That night, Joshua didn’t return home, despite the promises he had made. I waited, the hours stretching endlessly, until darkness swallowed the house and silence wrapped itself around me like a suffocating blanket. I told myself not to care, repeated it like a mantra. Yet, my fingers kept scrolling through my phone, craving some kind of message. Anything. A note, a lie, a false comfort—something to hold onto.
Instead, the notifications were from Vanessa.
“Hey, sis. Lucky you, huh? He’s been looking after me all night. Can you believe how sweet he is?”
A photo followed—Joshua spoon-feeding her soup in a stark, white hospital room.
“He said he’d stay just to make sure I’m alright. Hope that’s okay with you!”
I didn’t respond.
Another ping.
“Oops, wrong send!”
Then more pictures. Her in his arms, his hand cupping her cheek, her expression smug and triumphant.
I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t subtle anymore. She wasn’t even pretending—she was provoking me, testing the limits of my patience, seeing how far she could push me before I cracked.
I didn’t give her the satisfaction. I locked my phone and turned away, retreating to the coldest corner of the bed, forcing sleep that refused to come.
Morning arrived with its cruel persistence. I woke to the sensation of lips brushing my cheek, warm and intimate.
“Morning, baby,” Joshua murmured.
I jerked away instinctively. “What are you doing here?”
He frowned, confusion knitting his brows. “What do you mean? I’m here for you. You didn’t reply to my messages last night.”
“You were with Vanessa,” I said softly. “She made sure I knew.”
He sighed, rubbing at his temples as if the weight of the world rested there. “Are you jealous now? Come on, babe. She’s unwell. You told me to look after her—you called her your best friend.”
He continued, his voice smooth and persuasive. “I helped her because… she was there when you were gone. She listened when I missed you. She reminded me of you. This… this is just me returning the favor. The right thing to do.”
My chest tightened. The words, wrapped in careful reasoning, felt like knives. Betrayal masked as nobility, cruelty dressed as kindness.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I told you to take care of her… when I trusted her, when I believed she was loyal.” I swallowed, fighting to steady my voice. “But I’m here now, Joshua. I’ve returned. So stop.”
He tilted his head, incredulous. “You’re overreacting. This isn’t like you. Jealous over a sick friend?”
Friend.
I barely had time to respond before footsteps echoed from the hallway. Vanessa’s voice floated in, thick with feigned guilt. “She… she hates me. I didn’t mean to come between you two. I should leave—”
“No,” Joshua cut her off, gripping her arm. “You’re staying.”
I blinked, disbelief pinching at me.
He faced me. “She has stomach issues. She needs support. She’ll stay here until she’s better.”
I could barely breathe. “You’re letting her stay?”
“She’ll need someone to cook for her too,” he added casually, brushing past me like it was ordinary. “Start preparing something light.”
“I don’t want to,” I said flatly.
“That wasn’t a question,” he snapped. “It’s an order.”
Then, as if dismissing my presence entirely, he turned away. “Don’t be so dramatic. You told me to be there for her.”
And just like that, they left me alone in the hallway.
Half an hour later, I forced myself into the kitchen. Each step was deliberate, each breath heavy as I tried to function, to move, to cook. The aroma of simmering broth mocked the hollow ache in my chest.
Vanessa appeared, entering as if she owned the space. “Let me help,” she cooed, sweet and insistent.
“I’ve got it,” I said firmly.
“Oh, come on,” she insisted, reaching for the ladle. “I can’t just sit around. Let me do something. Can’t let you have all of Joshua’s attention.”
I moved to stop her, but she was already stirring the pot, moving with reckless speed. Her elbow hit the plate rack.
A crash. Porcelain shattered, shards scattering across the floor. One piece bounced and cut into my leg.
“Ugh! My arm!” Vanessa gasped, clutching her wrist dramatically.
Joshua appeared instantly. “What happened?!”
“She… she didn’t let me help, and I tried! The plate fell!” Vanessa whimpered.
“She didn’t even let me cook—” I started, defensive.
But Joshua was already glaring. “I told you to handle this! Not let her touch it. She’s not fully recovered! Look at what you’ve done!”
He shoved past me, wrapping his arms protectively around Vanessa.
Blood dripped down my shin, the sting of the cut mingling with the ache of being replaced.
“You’ve disappointed me, Joshua,” I whispered, voice trembling.
I walked out, ignoring the pain, ignoring their shocked expressions, and locked myself in the guest bathroom to clean the wound—alone.
Later that night, he entered, bouquet of tulips in one hand, a small pink shopping bag in the other. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to yell earlier. I was startled. I… I worried about Vanessa. And you.”
I didn’t look up.
He placed the flowers beside me. “I got you a dress. The one you saw in the mannequin window last week. And this,” he said, lifting a small velvet box, “a matching bracelet.”
He reached for my hand, pressing his lips to it—brief, tentative.
“Where’s your ring?” His voice sharpened suddenly.
I met his gaze evenly. “I threw it away.”
He flinched as if struck.
“It doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”
