The Ten-Pound Breakup Chapter 2

Allen and Isabelle had been high school sweethearts. First loves. They’d been together for ten years, all through college and his PhD program. A decade is a long time—long enough for someone to become a part of you, woven into the very fabric of your being.

If Allen hadn't walked in on Isabelle in bed with his best friend, Leo, they probably would have been married by now.

After the breakup, it took Allen a full year to pull himself together. He was my father's star student, and with a little encouragement from my dad, we started dating.

When Isabelle found out, she staged a suicide attempt and went on social media, accusing me of being a homewrecker. All of their mutual friends treated me like an invader, an unwelcome presence in their circle.

But Allen had been my rock through it all. He stood by me, defended me, and made me believe our foundation was solid. I truly thought we were fine.

I never imagined that after all this time, he and Isabelle would still be tangled up like this. If a mutual friend hadn't forwarded me that hidden Instagram story, I would still be in the dark, happily planning our wedding.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise.

Isabelle’s choked sobs pulled me back to the trashed apartment. I couldn’t stand to be there for another second. I turned and walked out.

“Amrita!” Allen scrambled after me. As he left, he tossed a small pack of bandages to Isabelle for her burn. A gesture that was supposed to look cold, but was really just a twisted form of caring.

“Amrita, wait, slow down! Let me explain!” he pleaded, catching up to me. “I never wanted her in our home, I swear! But she’s crazy, she threatened to kill herself if I didn’t help her… She was always like this, even back in school. Her family life was a nightmare—abusive dad, mom ran off… She’s not like you, Amrita. You have a great family, a support system. She has nothing. It’s… it’s pitiful.”

I almost laughed again. “So it’s my fault for having a good life?”

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “No, that’s not what I mean! I’ll handle it, Amrita, I swear. I’ll get her out. Just… please, forgive me.”

His eyes were red, desperate, like he was on the verge of tears.

Just then, his phone started vibrating again. Call after call. He rejected every one. On the last one, he answered and shouted into the phone, “Isabelle, you’re insane! Stop calling me!”

Then, as if to prove his loyalty, he blocked her number right in front of me.

“Amrita, I only love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Please… don’t leave me.”

I’ll admit it. In that moment, I wavered. We’d been together for three years. There were real feelings there. And our families were a good match; marrying him was, on paper, the most logical choice.

I didn’t say anything. I just drove us back to our old apartment.

Allen was a model of devotion all evening. “Amrita, from now on, I’ll keep my distance from that psycho, I swear… And I’ll lose the weight before the wedding, I’ll get back to my goal weight!”

He swore up and down. “If I ever contact her again, may I drop dead!”

His promises echoed in the quiet apartment.

But when I woke up in the middle of the night, his side of the bed was empty. I called his phone. He said there was an emergency at work, he had to go in.

But I could hear it. A faint, almost imperceptible sound of a woman crying in the background.

A bitter smile touched my lips. He really did think I was a fool.

I hung up and sent him a two-word text: We’re done.

His calls started immediately, one after another. His texts flooded my screen.

[Amrita, answer the phone! You’re killing me!]

[Babe, please don’t do this.]

[I’m begging you, just pick up…]

But by morning, he still hadn’t come home.