On our seventh anniversary, my boyfriend Eric was late. While waiting, I saw actress Mona Faye’s livestream. After starring with Eric in a hit drama, their on-screen romance had fans obsessed, calling them perfect together. I, his real-life girlfriend, was mocked as “Hollywood’s Most Underwhelming Girlfriend.” Fans were betting on when he’d dump me for Mona. In the stream, a fan asked if they’d really fallen for each other. Mona smiled shyly, holding up her phone. “Ask a certain someone.” I scoffed. Eric always cut contact while filming—my call minutes earlier went to voicemail. But when Mona called, he answered instantly. Her voice sweet, she asked, “Eric, have you fallen for me for real?” I heard his low chuckle through her phone. “I’m working, Mona. Stop messing around.” Seven years—I’d spent my youth helping him rise from nothing. Yet to him, I mattered less than a co-star. Right then, I knew it was over. Days later, Eric came home—no hug, no kiss, no apology for missing our anniversary. He just scowled, angry about my call. “Molly, I’ve told you—when I’m working, I immerse in my role. No outside distractions.” He looked down coldly. “As an actor’s girlfriend, you need to understand. Support my process, don’t add chaos. Get it?” 1 I sighed, sinking wearily onto the sofa. Honestly, I couldn't remember a single time I had ever caused him any real trouble. Except for once. We hadn't seen each other in over three months, and I missed him desperately. I checked his schedule beforehand, making sure it was his day off before driving hours to visit the set. I even stood in line for three hours to buy his favorite pastries. But when I arrived, a sudden downpour had forced the crew to reschedule. They were shooting a major rain scene that day. Because of my unexpected arrival, Eric couldn't get into character for a kiss scene. It took take after take. He was always so charming and patient with everyone else, apologizing profusely to the crew for the delays. But all his frustration, he saved for me. He even threw the pastries I brought onto the ground. “Molly, who told you to come here? Take your damn things and get out!” Tears stung my eyes. “You’re a bastard, Eric! You only ever take it out on me!” I shot back, my voice trembling. “I saw you were busy, so I waited in the green room. How was I in your way?” “I can’t do this anymore! We’re done!” I screamed. The word “done” seemed to stop him in his tracks. He stood frozen for a second, his fists clenched, visibly fighting back his rage. Then he strode over, pushed me into a chair, and kissed me—a rough, punishing kiss that was more bite than passion. “We can fight, Molly,” he growled against my lips. “But don’t you ever threaten to leave me again. Got it?” Back then, I thought his desperate attempt to keep me meant he truly loved me. Looking back now, I think he was just used to having me around. After all, not many women would be foolish enough to put their own career on hold and follow a struggling actor to a new city to chase his dream. I told him I had seen Mona’s livestream. And that wasn't all. I brought up the press tour for their last project, where he and Mona had a tearful, emotional moment on stage. When the host asked what was wrong, Mona had cried, “Timing in life is just so important. I’m so envious of his girlfriend.” Eric had sighed and reached out to gently stroke her hair. The fans went wild. The shippers cut together dozens of viral clips of the moment. The caption always read: The tears are still on your face, but I no longer have the right to wipe them away. When I mentioned this, Eric pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice strained with forced patience. “Mona is new to this, Molly. She’s young, she has a hard time getting out of character. Is that a crime?” “She’s a colleague. A colleague was crying, so I comforted her. Is that a crime?” “The fans get too invested. I can’t control them. Is that a crime?” “Can you please stop being so suspicious all the time? You make me feel like some kind of monster. The pressure is already immense…” But I just didn't understand. In the show, the characters got their happy ending. In real life, the show was a massive success, with rave reviews. What on earth were they crying about? I waited for his excuses to run out. Then I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “Eric, let’s break up.” 2 My stubbornness finally exhausted his patience. He was in a hurry to catch a flight and didn't have time to argue. “You need to cool off,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder as he walked out. That was his solution to every problem between us. Ignore it. The next time we saw each other, we’d kiss and make up, and pretend the fight never happened. For him, if it wasn’t spoken of, it was forgotten. But I remembered. I had a running tally of every single slight. A few days later, I signed a contract to transfer ownership of my business. “Ms. Vance, your shop always seems so busy. Why are you closing?” the new owner asked. I looked around the flower shop, a pang of sadness in my chest. I had poured years of my life into this place. “Because I’m leaving Northwood,” I said. Eric and I were both from Southport. When he decided to move north to pursue his career, I quit my job and followed him. We were dirt poor at first. We lived in a tiny, one-room basement apartment that cost six hundred a month. The window was half-submerged