1 Brooke’s world had shattered after her ex dumped her mid-pregnancy. The miscarriage that followed caused massive hemorrhaging, and by the time the ER doctors dragged her back from the edge of death, her mind had fractured. Her memories were frozen in time—trapped in the sunlit honeymoon phase of that toxic relationship. The real nightmare began when she convinced herself that my boyfriend of five years, Luke, was that very ex. Logic couldn’t reach her. If anyone tried to correct her, she spiraled into violent panic attacks. And after the ninth time she collapsed on my doormat, sobbing until she lost consciousness, I broke. I went to Luke, swallowed my pride, and pleaded with him. "Babe, please. Just pretend for a little while. Once her condition stabilizes, I’ll help her gently face reality and get her memory back." Luke hesitated for a long time, his jaw tight, before he finally yielded. "Three months. That’s it, Nina. After ninety days, whether she remembers or not, I am done playing house." Relief had washed over me so fiercely that I promised him on everything I had that it wouldn’t go a day longer. From that moment on, I turned myself into their personal chaperone. Every single weekend, I drove them to the romantic spots where Brooke had supposedly dated her ex—the rooftop restaurants, the botanical gardens, the vintage record shops. But every time, Brooke would only shake her head with a look of sweet, blank confusion. There wasn’t the slightest hint of her memory returning. Until three months later, when a mutual friend sent me a text out of nowhere: I just saw Brooke at the outdoor mall downtown. Isn't that her ex with her? They’re browsing a high-end baby boutique. My blood ran cold. Thinking the deadbeat ex had resurfaced and that Brooke was about to be triggered into another breakdown, I hailed an Uber and raced across town. I bolted into the boutique, chest heaving—only to find my boyfriend, Luke, standing beside her. "Luke," Brooke whispered, resting a delicate hand over her flat stomach, her eyelashes wet with tears. "When are you going to tell Nina the truth?" She sniffled softly. "The doctor told me that if I lose this one, I might never be able to conceive again." Luke reached out, his fingers sliding into hers, wrapping them in a warm, protective grip. "Don't stress over it. My parents are already putting down the deposit for the wedding venue. I’m marrying you this time, Brooke. I swear." Standing in the aisle behind a display of plush cribs, the world tilted on its axis. The amnesia. The emotional trauma. The fragile breakdowns. It was all an act. My fingers went numb as I slipped off the diamond engagement ring I had worn so proudly for the past year. If the woman he intended to marry was standing right in front of him, then it was time I found someone else to spend my life with. The heavy photo album tucked under my arm dug into my ribs, sending a dull, throbbing ache straight to my heart. I had brought it along intending to shove it in the face of Brooke’s phantom ex—to show him proof of how happy we were, to warn him never to derail Brooke’s life again. What a pathetic clown I had been. Near the register, a sales associate was enthusiastically demonstrating an ergonomic, full-body pregnancy pillow. Brooke glanced at the price tag and bit her lip. "Luke, this one is almost a thousand dollars... Maybe we should just get a regular body pillow?" Luke reached over, gently stroking her flat belly with an expression of tender devotion I hadn’t seen on his face in years. "You lost our last baby because I wasn't there to take proper care of you. This time, I’m making sure you have the smoothest, most comfortable pregnancy possible." He pulled a black credit card from his wallet and handed it to the clerk. A second later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A banking notification popped up on the screen: Authorized charge of $998.00 on your joint card. Thud. The album slipped from my frozen fingers, hitting the polished floorboards. Photos scattered across the aisle. Brooke flinched, then turned around, jogging toward me with wide eyes. "Nina? What are you doing here?" Luke saw the pictures strewn across the floor and shot me a look of pure disgust. "Those are our most precious memories, Nina. If one of them gets scuffed or lost, do you have any idea what that’s worth?" My hands balled into tight fists against my jeans. I remembered the early days of this arrangement. Once, Luke had spoken to me with his usual warmth in front of Brooke, and she had immediately hyperventilated, sinking into hysterics. "Luke was always cold and aloof to other girls around me," she had cried, pulling at her hair. "He’s changed. Is this really my Luke? Where is he? I need to go find him!" Terrified she would do something reckless, I had made a pact with Luke: whenever Brooke was around, he wasn't allowed to show me any affection, let alone give me a kind smile. Looking at them now, standing side by side under the warm boutique lighting, I wanted nothing more than to build a time machine just to slap some sense into my past self. Brooke casually linked her arm through mine. My eyes dropped to her collarbone, catching the faint, purplish shadow of a hickey that her concealer hadn't quite managed to hide. