The elevator doors closed behind me. When I reached the first floor, I rushed to my car and drove straight home. I ignored my mom's texts about wedding venues, just staring at the clock. Time passed. Mia came back with lavender and takeout - shrimp tortellini soup, forgetting my allergy. "Eat up," she said. I ate every shrimp. The rash spread up my arms. "Oh no! Are you allergic?" Mia gasped. I didn't care. "Come celebrate your birthday with me tomorrow," I said. Mia hesitated, then nodded. I went to get my allergy meds. I'm a terrible cook. The only thing I can make is birthday pasta. But tonight, I kept messing up. Bowl after bowl ruined. I ate them all anyway. I'd planned to leave after celebrating her birthday. She never came. Just called. "Alex, that clumsy idiot, burned his finger cooking. I have to take him to the ER first. You go ahead and eat." Mia’s lies were always so transparent. My main social media account was blocked from seeing her posts, but my burner account lit up with a new update. The photo showed them, side-by-side, in front of a cake, streamers fluttering. It was a frozen moment: them, laughing, holding hands. "Hello? Hello?" Mia hadn’t hung up yet. I let out a slow breath. "No worries. Take your time." My burner account ‘liked’ her post. The birthday pasta, uneaten, went straight into the trash. Mia had no love left for me. And if I let go, she’d probably be thrilled. I dragged my suitcase out of the house, leaving it all behind. On the way, I organized all the private, incriminating photos of Alex and Mia from years of their 'ambiguous' relationship. Then I posted them to my social media feed, where all their mutual friends would see. I was leaving, and I wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Just before the plane took off, I sent Mia a text: "Happy Birthday. Goodbye forever." I didn’t say 'we’re breaking up.' After seven years, she’d never once publicly acknowledged me as her boyfriend. Maybe I deserved to be cuckolded. Maybe I was just blind, stubbornly fixated on her. The second before I powered down my phone, it exploded with calls. I accidentally swiped to answer one. "Ryan, what the hell did you post on your social media? Delete it now! Where are you going? Get back here and apologize to Alex!" I forced the phone off. It was laughable, really. She never bothered to reply to my messages. I used to think she was too busy. Now I knew: she saw everything, she just chose not to respond to anything concerning me. It was Mom, whom I hadn’t seen in years, who picked me up. She wore a vibrant red dress, looking dazzling, but even through the brightness, I could see the subtle lines of age around her eyes. Mom pulled me into a hug, murmuring about all I’d suffered. Even though I’d been estranged for years, Mom and I had never truly lost touch. She knew all about the messy entanglement with Mia, had seen it with chilling clarity from the start, declaring we’d never last. I’d never believed her then. I did now. All the way home, Mom talked about the changes in the family. I already knew most of it, but I listened intently anyway. The moment I powered on my phone, it began to vibrate wildly. I ignored every call, just put it on silent. To Mom’s questioning glance, I simply said, "Spam calls." She seemed to understand, though she didn’t press the issue. With the wedding date fast approaching, my schedule was packed. I followed Mom to coordinate venues and meet Lily for the wedding photo shoot. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I felt like a stranger. Mom’s eyes were rimmed with red; she dabbed at the corner. "Ryan, Lily is a million times better than that Mia." I nodded, uncaring. I’d already met the worst kind of person; there was nothing left I couldn’t endure. To my surprise, Lily arrived right on time. The woman from the photos suddenly materialized, and I felt a strange flicker of unreality. "Well, hello there," Lily chirped, her eyes dancing as she took me in, a playful smile curving her lips. It softened her generally cool demeanor, making her seem almost approachable. "Thank you," I murmured, looking down, adjusting my clothes, a prickle of awkwardness rising. Mom quickly chimed in, "Lily’s here! Why don’t you two take a picture together, for posterity?" Lily glanced at me, seeking my approval. I nodded. Mom, beaming, snapped a photo of us. She loved social media, so she immediately posted it: "My son, handsomest of them all! /Image/" I never expected Mom’s casual post to go viral. Suddenly, hashtags were trending: #SterlingHeiressGettingMarried #LilyAndRyanWeddingShoot. Mom was thrilled, even screenshotting some of the congratulatory comments for me. "Let that Mia see this! See if she thinks she’s good enough for you now!" I was past caring, though. She never loved me; how could she hurt me? But then, she messaged me. I’d blocked her main number long ago, but she found my burner phone. She sent the photo of Lily and me, then called me, a voice call. The wind howled on the other end of the line. "You packed up and went home because of that woman? Is it just because her family has money? Ryan, I never thought you’d be such a gold-digger! I know you’re just jealous. You come back now, and I’ll marry you immediately." I looked up at the moon outside my window. A cold, stark silver disc. "Yes. Exactly. Because she’s rich, beautiful, and knows how to be charming. A hundred times better than you. No man wants to be a cuckold, Mia!" Mia’s breathing grew ragged, as if she were restraining a wild beast within. Her voice turned vicious. "Ha, she doesn’t know, does she? That you and I slept together? That I was pregnant with your child? Those high-society girls, they’re so squeaky clean. Who would want damaged goods like you, Ryan? I forbid you from breaking up with me!" A dull ache spread through my chest, my eyes burning. The first time she was pregnant, I wanted to get married, make it official. But she refused, accused me of being a misogynist, of treating her like a broodmare. So I had no choice but to agree when she decided to terminate the pregnancy. Mia never held back, always going for the deepest wounds. For a long moment, I couldn’t utter a single word. Mia must have sensed my silence, because her tone softened. "Ryan, all those years we had… can you just say you don’t love me anymore?" She seemed about to say more. But then, a man’s voice, clear as a bell, drifted from her end of the line: "Mia, you’d look amazing in this lace lingerie. Come on, try it on…" I couldn't help but laugh, a bitter, hollow sound, and hung up. Then I deleted the burner account completely. Still furious, I slapped myself across the face.
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