Chapter 3

The illuminated screen of Graham's phone burned into my retina. Britney' s birthday. The world spun. My birthday had been irrelevant, forgotten. Hers was the key.

My fingers, cold and numb, navigated to the messaging app. The flood of messages between them confirmed my worst fears. It wasn't recent. It wasn't a fleeting indiscretion. It was a year. A full year of secret conversations, hidden dates, and emotional intimacy that had slowly, insidiously replaced me.

Their exchanges started innocently enough, trivial complaints about university, shared jokes about professors. But over time, the tone shifted. The casual "how are you" morphed into "good morning, sunshine" and "sleep tight, my love." They had a trove of inside jokes, silly memes, and personalized emojis that made my stomach churn. He even saved her ridiculous, over-the-top reaction GIFs.

"This new Italian place looks amazing," Britney had texted, followed by a link. "We should try it this weekend! My treat."

Graham' s reply: "Sounds perfect. Can't wait."

A week later, photos of them at that very restaurant, laughing over pasta, appeared in their chat history. He had told me he was "studying late at the library" that weekend.

And then there were the landmarks. The London Eye, the British Museum, the Tower of London. All the places he' d promised to take me when I finally arrived. Photos of them, side-by-side, beaming, appeared in their chats, accompanied by captions like "Making memories!" and "Best day ever with my favorite person." He had sent me pictures of the same places, but only of the scenery, telling me he'd gone alone to "clear his head." The lie was so careful, so deliberate.

Even when his academic workload became overwhelming, the messages between them never stopped. "Sleep well, B," he'd text her at midnight. "You too, G," she'd reply almost instantly. The daily "good night" messages, the ones that had once been exclusively ours, had been rerouted to her. I hadn't received one in months, brushing it off as him being "too busy" or "too tired."

A sudden click of the bathroom door jolted me. Graham was out of the shower. I quickly locked his phone and placed it back on the nightstand, my hands shaking. He emerged, towel wrapped around his waist, eyes still hazy with steam. He took one look at my face, my probably swollen, red eyes, and his casual demeanor evaporated.

"Katelyn, what's wrong? Are you crying?" His voice was laced with something that sounded like genuine concern, but I knew better now.

I quickly wiped my eyes, forcing a wobbly smile. "Just... missed you so much, Graham. Being here, finally, after all this time..." The lie came easily, a well-worn path of self-deception. It was easier than telling him the truth. Easier than dealing with the inevitable confrontation.

He pulled me into a hug, his wet skin cold against mine. "Oh, Katelyn," he murmured, stroking my hair. "I missed you too. I promise to make it up to you. I'll take a few days off, we'll explore London, just like we always planned." He sounded sincere. And for a fleeting second, a stupid, desperate part of me wanted to believe him.

"Remember that little cafe we said we'd go to, the one with the best scones?," he reminisced, his voice full of a nostalgia that felt like a cruel joke. "And the art gallery you always wanted to visit?"

My heart squeezed. That list. Our list. Places we'd vowed to see together. "Yes," I whispered, the word catching in my throat. "Let's go. Tomorrow. All of it." I looked up at him, meeting his eyes, an unspoken challenge in mine.

His smile faltered. His body stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Uh... tomorrow? I already made plans... with Britney. We were going to..." He trailed off, caught in his own web.

I just stared at him. My gaze was steady, unwavering. No anger. No tears. Just a cold, hard assessment. The silence hung heavy, suffocating. He squirmed under my gaze, his eyes darting around the room, anywhere but mine.

Finally, he exhaled, a long, defeated sigh. "Fine," he conceded, his voice grudging. "Tomorrow. Just us."

The next morning, I noticed the silver bracelet was gone. A tiny flicker of something akin to hope, or perhaps just a morbid curiosity, sparked within me. Had he actually taken it off? Was there a chance?

We arrived at the charming little cafe, the one we had dreamed of visiting. The air was warm, filled with the scent of fresh pastries and coffee. We ordered our scones, and for a moment, it felt like old times. A fragile, manufactured normalcy.

Then, the cafe door chimed. My blood ran cold.

Britney.

She walked in, her innocent eyes scanning the room, landing on us. A bright, artificial smile lit up her face. "Graham! Katelyn! What a surprise!" She practically skipped towards our table. "I was just in the neighborhood, thought I'd grab a coffee before my class."