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and looked away. "Don't be mad at him, Nina," Brooke said in a sweet, placating voice. "He only snapped because he cares so much about our memories. Come on, let me buy you an iced matcha latte to make up for it." My gaze drifted down to the shopping bag in her other hand, which held a tin of high-end prenatal formula. "You're pregnant?" Brooke’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, and she instinctively turned her head. By then, Luke had finished gathering the scattered photos from the floor. He smoothly cut in, deflecting the tension: "Didn't you say you wanted a drink? Let's get moving." He crooked his elbow toward Brooke. Without a second thought, Brooke dropped my arm and nestled into his side, looking up at him with faux exasperation. "Bossy." A bitter wave washed over me. Back when we started this charade, I had sat Luke down and briefed him in detail on her supposed ex—how possessive, demanding, and fiercely protective the man allegedly was. In the months that followed, Luke never allowed Brooke to hold my hand or sit too close to me whenever we were out. I had naively thought he was doing an exceptional job method-acting the role. I never imagined he was simply being himself with the woman he actually desired. Luke guided Brooke to an oversized leather lounge chair near the cafe plaza. "Sit here and rest your feet while I grab the mobile order. You—" He looked at me, his chin flicking dismissively. "Come with me to carry the tray." I didn't utter a single syllable. I just followed behind him in silence. The moment we stepped inside the cafe, away from the outdoor crowd, Luke reached out and caught my wrist. "I'm sorry, Nina. You know I had to act distant again back there." "Is she really pregnant, Luke?" His jaw twitched. "She showed up at my place completely wasted a while back. I tried to push her away, but she threatened to jump off the balcony. Look, as soon as her mental state settles down, I’ll figure out a way to handle this. I promise." The bell above the entrance chimed softly, and Brooke walked in. Like a man touching a live wire, Luke instantly yanked his hand away from mine, putting two feet of distance between us. "Why did you come in? It's packed in here. What if someone bumps into you?" Without waiting for her answer, he took her by the hand and guided her back toward the terrace. My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled out my phone. I opened the messaging thread with my mother and typed out a single sentence: Mom, that setup with the family friend you mentioned last week? I’ll do it. As soon as the message delivered, my screen lit up with a notification from Brooke sharing the pickup barcode. I grabbed the three iced drinks in their cardboard carrier and walked out. Near the corner of the brick arcade, Brooke’s quiet, broken sobs drifted toward me. "Luke, I’m so sorry... I didn't know Nina would run into us today. If she finds out the truth, she’s going to despise me forever! I’ll just go to the clinic tomorrow and terminate the pregnancy. I’ll give you back to her." Luke pulled her tight against his chest, murmuring gentle reassurances into her hair. "Don't you dare think like that. If Nina is going to hate anyone, it should be me. I was the one who lost control and put you in this impossible position." He brushed a thumb across her cheek, wiping away her tears. "Come on, stop crying. If the baby hears you, they'll think their dad is a monster and refuse to call me Daddy when they get here." Brooke let out a wet, breathless giggle, burying her face in his neck. I leaned against the cold brick pillar, a hollow chill spreading from my ribs to the tips of my fingers. "Nina? You got the drinks?" Brooke looked up, beaming at me as if the tears on her cheeks had never existed. Luke’s face hardened instantly as he took the carrier from my hands. He picked up Brooke’s cup, carefully peeled back the straw wrapper, and poked it through the lid before holding it up to her lips. "Careful, don't drink it too fast." My grip tightened around the empty paper bag, my chest aching with a familiar, suffocating weight. I remembered a day three months ago when my blood sugar had crashed. My hands were shaking so violently that I couldn't puncture the plastic seal on my own cup. When I asked