at street level, and strangers would constantly peer in as they walked by. Northwood was a glittering metropolis, and we were like rats living in a sewer. The winters were brutal. I bought a secondhand space heater, and one night, faulty wiring caused it to catch fire. When Eric heard, he borrowed a friend’s car and drove seven hours through the night to get back to me. He was a man who channeled almost all his emotions into his acting. In everyday life, he was reserved, almost detached. But that night, he held me and cried so hard he could barely breathe. “Molly, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “It’s my fault. You’re suffering because I can’t provide for you.” “I’ll make it big,” he promised. “I’ll make so much money, and I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you.” Seven years passed. Eric’s career soared, and the chasm between us grew wider with every success. It was inevitable. I have crippling anxiety when it comes to relationships. And Eric, of all things, is an actor. His job requires him to simulate intimacy, to pour his soul into another identity and pretend to fall in love with someone else. Once, he was filming a particularly intense scene with an actress. It was the emotional climax of the film, where the two characters finally confessed their tortured love for each other. They kissed until they were both crying, clinging to each other long after the director yelled “Cut.” They ended up tumbling onto the bed, their bodies pressed together, tearing at each other’s clothes. None of that was in the script. It was a raw, spontaneous overflow of emotion. The director was ecstatic, clapping his hands. “Brilliant! That was brilliant! They really felt it.” And by some cruel twist of fate, it was Eric’s birthday. I had come to the set with a gift. Seeing that… it shattered me. But what could I do? It was his job. If I got angry, if I showed my jealousy, I was just being unreasonable. My insecurity festered, making me anxious, paranoid, and controlling. One night, while Eric was in the shower, I checked his phone. He caught me. The look on his face was pure fury. “Molly, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you bored? Don’t you have a life of your own?” Three questions, each one a dagger. He was the one who had begged me to quit my job and move to Northwood with him. He said he loved how much I needed him, that he would take care of me forever. The day after that fight, I took all my savings and opened the flower shop. I was there every single day, rain or shine. I made myself busy. If I was busy, I wouldn’t have time to wonder who Eric was kissing today, how far the intimacy would go, or what would happen if he couldn’t separate the role from reality and truly fell in love with someone else. 3 It was past rush hour, and the subway car was nearly empty on my way home. Two girls sat next to me, giggling as they stared at a phone. “I’m telling you, they’re for real. Eric and Mona. You can’t fake that kind of body language, that subconscious need to be close.” “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” “Come on, think about it. On one hand, you have the girlfriend of seven years. She’s getting old, there’s no mystery left. On the other, you have a gorgeous, vibrant movie star. If you were Eric, who would you choose?” I quietly pulled out my compact mirror and looked at my reflection. I was the campus beauty back in college. I wasn’t that washed up, was I? The truth is, I had forced Eric to go public with our relationship. At first, he said he didn’t want to bring his private life into the spotlight. The result was that no one in the industry even knew he was taken. Women pursued him, friends tried to set him up, and one producer even tried to proposition him. I finally blew up. “Do you really think it’s ‘unnecessary,’ Eric, or are you just ashamed of me? Are you afraid of losing your ‘single guy’ appeal?” He called me unreasonable. But he did it. He posted a simple announcement on his social media: [Happy 7 years to my amazing girlfriend, @MollysBlooms] That night, two hashtags trended simultaneously: #EricLarkinGoesPublic and #EricAndMona. The shippers had worked overnight, creating a viral post titled: You are the madness that exists outside the rules of my world. It was a meticulous compilation of every single flirty interaction between them. In their narrative, Eric and Mona were star-crossed lovers, and I was the villain keeping them apart. They claimed the only reason Eric hadn't broken up with a mediocre woman like me was out of a sense of duty. Late that night, Mona went online. She liked the post, then quickly unliked it, and then posted that it was an “accidental slip.” A masterclass in plausible deniability. She even tagged me directly: [@MollysBlooms Hope you don’t mind, let’s get lunch sometime! xoxo] She acted like we were old friends. I had never even met her. Eric told me not to overthink it. “Mona’s just a sweet, innocent kid, Molly. She was probably just trying to make you feel less awkward.” I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “She’s innocent. So what am I?” “You?” A small smirk played on his lips. “Come on, Molly. Don’t compare yourself to a girl that young.” His tone was patronizingly sweet. Mona was only two years younger than me. 4 One of the girls next to me took off her headphones, and a familiar voice drifted out. I remembered then—it was