Chapter 3

"Have you ever wondered why he’s so calm? It's because he’s 100% sure you’ll crawl back."

Harper dropped a piece of sliced beef into the boiling pot. She swirled it around for exactly eight seconds and pulled it out like she was performing surgery.

I stayed quiet.

"You deleted his texts, packed your bags, and he didn't even chase you down the hall." She dipped the beef in sesame sauce and placed it on my plate. "Do you think someone who’s actually afraid of losing you would be this chill?"

"Maybe he thought chasing me wouldn't change anything."

"No. He just thinks he doesn't need to. When you guys fight, what's the longest you’ve gone without talking to him?"

I thought back. "Three days. Three days max."

"He’s just waiting out his three days," Harper said.

The pot bubbled, fogging up my glasses. I took them off to wipe them, unable to see her expression.

My phone screen lit up.

It was a text from Ethan: *I’ve been thinking, and you’re right. I’ve really neglected you lately. Take a few days to rest. I’ll come pick you up this weekend, and we can have a real talk.*

Harper leaned over, glanced at the screen, and let out a cold laugh.

"A textbook Phase Four: Play the victim."

"What do you mean?"

"Just watch." She held up four fingers.

"Phase One is anger—'Stop acting up,' which he already used. Phase Two is shifting blame—'It was just a team dinner, she posted that on her own.' Phase Three is the threat—'Don't regret this.' And Phase Four is showing vulnerability—'I’ve been thinking, and you’re right.'"

She counted them down on her fingers and looked at me.

"One, two, three, four. He hit every single mark in perfect order."

"How do you know this so well?"

"I’ve spent three years in the ER. I’ve seen plenty of toxic couples. When the abuser gets sober, they always go through these exact four phases. Some people forgive them at Phase Four, only to start right back at Phase One."

I looked down at the text. I wanted to reply, but then I put my phone face down.

The next day.

A mutual friend messaged me.

It was Tiffany, the girlfriend of one of Ethan’s college friends. We had grabbed dinner a few times, but we weren't super close.

"Chloe, I heard you and Ethan had a fight? He seems really down today. He’s just sitting at his desk staring into space. What happened? Do you want me to set up a double date so you guys can talk it out?"

I replied: "We broke up."

She sent a string of question marks.

"How could you break up? Didn't you guys have plans to travel for Memorial Day weekend?"

"He bailed."

"But didn't he say his project was super busy? Their team has been under crazy pressure lately. My boyfriend had to pull overtime too. Don't overthink it, Chloe. This kind of stuff is totally normal for couples."

*Overthink it.*

I flipped my phone over.

At 3:00 PM, Maya messaged me.

We didn't talk much on Snapchat, but we had each other added.

"Hey Chloe, I heard there’s some misunderstanding between you and Ethan. What happened the other day was honestly just a team dinner. I wrote that caption without thinking, and I’m so sorry if it gave you the wrong idea. Ethan and I are strictly professional. You have nothing to worry about!"

I read those sentences twice.

Every word was polished. Every punctuation mark was precise. The apology was polite but firm, clearing her name without sounding defensive.

It read like a corporate PR statement.

I screenshotted it and sent it to Harper.

Harper replied instantly: "If they’re just 'strictly professional' coworkers, why is the young assistant reaching out to explain things the second you break up with your boyfriend?"

I stared at the message and suddenly noticed a detail.

She called him "E" in her snap.

Not "Ethan," not "your boyfriend," and not "him."

Just "E."

I had never called him "E." I always called him Ethan.

How close do you have to be to someone to call them by a single letter?

Harper sent another message: "And notice how she said 'if it gave you the wrong idea.' She’s not admitting she did anything wrong. She’s saying *your* perception is the problem. She’s apologizing while gaslighting you into thinking you’re just crazy."

I put my phone down.

Tiffany messaged me again: "Chloe, Ethan wanted me to tell you that he’s really, truly sorry this time. Can’t you just give him one more chance? It’s been two years. Don’t throw it all away over a silly little argument."

*A silly little argument.*

Bailing when I had a 102.5°F fever was one "little" thing. Ignoring my vacation itinerary was another. Canceling our trip was another. Each one, taken on its own, was a "little" thing. But nobody wanted to stack those little things up and see how high the pile had gotten.

I replied to Tiffany: "Thanks, but no thanks."

She wrote back: "You’re being way too stubborn. Ethan is such a catch. Do you really think you’re going to find someone better out there?"

I stared at the screen for half a minute.

Then, I closed the app. I didn't delete the message, and I didn't reply.

Harper called me.

"Chloe, listen to me."

"Yeah."

"No matter who contacts you these next few days, and no matter what they say, remember one thing. You had a 102.5°F fever, and he didn't show up. That wasn't a minor detail, it wasn't a misunderstanding, and you weren't overthinking. That is a fact."

"Facts don't need explanations. Anything that needs an explanation is just an excuse."