Graham looked like a deer caught in headlights. His face drained of color. "Britney! What are you doing here?" His voice was a frantic whisper.

"Oh, Graham, you forget!" Britney pouted, nudging his arm playfully. "You told me about this place, remember? Said it had the best scones in London. You said we had to try it together." She turned to me, her smile unwavering. "But it's so sweet of you to come with Katelyn! You're such a good boyfriend, Graham. Katelyn, you don't mind if I join you two, do you? Graham said you wanted to see all of London, and I'd love to show you my favorite spots."

Graham quickly interjected, trying to smooth things over. "Britney's just... she's really good at planning, Katelyn. She thought it would be nice for you to have a local guide." He offered me a desperate, pleading look.

I just smiled. A brittle, unfeeling smile. "Of course not, Britney. The more the merrier." My voice was even, calm. A chilling calm. Inside, I was screaming.

Britney, oblivious or simply uncaring, slid into the seat next to Graham, effectively boxing me in against the wall. She chatted animatedly, regaling us with stories of her favorite London haunts, her voice a relentless stream of superficial enthusiasm. She even asked for my Instagram, adding me with a flourish.

Graham, meanwhile, was a nervous wreck, his eyes constantly darting between us. He tried to steer the conversation, to make it about me, but Britney easily redirected it back to herself, to them.

At one point, Graham got up to buy us more coffee. Britney leaned closer to me, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Katelyn," she began, a predatory glint in her innocent eyes, "Graham is so stressed with his studies. He needs someone calm, someone who understands his needs. Not someone who adds to his worries." She paused, letting the words sink in. "He just wants to be happy. Don't you think he deserves that?"

My blood ran cold. This wasn't about coffee. This was a territorial declaration.

I met her gaze, my own eyes cold and steady. "Happiness is a choice, Britney," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "And so is loyalty." I paused, then added, "That bracelet, the silver one you gave him? The one you both got for your six-month anniversary? It' s a lovely design. Did you know it symbolizes an unbreakable bond in some cultures?" I watched her face, a slow, dawning horror spreading across it.

Her eyes widened. She stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. "What are you talking about? It's just a thank you gift! You Americans are so weird with your cultural differences!" She tried to laugh, but it was a strained, desperate sound.

I just smiled, a sweet, innocent smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Oh, is that what it is? My mistake. I just assumed, because... well, Graham threw his away this morning. Said it was getting in the way of his work." I watched her, the lie a sharp weapon in my hand.

Britney's face, already pale, turned ashen. Her carefully constructed facade crumbled. Just then, Graham returned, two coffees in hand.

"What's going on?" he asked, sensing the tension.

Britney glared at him, pure venom in her eyes. "You threw it away? You actually threw away the bracelet I gave you?" Her voice was a choked whisper, rising in accusation. "After everything... you just threw it away?" Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pushed past him, running out of the cafe, a heartbroken sob echoing behind her.

Graham stood there, dumbfounded, the coffees sloshing in his hands. "What? What happened? Katelyn, what did you say to her?" He looked at me, bewildered, as if I held all the answers.

"I just told her the truth, Graham," I said, my voice eerily calm. "That you threw away her bracelet."

His face registered shock, then a dawning horror. "I didn't! Why would you say that?" He quickly put down the coffees and bolted after Britney, disappearing around the corner.

He didn't even glance back. He didn't ask if I was okay. He just ran to her. My chest ached, a deep, hollow pain. This was it. The final blow. He had chosen her. Again.

I sat there, alone, the lukewarm coffee growing cold, the sweet scent of scones turning bitter. The engagement ring, still in my pocket, felt like a lead weight. I walked back to the hotel, the city lights blurring through my unshed tears. When I got to my room, I realized I didn't have my key card. It was in Graham's jacket, which he had so casually draped over me, and which I had returned to him.

I sat in the cold hallway outside my hotel room, waiting. And waiting. The hours crawled by, slow and agonizing. Midnight came. Then one. Two. He never came back.

My phone buzzed. An Instagram notification. Britney. A new post. A picture of her, snuggled into Graham's side, his arm around her. Her head rested on his shoulder, a triumphant smile on her face. The caption: "So glad to have you by my side. Some people just don't understand what real love is. "

My heart didn't just break. It disintegrated.