Chapter 3

I barely nudge the box toward Stella, but she jerks back like I hit her hard and almost tumbles down the stairs.

Ryan catches her instantly.

The box crashes to the ground.

The little ceramic figures we made for our third anniversary fall out and shatter.

I reach down to pick up the girl figure's broken head.

Ryan shoves me away hard.

Ceramic shards dig deep into my palm. I suck in a breath from the pain.

Ryan screams in my face.

"If you're mad, take it out on me. Why the hell are you going after someone innocent?"

Stella's eyes go red. She tugs at Ryan's sleeve, voice small.

"It's fine. If I hadn't started this game, you two wouldn't be like this."

"This is my fault. I'll just go."

Tears fall right on cue. She turns to leave.

Ryan grabs her arm.

"You did nothing wrong. She's just being petty."

He looks at me.

"When did you get so bitter?"

The irony almost makes me laugh.

I hold up my bloody palm.

"Ryan, I haven't even said it hurts."

His eyes soften.

He starts toward me.

Stella's voice follows right on cue.

"Ryan, my ankle really hurts. I think I twisted it."

He stops and pulls his foot back.

He looks at me coldly.

"You brought this on yourself. If you hadn't pushed Stella, none of this would've happened."

"Stay here and think about what you did. If you keep this up, don't show up Monday."

He picks Stella up and walks out.

The door slams shut.

I sit alone, gritting my teeth, pulling ceramic pieces out of my palm one by one.

I bandage my hand.

I pick up the bloodstained pieces, pack everything into the box, and throw it in the trash.

The heavy thud sounds like the end of us.

That night, I see Stella's Instagram post.

Ryan is down on one knee washing her feet.

The caption: Teaching my bestie’s perfect boyfriend how to behave 😉

I stare at the photo.

Ryan always told me a man washing a woman's feet was beneath him.

Even after my car accident, when I couldn't move in bed, he never once helped wipe me down.

Now he's doing it for Stella.

I take a breath and type a comment.

"No need to train him. He's yours."

The post disappears a second later.

Ryan blows up my phone.

"What the hell was that comment?"

"Everyone's seen it. People keep asking me what happened. Do you know what you're doing to her?"

"Apologize. Right now. Or Monday is off."

"Answer me!"

I stare at the wall of messages. My eyes sting.

His first thought isn't to ask if I'm okay.

It's to ask why I told the truth and made Stella look bad.

I don't reply. Another message comes in.

"You like dragging people online? Fine. Let's see how you like it."

My comment under Stella's post gets screenshotted and posted everywhere.

It blows up fast.

Everyone starts calling Stella the homewrecker.

But it doesn't last.

Ryan puts out a statement.

"Stella Miller and I are legally married. Emma Reed is lying."

He attaches their marriage certificate and a courthouse selfie. In the photo, their faces are pressed close together, smiling like newlyweds.

Stella posts a video from a hospital bed. Her face is pale. The bandage on her wrist has blood on it.

"I always saw her as my best friend. Even when she kept acting like my husband was her boyfriend, I didn't call her out. I didn't want to hurt her."

"I never thought being nice would make her push this far!"

She cries through the whole video.

She looks like the victim.

The internet flips overnight.

My address and personal information get posted everywhere. My inbox fills with filth.

Someone even digs up the video from outside the courthouse.

"Look at her pawing at a married man, and she still has the nerve to call his wife a homewrecker."

"She was like this in college too. At the proposal, she grabbed his hand and made him put the ring on her."

"She was clearly forcing him to marry her!"

Buried in all the hate, Ryan's message stands out.

"Have you learned your lesson?"

"Be a good girl and apologize. I'll still take you Monday."

I look at my flight's boarding time.

No need.

I won't be here by then.