the fan meet for Eric’s new show in Bayside. It was being livestreamed. I pulled up the stream on my phone. Mona had recently been at the center of a media firestorm. Rumors were swirling about her—that she had been a bully in school, that she’d slept with a director to get a role, that she’d hooked up with co-stars. At the fan meet, she addressed the rumors for the first time. Within minutes, she was crying too hard to speak. And Eric was right there, protecting her. Every sharp question from the press, every nasty comment in the live chat—Eric shot them all down. “Online harassment is a terrifying thing,” he said, his voice firm and serious. “It can cause irreparable harm…” I laughed. A bitter, hollow sound. And then, the laughter turned into something else. A sharp sting in my nose. I covered my face with my hands, but the tears leaked through my fingers. “Are you okay?” one of the girls next to me asked, offering me a tissue. “Thanks…” Crying on the subway was mortifying. I got off at the next stop, even though it wasn’t mine. It was all his fault. Ever since he’d made our relationship public, his and Mona’s shippers had laid siege to my social media. “Just let him go. Let him be with someone who’s actually right for him.” “The one who isn’t loved is the third wheel. You’re just in the way.” “If you weren’t such a bitch, my ship would have sailed by now!” “Break up with him, or we’ll make you.” It escalated. The more extreme fans doxxed me. They sent me grotesque images in my DMs. A few even started showing up near my apartment, trying to confront me. I used to read stories about people who took their own lives because of online bullying. I felt sorry for them, but a part of me didn't quite understand. Why not just turn off the internet? Why let the words of strangers destroy you? Now I knew. It was a terrifying, suffocating poison. At the time, Eric was on location for a film. My calls went unanswered, my texts vanished into a void. By the time he came home, I hadn't slept properly in two weeks. I was a wreck, my nerves so frayed that a doctor had prescribed medication for anxiety. All Eric did was give me a quick hug and murmur, “Don’t worry about it, Molly. They’re just fans who can’t let go of the show.” Then he was off again, rushing to his next engagement. I had always told myself it was just his personality. He wasn't the most observant or comforting person. It didn’t mean he didn’t love me. But now, watching him on the screen, fiercely defending Mona, speaking about the dangers of online bullying… watching him in the background while the director spoke, constantly handing Mona tissues, whispering in her ear until he made her smile through her tears… I realized what a complete and utter fool I had been. 5 I bought a plane ticket back to Southport. The day before I left, I had one last follow-up appointment with my doctor. His office was on the fifth floor, at the end of a long, sunlit corridor. Today, the corridor was blocked off, a crowd of people gathered around. I edged closer to see what was going on. They were filming a movie. I wasn’t interested. I turned to leave, but through a gap in the crowd, my eyes met Eric’s. And next to him stood Mona. I remembered then. He had mentioned his next role was a doctor. He just hadn't mentioned it was another project with her. It didn't matter. I didn't care anymore. For a split second, our eyes locked. Eric frowned, taking an involuntary step toward me. I turned and walked away without looking back. Mona glanced in my direction, catching sight of a woman with long hair disappearing down the hall. “Who was that? Your girlfriend?” she asked. “Yeah.” “Here to check up on you?” Eric gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “I guess so.” Mona pouted. “Dating someone outside the industry is so much trouble. Following you all the way to a hospital… This is the first time I’ve ever been treated like some kind of homewrecker. What’s her problem?” “It’s not like that,” Eric said, his gaze still fixed on the empty hallway. “She just gets a little jealous sometimes. Insecure. It’s not about you.” During a break, Eric opened his phone. He noticed his last chat with me was from over two weeks ago. [When does filming wrap? Need to talk to you.] He’d read it but never replied. He must have forgotten. It was normal for him not to contact me while he was filming. But it was highly abnormal for me not to contact him. I was the one who usually spammed him with pointless messages—a great steak I ate, a windy day in Northwood, a cute dog I saw. I never cared if he read them or not. This silence meant she was still angry about their last fight. Usually, she got over things quickly. Why was she holding onto this one for so long? Remembering the cold look in her eyes just now, Eric worried she had gotten the wrong idea again. He decided he should probably explain. … I was waiting for my number to be called when my phone started ringing incessantly. Annoyed, I realized I’d forgotten something important. I declined the call, went to my contacts, and blocked the number. Then I opened my messages, found Eric’s name, and deleted the conversation. Much better. 