Luke for help, he had only looked at me with open annoyance: "You tear open heavy cardboard shipping boxes with your bare hands every day. Why are you acting helpless now?" Before I could even explain, he had already walked ten paces ahead. I used to tell myself he was just hopelessly unobservant—a typical guy who missed subtle details. Now I understood that his tenderness had always been there; he simply reserved it for someone else. Brooke pointed excitedly toward an oversized art toy display near the central fountain. "Nina, take a picture of us! That’s the limited-edition figurine Luke and I pulled from a blind box last month!" Luke shoved his vintage instant camera into my hands with a blank, stone-cold expression, then turned toward Brooke, his eyes softening into effortless adoration. I raised the viewfinder to my eye, but before I could frame the shot, Brooke’s smile dropped. "Nina, did you forget the portable reflector again?" My fingers tightened around the plastic casing of the camera. The very first time I took photos of them, Brooke had stared at the raw shots and immediately threatened to throw herself into the city river: "Look how dull and exhausted my skin looks! No wonder he dumped me!" After that, terrified of triggering her, I lugged multiple diffusers, heavy lighting panels, and camera bags every single time we left the apartment. The equipment was heavy, and Luke never once offered to carry a strap. Even now, the dark red strap marks on my shoulders hadn't completely faded. Luke stroked her hair soothingly. "You look gorgeous, Brooke. Even if the lighting isn't perfect, I'll pay a professional retoucher to polish the whole set for your Instagram." Brooke stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to Luke’s cheek. I looked away, centering the lens, and pressed the shutter. Brooke took a sip from her straw as she leaned in to look at the developing print. Suddenly, her eyes went wide, and she violently spat the liquid onto the pavement, bending over and clutching her throat in a fit of retching. "This has cinnamon and hibiscus in it!" Luke’s expression turned venomous in a heartbeat. He snatched the cup from Brooke’s hand and hurled it straight at my chest. "Nina! You know damn well Brooke is pregnant and can't have herbal infusions! What the hell is wrong with you?" The warm, sticky liquid soaked through my linen shirt, burning against my skin. Brooke caught Luke’s forearm, her voice trembling. "Luke, don't yell at Nina... I'm sure she didn't do it on purpose." I scrubbed frantically at the stain on my blouse with a tissue, my voice shaking with rage. "I didn't order the drinks. Brooke placed the mobile order herself on her own app—" "Ah! My stomach hurts... Luke, it hurts so bad!" Brooke collapsed against him, clutching her lower abdomen, her face turning pale as she began to sob. Luke scooped her up into his arms in a panic. "Nina, Brooke and I treated you like our closest friend, and you resort to something this disgusting and vicious?" His voice shook with pure fury. "If anything happens to her or this baby, I swear to God you’ll answer for it in court!" Without waiting for another word, he turned on his heel and rushed toward the parking garage. I stood there in the humid afternoon heat, watching his receding figure, and let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh. Luke had Brooke’s phone connected to his car’s Bluetooth. He knew perfectly well she had placed the mobile order herself. So what difference did my explanation make? To a man looking for a reason to crucify me, the truth was just an inconvenience. By the time my cab pulled up outside my apartment building, the tea stains on my shirt had dried into stiff, dark rings. As I slid my key into the lock, the door directly across the hallway swung open. Brooke stood there holding a porcelain bowl of cut fruit, offering me a bright, innocent smile. "Nina! Where have you been? Come in—Luke chopped so much fruit for me, I can't possibly finish it alone." She reached out and tugged my wrist, pulling me into the foyer. Luke was just stepping out of the kitchen, wearing an apron, carrying a steaming bowl of herbal chicken broth. Brooke wrinkled her nose playfully. "Broth again? Luke, I've had it every day this week." Luke chuckled, picking up a slice of honeycrisp apple with a small fork and feeding it to her lips. "The doctor said you're malnourished and need to rebuild your strength. My mom drove out to three different organic farms yesterday just to source this free-range chicken." A wave of bitter nostalgia crashed over me. Two years ago, when I suffered a ruptured ovarian cyst and was hospitalized for two weeks due to internal bleeding, Luke had done the exact same thing. He had begged his mother to track down pasture-raised poultry, simmering