marriage was bad, I’m supposed to hand over my fiancé?" Her face went pale. Driven by an explosive surge of grief and hormonal rage, I picked up my glass and splashed the iced water straight into her face. Water dripped from Sabrina’s blowout onto her cashmere sweater. She blotted her cheeks with a cloth napkin, her expression turning vicious. "June, love follows the money. You’re an adult—you should understand how the world works by now." She reached into her Chanel purse, pulled out a thick stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills, and slapped them down hard onto my hand. "Keep the change as a tip. Isn’t that what you delivery drivers live for?" … I walked through the chilly mist back to the apartment, numb from the chest down. Just as my key touched the lock, my phone buzzed. "Hi June, rent for next month is due on Friday." My thumbs hovered over the glass. I took a slow, deliberate breath and typed: "I won’t be renewing the lease, Mrs. Hilary. I’m moving out." I was done being an unpaid extra in their theater of poverty. The front door pulled open from inside. It was Edward. "June, did you go see Sabrina?" His voice was thick with frantic accusation. "She called me in total hysterics, sobbing that she ruined your life. How could you be so cruel? Are you trying to push her over the edge?" Only then did I take in his clothes. The stained work denim and scuffed steel-toe boots were gone. He wore a tailored charcoal overcoat over a cream cashmere knit, exuding the effortless, predatory polish of inherited wealth. His first instinct wasn't to apologize or explain. It was to cross-examine me. As if I were the one who had committed a crime. A jagged, bitter laugh slipped past my lips. "So what? Are you going to demand I apologize to your mistress? Am I supposed to say sorry for discovering your little ten-million-dollar retreat?" He froze, his jaw tightening into an annoyed knot. "I was helping her get back on her feet! Why do you have to be so damn petty? For God’s sake, June, she was your best friend!" Over the past three years on the road, total strangers had shown me endless grace. Customers would hand me cups of hot coffee on freezing mornings or leave twenty-dollar tips under doormats when they saw me hauling groceries up apartment stairs. Yet the two people I held closest had constructed a cruel labyrinth around my life. Before Edward could say another word, his phone shrieked. "Mr. Crawford! You need to get back to the penthouse right now! She’s out on the roof terrace!" Edward’s face crumpled in terror. He lunged forward, his fingers clamping like an iron band around my wrist. "You’re coming with me!" he barked, dragging me toward the stairwell. "You drove her to this! You’re going to look her in the eye and tell her she’s forgiven!" He shoved me into the passenger seat of his sedan, blowing through red lights until we reached the private high-rise. On the roof terrace, the coastal wind screamed over the concrete ledge. Sabrina stood balanced on the narrow parapet, her silk slip dress whipping wildly around her frail frame. Edward’s eyes were wild with a panic I had never witnessed in him. "Sabrina, please! Step back from the edge!" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she shook her head frantically. "If June won’t forgive me, I’m jumping! June, you’re the only person I have left... I can’t live knowing you despise me!" During our senior spring break road trip, our rental had slid off an icy mountain pass. It was Sabrina who had used both hands to shove me out through the shattered rear window first, shouting that if only one of us made it out, it had to be me. And now, she was holding her life hostage to force me to bless her theft of mine. Edward spun around and closed the space between us, his chest heaving. "I’m the one who crossed the line, June! Don't blame her!" he begged, his voice breaking. "You’re the only one she’ll listen to. As long as you forgive her, I’ll give you whatever you want. Just name your price!" I stared up at him, feeling the grotesque absurdity of the moment crush my lungs. When Sabrina was being harassed by her ex, I had begged him in this exact same way to protect her. Now, I was the one being cornered into showing mercy. My voice shook violently. "Edward... do you hear the words coming out of your mouth? You two spent months playing me for a fool, and now you drag me up here to grant you absolution? Was my entire life just a game to you?" Edward’s jaw hardened, his posture shifting into something cold, ruthless, and terrifying. "Edward, don't pressure her... it’s all my fault..." Sabrina wailed, her foot shifting an inch closer to the drop. Edward flinched as if burned. "Don’t move! I’m begging you, don’t move!" He snapped his head back toward me, his eyes bloodshot, his voice dropping into a low, vicious growl. "June, who do you think has been paying for your grandmother’s memory care facility? You honestly think your delivery tips covered five grand a month?" The breath was violently sucked from my lungs. "If you refuse to bend on this, are you prepared to let her get evicted? She’s hanging on by a thread just to see you walk down the aisle! Say