6 Since his calls wouldn’t go through, Eric came to find me in person. Thankfully, it was a private clinic, and it was nearly closing time, so we didn’t become the center of attention. He reached out to ruffle my hair. “Came to see me?” “In your dreams.” “Still trying to fool me?” He sighed, a weary smile on his face. “Come on, Molly, don’t be jealous. The director specifically requested Mona and me for this project. He wanted to capitalize on the buzz from our last show.” He poked my cheek. “You’re such a little jealous thing, following me all the way here. Did you really think I’d cheat on you?” My patience snapped. “I told you, I’m not here for you. I have my own business to attend to.” “What business could you possibly have?” he retorted without thinking. At that exact moment, the electronic screen on the wall lit up with my name. “Patient B17, Molly Vance, please proceed to examination room 05…” I stood up. Eric grabbed my wrist, his face suddenly tight with shock and concern. “You’re sick?” 7 I shook his hand off, my expression blank. “It’s nothing. Just a check-up.” “What do you mean, ‘just a check-up’?” he pressed, his voice rising with alarm. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you tell me?” He tried to follow me into the room, but I quickly shut the door in his face. Dr. Evans looked up. “Your boyfriend?” I’d been seeing him for a few years. We’d even run into each other on morning jogs by the river. We were friendly, and he knew about Eric. I shook my head. “Ex-boyfriend.” “Oh?” Dr. Evans raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations.” “Thank you.” Ever since Eric had screamed, “What the hell is wrong with you?” at me, I had started to believe something really was. So I went to a doctor. The diagnosis was mild depression and severe anxiety, specifically triggered by my romantic relationships. It mostly stemmed from my mother. My father died in a construction accident when I was two. My mother left me with my aging grandfather in the countryside and went to the city to find work. She would only come back once every few years, promise to stay for two weeks, and then disappear after two or three days. I became so terrified of her leaving that I would sleep on the floor outside her door, just to make sure she was still there in the morning. When she was home, I would cook for her, wash her clothes, and give her all the money I earned from collecting herbs in the mountains. I thought that if I could just prove how useful I was, she would love me more. One year, she came back with a man and a little boy—my new stepfather and stepbrother. My grandfather had passed away by then. It was the middle of a snowy winter, and I was running a fever, but I cooked and cleaned for all of them. The day before New Year’s Eve, my mother promised to take me shopping for new clothes the next day. I cried with happiness. The next morning, I pushed open her door to find the room empty. They had left in the middle of the night. The phone number was disconnected, the address she gave me was fake. They had simply vanished. I survived on the charity of my aunts and uncles. Before Eric, I had one other boyfriend. He cheated on me after less than six months. He said it was my fault, that I was too needy, so he had to find someone else. After that, the anxiety took root in my heart and grew like weeds. I was terrified of not being good enough for people, and terrified that they would betray me. Eric was right. Something was wrong with me. Dr. Evans had told me a long time ago that it wasn’t all my fault. He said my partner’s behavior wasn't helping. He gave me two options: find a healthy distraction, or remove the source of my anxiety. Step one: I opened the flower shop. Step two: I left Eric. And now, I felt fantastic. My check-up went perfectly. “Your condition has stabilized, Molly,” Dr. Evans said with a smile. “You can stop the medication.” He shook my hand. “All the best. It was a pleasure knowing you.” 8 When I walked out of the exam room, Eric was gone. He had to get back to filming. He’d left a message for me with the young nurse at the front desk. “He said he knows he’s been neglecting you because of work, and that as soon as this movie wraps, he wants to give you a proper birthday celebration,” the nurse relayed, her eyes wide with envy. “Wow, you’re Eric Larkin’s girlfriend? He’s handsome, rich, and famous! You’re so lucky!” I didn’t know what to say. I just forced a smile. So many people told me how lucky I was, how much they envied me. But I never felt it. It was like having a fishbone stuck in my throat. You can’t swallow it, you can’t cough it up, and you can’t just walk around with your mouth open for everyone to see. Only you know how much it hurts. But now, finally, the bone was gone. The next morning, I boarded a plane to Southport. My best friend, Gia, picked me up from the airport. The moment she saw me, she wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. “Molly, baby! I told you not to follow that jerk to Northwood! He doesn’t deserve you!” I laughed. “You might be the only person on the planet who thinks he’s not good enough for me.” “Of course! You’re too good for him! You’re a total sweetheart—if someone is even remotely nice to you, you’ll give them your whole heart. Eric never knew how to appreciate you, and he’s going to regret it for the rest of his life!” The last dregs of my post-breakup sadness evaporated under the warmth of Gia’s tirade. “Come on, baby girl,” she said, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Welcome back to my town. Forget that loser. I’m going to show you a good time.”
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