broth for hours every night, sitting by my hospital bed and gently blowing on each spoonful before feeding it to me. Back then, I had genuinely believed he was the man I was going to grow old with. Now, I watched him offer that exact same devotion to another woman. Brooke pulled a chair out for me. "Sit with us, Nina. Luke’s cooking is amazing." Before I could step back, Brooke suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth and began to dry-heave. Luke dropped the bowl onto the counter, rushed over to support her, and shoved me backward with a harsh, violent thrust of his arm. "You reek of stale tea. Get the hell out of my apartment!" My back slammed hard into the doorframe, a sharp, shooting pain radiating through my lower spine. I looked up at the space around me—the apartment I had spent five years decorating, curating every piece of art, every rug, every throw pillow. A grim, hollow smile touched my lips. When Brooke had first "relapsed," I had voluntarily moved out of the home Luke and I shared, renting the unit across the hall just so she wouldn't be triggered by my presence. And now? Every inch of this home belonged to Brooke. Her pastel slippers by the mat. Her ceramic mugs on the drying rack. Her custom dishware. Even the air around Luke smelled distinctly of her lavender body mist. I walked back into my own apartment and shut the door. Almost immediately, my phone began to ring. It was my mother. "Nina? Did that boy do something to you? Tell me the truth. I will buy a plane ticket right now and come knock some sense into him!" Hearing her voice, the dam broke. The humiliation, the grief, the sheer exhaustion of the past three months surged up my throat. I sank onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, biting hard into the meat of my forearm to keep from sobbing out loud. A heavy silence stretched across the line. Finally, my mother let out a long, quiet sigh. "If you're not happy, just pack your bags and come home. Your father and I can take care of you." After taking a long, scalding shower, I booked a morning train ticket back to my hometown and sent a notice of lease termination to my landlord. I pulled my two large suitcases from the closet and began tossing my clothes and sketchbooks inside. Around ten at night, a soft knock tapped against my front door. "Nina? Luke fed me way too much dinner. Come take a quick walk around the block with me, please?" I pulled the door open, my voice flat. "I'm busy packing. I can't." Brooke reached out, looping her arm through mine with practiced ease. "Just ten minutes. I have a secret I need to tell you." I stared at her for a second, then quietly pulled the door shut behind me and followed her down the stairs. The cool evening air brushed against our faces as we walked along the quiet sidewalk of the complex. Brooke kept her arm woven through mine, her other hand idly resting against her stomach. "Nina," she said softly, turning her head to look at me. "You heard everything at the mall, didn't you?" The sweet, vulnerable innocence that had defined her face for three months evaporated completely, replaced by a cool, calculating smirk that sent a shiver down my spine. "The truth is, my so-called toxic ex... was Luke all along." She chuckled under her breath. "From the very first dinner you brought him to, I wanted him. So when you went away on that two-week design conference in Chicago, I got him drunk at a house party, dragged him into bed, and got pregnant." She tilted her head, watching my reaction with amusement. "Too bad he was so hopelessly devoted to you back then. We got into a fight on the stairs outside his building, he shoved me away, and I fell. Lost the baby." We reached the top of the concrete staircase leading down toward the central courtyard. Brooke suddenly came to a dead stop. "Tell me, Nina... what do you think he’ll do if he sees you push me down the stairs again?" Before the horror could fully register in my brain, Brooke gripped my right wrist, wrenched my hand forward to frame it against her shoulder, let go—and deliberately threw herself backward down the concrete steps. "Brooke!" A panicked roar echoed from the breezeway behind us. Luke sprinted past me, tumbling down the steps to gather Brooke into his arms. When he looked up at me, his eyes were bloodshot, practically vibrating with murderous fury. "Nina! Are you completely insane? That’s attempted murder!" My hand was still frozen in midair. "I didn't push her. She staged the entire thing!" "Shut up! Stop lying!" Tears of sheer panic spilled from Luke’s eyes—a level of raw terror I had never seen in him during our five years together. "She already lost one child, Nina! Do you honestly think she would risk her miracle baby just to set you up?" Brooke curled into a tight ball against his chest, clutching