I sat at the table, watching the dinner I’d cooked grow cold. My heart felt the same. Today was my birthday. It was also the birthday of Sarah’s childhood best friend, Leo. I opened Leo's social media feed, and sure enough, there was a new post. “So grateful to have you with me every birthday! Here's to many, many more!” The photo was of two hands forming a heart over a birthday cake. One of them was Sarah’s. The necklace she was wearing was a gift from me. I liked the post. Then I put down my phone, scraped the dinner—all of Sarah's favorite dishes—into the trash, and went to a restaurant to order my own favorites for my birthday. From now on, I would celebrate my own damn birthday. 1 Halfway through my meal, Sarah called, her voice edged with impatience. “Alex, you saw Leo’s post, right?” “I saw it.” “I’ll be home as soon as his party’s over. I’ll celebrate with you next year. Just be a grown-up about this, Alex. Don’t start a fight.” I used to. I used to scream and rage. Not anymore. “Okay,” I said, my voice flat. The next morning at seven, my phone rang. It rang three times, then stopped. I glanced at the screen. It was Sarah. That was her signal. She was too lazy to use her key, so she’d call three times and hang up. No matter what I was doing, I was expected to rush to the door and let her in. Today, I didn’t move. I tossed the phone aside, pulled the covers over my head, and went back to sleep. She knew there was a spare key under the shoe rack by the door. I’d been up until three in the morning packing, and my head was still throbbing. The phone rang a few more times. I didn’t even bother to look. Sometime later, I vaguely heard the front door open, slamming against the wall. A moment after that, my bedroom door was thrown open, followed by Sarah’s furious voice. “Alex, why didn’t you open the door? I called you a dozen times! You know I hate using my key!” I opened my eyes and looked at her, feeling nothing. “I was exhausted. Didn’t hear it.” Sarah opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “I’m hungry,” she said instead. “Get up and make me some porridge. I was up all night, I need to eat and get some sleep.” The old me would have been scrambling to the kitchen already. The new me just said, “I’m tired too. You can buy breakfast downstairs.” Her face tightened with anger, but she forced it down. “Are you still mad that I wasn’t here for your birthday?” “No. You’re overthinking it.” She didn’t believe me. “He’s like a brother to me, Alex. His parents died when he was young. If I don’t celebrate with him, who will? Don’t be so petty. You’re going to make me angry if you keep this up.” “You’re right,” I said. “You should be with him. I’m not angry.” Sleep was impossible now. I got up and went to the bathroom. Sarah grabbed my arm, reluctantly pulling a cheap red string bracelet from her pocket. “Here. Stop sulking. It’s your birthday present. I remembered it was your zodiac year.” I looked at the flimsy bracelet, at the cheap-looking metal charm dangling from it. It was the definition of an afterthought. I thought about the expensive watch Leo had flaunted in his post, and a bitter laugh escaped me. All those months I’d seen Sarah pinching pennies, I’d thought she was saving up for my gift. How pathetic. I held up my own wrist, showing her the watch my mother had sent me a few days ago. “Thanks, but I’ve got a watch. This wouldn’t really work with it. You can keep it.” “You say you’re not angry?” she snapped. “You used to love everything I gave you. Now you’re too good for my gifts?” Sarah didn't earn much. Her birthday gifts to me were always cheap—a few dollars here, a few dollars there. Sometimes she forgot entirely. I never minded. For her birthday last week, I’d bought her a solid gold necklace. I was so tired. I didn't have the energy to argue anymore. I took the red string and put it in my pocket. “Thank you.” I changed my clothes and opened the door to leave. “Where are you going?” Sarah called out sharply. “To play basketball with some friends.” Ever since I’d gotten together with Sarah, all my free time had been her time. I chauffeured her, shopped with her, cooked for her. I had no time for myself. Not anymore. It was time to live for myself. 2 After a great game, we sat on the sidelines, chugging water. My friends complained, half-joking, half-serious. “We were starting to think you’d ghosted us for your girlfriend, man. We were about to take you off the group chat.” “I’m sorry, guys,” I said, and I meant it. “It won’t happen again. Anything you’re doing, just let me know.” “That’s more like it! C’mon, let’s go hit the arcade for a few rounds.” Her circle never accepted me, and to be with her, I’d slowly distanced myself from my own friends. My entire world had revolved around her. Looking back, I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. It was almost midnight when I got home. I opened the bedroom door to find Sarah sitting up in bed, frowning. “Alex, why are you so late? I had to order takeout for lunch and dinner. It was disgusting.” I opened the closet for a change of clothes. “I ate out too. It was pretty good. You should get used to the taste of takeout if you can’t cook for yourself.” Her eyes widened. “You used to say you’d cook for me every day! That I should never eat takeout because it’s unhealthy!” “I was wrong. If you’re going to live in this world without knowing how to cook, you have to adapt.” A flicker of rage crossed her face. “You’re still angry. You were gone all day, not a single call, not a single text, and you didn't even come home to cook for me!” “I’m not angry,” I said calmly. “I was out with friends. My phone died.” My detachment seemed to infuriate her more. She threw back the covers, jumped out of bed, and grabbed my arm as I tried to leave. Her voice