How I Ruined My Boyfriend Chapter 1

I was folding his laundry when he spoke, his voice casual.

"You know, sometimes, you're just... cheap."

My hands froze mid-fold. Before I could form a reply, he plowed on.

"Don't get me wrong, you love me, I know you do. You're responsible, you take good care of me, of the house. But you just can't compare to Helen."

He sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. "Anyone could do what you do. It's nothing special. It's not like what I have with Helen."

My mind flashed back a month ago, to when his ex-girlfriend had invited him to a concert.

I’d told her he wasn’t going.

He was still holding it against me.

I dropped the shirt I was holding and turned to leave the room. The irony was suffocating. Just this morning, my boss had offered me a position at our overseas division. A huge promotion.

I had turned it down. For him.

But now, as I was finally ready to walk away, to give his precious Helen the space she so clearly wanted…

Why would he end up crying, begging me to come back?

* * *

I threw the half-folded laundry onto the bed. Ethan didn’t move from his chair, just watched me walk to the door.

"What, was I wrong?" he challenged.

"There's another show tonight, isn't there?" I said, my hand gripping the cool metal of the doorknob. "Is that what this is about? All this passive-aggressive bullshit? Go. I don't care."

He’d never heard me talk back to him like that. A slow, incredulous smile spread across his face. "You really think you can stop me?"

"Do whatever you want."

"Amelia!" he snapped, his voice sharp. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Was anything I said untrue? Will you be happy if you force me to go?"

"I told you," I said, my voice flat. "Do. Whatever. You. Want."

I pulled the door shut behind me. A few steps down the hall, I heard the satisfying crash of a glass shattering against a wall.

I sat in a Starbucks, stirring a latte I couldn't afford, scrolling through my phone for Ms. Davenport's number. For years, I’d been pinching every penny for the down payment on our first home. The most expensive drink I ever bought myself was a slushie from the corner store.

This Starbucks… it wasn't as magical as I'd imagined.

But the feeling? The freedom? That was priceless.

Ms. Davenport answered on the second ring. I didn't waste any time. "Ms. Davenport, that offer for the overseas division… is it still on the table?"

There was a pause on the other end. Then, a warm laugh. "It's yours if you want it, Amelia."

"I want it!"

"And your wedding plans with your boyfriend…?"

"We broke up," I said, the words tasting like liberation.

There was no sympathy, no awkward condolences. Instead, she actually snorted. "Good. It's about time you came to your senses."

For six years, everyone in my life had gently, and not-so-gently, reminded me that my career had far more potential than my relationship. That I shouldn't have to put my life on hold while Ethan got his feet back on the ground after his failed startup.

But I couldn't bear to leave him when he was at his lowest. I stayed.

The hilarious part? His ex, Helen, was the one who had dumped him back then because he was broke, running off with some rich kid she met in Europe. Now that Ethan was successful, she was back, sniffing around for a second chance without, of course, giving up her lavish lifestyle.

My phone buzzed. A new Instagram story from Helen.

It was a picture of her and Ethan, their faces projected onto the giant screen above the concert stage. They were nestled close, their hands forming a heart for the camera. The entire arena could see them. No one would doubt for a second that they were a couple.

The caption read: After all this time, the right person is still waiting right where you left them.

And right below it, a single "like" from Ethan.

I took a screenshot and fired it off to my best friend.

I can't deal with these two psychos.

A question mark came back instantly, followed by a screenshot of Helen's empty profile. My friend couldn't see the story.

I checked with a few other people. Same thing.

Helen had set the story's privacy so only certain people could see it.

No, not people. Just one person.

Me.

A cold smile touched my lips. I blocked her number and deleted her contact.