her stomach, her face chalk-white as she whimpered, "Luke... don't be mad at Nina... it was my fault, I just tripped..." Luke’s arms tightened around her protectively. "Stop defending her! I’m taking you to the ER right now." As he carried her past me up the steps, his shoulder slammed violently into mine, knocking me off balance. I hit the asphalt, scraping my palms against the rough gravel. "You better pray to God that nothing happens to Brooke or my child," Luke snarled without looking back. "Because if they’re hurt, I don't give a damn about our history—I will destroy you." I sat on the cold pavement, watching his silhouette disappear under the streetlights. A memory flickered in my mind—one year ago, beneath the fairy lights of a beachside gazebo, Luke on one knee, holding out a velvet box with hands that trembled with excitement: "Nina, I swear to spend the rest of my life protecting you, cherishing you, and making you the happiest woman in the world." It had taken barely twelve months for that sacred vow to be handed over to someone else. I picked myself up from the ground, brushed the gravel from my palms, and walked back up to my apartment, step by step. I finished packing every last possession into boxes and scheduled a morning courier pickup. Just before midnight, I opened Instagram. Brooke’s profile picture had a fresh story ring around it. I tapped it. It was a photo of a two-carat diamond ring on her left hand, resting on top of an elegant, embossed cream wedding invitation. The caption read: Tomorrow begins forever with my soulmate. My thumb hovered over the screen for half a second before I hit the red Block & Delete button. Then I navigated to Luke’s contact card, swiped down, and dragged his number straight into the blocked list as well. The next morning, as I was doing a final sweep of the apartment for any stray items, the front door handle turned. Luke pushed the door open, looking haggard and hollowed out from an overnight hospital vigil. In his hand was a brown paper bag containing the warm steamed breakfast buns I used to crave every weekend. "The doctor said the steps weren't steep enough to cause damage," he muttered, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "The baby is completely fine." His gaze dropped to the two large hard-shell suitcases sitting beside the door, and his brow furrowed. "Another design conference?" I kept my head down, pulling the zipper closed on my carry-on. "Yeah." He let out a long, relieved breath, stepping forward to wrap his arms around my shoulders from behind. "That’s probably for the best. Brooke’s coming home this afternoon, and it’s better if she doesn't see you around the hall." His warm breath brushed against my ear. The familiar scent of his cologne turned my stomach. "Luke," I asked quietly, my voice devoid of inflection. "The three months are up. When are we going back to our own life?" Luke’s entire body went rigid. He pulled away abruptly, his expression twisting into defensive indignation. "Nina, when did you become so callous and self-centered? Brooke is pregnant! Her emotional state is hanging by a thread! If you drop the truth on her right now, you might as well push her off a bridge yourself!" Before I could reply, his phone began to buzz incessantly. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and cursed under his breath. "The nurse says Brooke’s blood pressure spiked. I have to get back to the hospital. Travel safe, okay?" The very last ember of affection in my chest sputtered and died. I didn't answer. Once his footsteps faded down the hall, I took off my house keys, set them on the entryway console alongside the diamond engagement ring, grabbed my bags, and walked out the door toward the morning train. Luke stayed at the hospital until late afternoon. By the time he drove back to the apartment complex to grab a change of clothes, dusk was settling over the courtyard. As he reached the landing outside our doors, he found my landlord walking a strange man out of my apartment. Luke stepped forward, blocking the entryway. "Who is this?" The landlord blinked in surprise. "Oh, hey. You're the guy from across the hall, right? This is the new tenant. Moving in next week." Luke’s heart did a strange, sudden drop. "Where’s Nina?" "She broke her lease and vacated this morning," the landlord said, reaching into his jacket pocket. "Actually, perfect timing. She left something behind on the counter." The landlord dropped a familiar, sparkling platinum band into Luke’s open palm. "If you've still got her number, pass it along to her, will you?" Luke stared at the diamond ring resting against his skin, his breath catching in his throat. A second later, like a man possessed, he turned and bolted down the stairwell.
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