the word, forgive Sabrina, and our wedding happens next week as planned." A deep, suffocating emptiness washed over me. My grandmother had raised me after my parents were killed in a car accident. On the night Edward proposed, he had driven me all the way to her small coastal cottage, knelt beside her rocking chair, and sworn before God that he would protect me for the rest of his days. It turned out his forever lasted less than four years. A faint, lifeless smile touched my lips. "Fine. I forgive you." Sabrina’s face relaxed into a tearful, triumphant smile, and she turned to step down from the ledge. Edward surged forward to grab her. In his reckless scramble, his shoulder slammed hard against my chest, knocking me off balance. My hips struck the concrete coping, and I crashed heavily to the stone floor. A sharp, tearing agony ripped through my lower abdomen. A gush of warm, sticky fluid soaked through my jeans. The gray sky tilted violently, and the world went black. … When I woke up, the smell of sterile disinfectant burned my nose. Edward was slumped in a vinyl armchair beside the bed, dark hollows under his eyes. When he saw me move, he sat up immediately. "Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?" He ran a hand over his face, his voice sharp with exasperation. "June, you’re an adult. How could you be so careless with your body?" It was always like this. Reproach disguised as concern. Catching sight of my bloodless, cracked lips, his tone softened, and he took my limp hand. "Just rest. I’m going to find the attending doctor." The moment the door clicked shut, I reached for the bedside telephone and dialed a private number I hadn’t called in three years. A steady, familiar baritone picked up on the second ring. "Finally decided to call me, June?" Jonah’s voice sent a sudden, aching heat behind my eyelids. I rubbed at my dry eyes, swallowing the knot in my throat. "Jonah... I need your help getting out." After I hung up, I slipped my bare feet onto the cold linoleum and crept out into the hallway. Through the glass window of the adjoining room, I saw Edward sitting on the edge of Sabrina’s bed, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Sabrina looked up, her gaze locking onto mine through the glass. "Edward," she whispered, her voice carrying into the corridor. "I’m okay now. You should go sit with June." "She’s tougher than she looks," Edward replied without turning around. "It’s better to give her space to calm down." "But... you two are still getting married next week..." Edward closed both hands over hers, holding them with the exact fierce devotion he had once shown me at my parents’ funeral. "It’s just a ceremony, Sabrina. To keep up appearances. Nothing between us changes." Every ounce of warmth drained from my body. I swayed, catching the wall for support. A nurse hurried over with a chart. "Miss, your blood pressure is dangerously low and your uterine lining is compromised. Why are you out of bed?" I looked at her, my voice barely above a whisper. "Please schedule the termination. I want the D&C today." … When I was discharged from the outpatient surgical wing, my phone vibrated in my pocket. "June, Sabrina’s still emotionally unstable. I’m going to stay at her place for a few days to keep an eye on her." "The venue is locked in. I had the boutique deliver the custom gown I picked out for you. Try it on." A courier met me at the curb with a massive, ivory garment bag. Back in college, Sabrina and I used to sketch our dream weddings in the margins of our class binders. She had always been gifted with fashion illustration; she had once drawn a bespoke, off-the-shoulder silk dress with hand-sewn pearl detailing. The gown inside the bag was an exact, stitch-for-stitch recreation of Sabrina’s drawing. The lingering anesthesia left a dull, throbbing pressure behind my temples. The very last ember of feeling in my chest flickered and died. I took the afternoon bus out to Grandma’s quiet coastal town. Sitting on the sun porch of her weathered cottage, she reached out with her frail, paper-thin hand and cupped my cheek. "June-bug," she murmured softly, her clouded eyes clearing for a brief, lucid second. "You look so worn out. Are you hurting?" The dam broke. Quiet, violent sobs tore from my throat as I buried my face in her lap. Her thin arms wrapped around my shoulders, rocking me gently. "Grandma wanted to see you in a white dress, yes. But more than anything, I want you to be happy." She understood. Without a single word of explanation, she knew. Ten days later, on the morning our wedding was scheduled to take place, I checked a single duffel bag at the gate and boarded a one-way flight across the country. Across the city, Edward pulled his luxury sedan up to our damp rental property, straightening his silk tie as he rapped his knuckles against the door. A burly stranger in an undershirt answered. "Who are you looking for?" "Where is June?" Edward demanded, trying to look past him. "June, stop hiding. The cars are waiting!" The man blocked the doorway with a heavy shoulder. "Look, buddy, whoever June is, she moved out last week."
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