was shrill. “Can’t you be less insecure for one second? I told you, we’re like brother and sister! Why are you still making a scene? My patience has limits, Alex!” I pulled my arm free. “I’m not making a scene. I’m tired. I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.” I took my clothes into the main bathroom and showered, ignoring her calls from the bedroom. For the first time in a long time, I slept through the night. Sarah was a restless sleeper. She’d kick the blankets off several times a night. When we shared a bed, I never got a full night’s sleep, always waking up to cover her again. The next morning, I found her sitting in the living room, arms crossed, her face a thundercloud. I knew the routine. She was waiting for me to apologize, to grovel and beg and make her happy again. It didn’t matter if I’d done anything wrong. That was always the pattern. She’d make a list of demands, and only after I’d completed them would she magnanimously forgive me. I was done with that routine. I ignored her, got ready, and left. I had important things to do today. 3 I went to my office and submitted my resignation. My manager was surprised and tried to talk me out of it, but I was firm. I’d taken this job to be with Sarah, to take care of her. I didn’t need to anymore. Last night, I’d video-called my parents and told them I was resigning and moving back home. I saw the tears of joy in my mother’s eyes. My dad’s health hadn’t been great lately, and running his small grocery store alone was becoming too much for him. It wasn't some backwater town. It was a pleasant, mid-sized city on the coast. Sarah was from an inland state and loved spicy food. She had always refused to visit my hometown, complaining about the food and the different culture. So, I had left my parents and moved here with her. That evening, I took my friends out to dinner to tell them the news. They all agreed it was the right move. Parents were more important. After a few beers, someone asked, “So what about Sarah? Is she going back with you?” I was silent for a moment, then gave a bitter smile. “No. I think we’re going to break up.” I used to think Sarah and I would build a home here, and then bring my parents to live with us. But that home was gone now. I was going back to the one I’d left behind, the one with my parents, the one that would never abandon me. When I got back to the apartment, Sarah was wearing a white sundress, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her makeup perfect. She was on a video call with Leo. I could hear his voice from the phone. “Sarah, you look incredible. You could wear a simple white dress and still look like an angel.” Sarah giggled, covering her blushing face with her hand. “Really? You always know just what to say.” I stood there silently. That dress wasn't simple. It had cost me a month's salary. When Sarah turned and saw me, her smile vanished. “Gotta go,” she said quickly to Leo. “I’m heading out now. I’ll be there soon. Grab a snack if you’re hungry.” She could be so warm and caring with Leo, but couldn’t spare a single smile for me. She shot me a disgusted look, walked past me, and put on her shoes to leave. She was giving me the silent treatment again. Over the years we’d been together, she’d done this countless times, always over something to do with Leo. Each time, I’d panicked, desperately trying to win back her affection. This time, I wasn’t worried. I just took the groceries I’d bought into the kitchen and made myself a late-night snack. I’d been so busy drinking with my friends that I hadn’t eaten much. For the next few days, I was busy with work handover and packing. The apartment was slowly emptying of my things. Sarah didn’t notice. 4 Today, Sarah went out with Leo again. I sat at the dining table, eating and scrolling through my phone. Leo had a new post up: “Whenever I feel lonely, you’re always there. It’s the best feeling. So grateful!” The photo was of him and Sarah, their heads pressed together, smiling and making peace signs for the camera. Sarah’s friends flooded the comments with likes and messages about how envious they were of their bond. They had always believed Sarah should be with Leo. The childhood-sweethearts trope was too perfect to resist. I was just the third wheel who’d gotten in the way. Looking at the picture, I suddenly thought her friends were right. They did look more like a couple. I used to suffer in silence for a long time before gently asking Sarah to keep a little distance from Leo, just for appearance’s sake. Her friends would mock me, calling me controlling, saying I was suffocating her and denying her the right to have friends. Sarah never defended me. She’d join in, telling me not to be so possessive, to give her more freedom. Sarah had commented on the post, too: “You’re always there for me, too!” I closed the app, my heart a placid lake, and cleared the table. Thunder rumbled outside. It was about to rain. I went to the balcony and brought the laundry in just as fat raindrops began to splatter against the windows. I used to panic on rainy days, calling Sarah frantically to see where she was, rushing to bring her an umbrella so she wouldn’t get a single drop on her. She and her friends would laugh at me, calling me a mother hen, saying I worried too much and ruined their fun. I showered early, got into bed, and fell asleep scrolling through videos. I was woken by the sound of my bedroom door being thrown open. Seeing me asleep, Sarah’s voice was filled with righteous anger. “Alex, it’s pouring rain outside, and your girlfriend isn’t home this late, and you’re not worried at all? If you were my friends’ boyfriends, they’d be calling nonstop, asking where they were, showing up with an umbrella! And you?!”
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