Chapter 7

Britney' s smirk was sickening. "So, Katelyn," she purred, her voice dripping with malicious satisfaction, "Did you lose again?"

I looked at the faint red mark on her forehead, a testament to her theatrical fall. A dull ache settled in my chest. "Yes, Britney," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I lost." I had lost the moment Graham chose to ignore my fears, the moment he chose her comfort over my trust. I had lost the moment he stopped fighting for us, or even acknowledging me.

"Good," she said, her smile widening. "So, for Graham's birthday next week, who do you think he'll choose? Me, or the girl who pushes his friends?"

I met her gaze, my eyes cold and steady. "He doesn't have to choose, Britney. I'm choosing for him. You can have him." My words were a calm, final declaration.

She blinked, surprised by my easy capitulation. "What?"

"Graham hates being alone on his birthday," I continued, ignoring her shock, my voice a detached monologue. "He's always afraid no one will care." I squeezed my eyes shut for a brief moment. I had once flown halfway across the country, just to be with him on his birthday, just to prevent him from feeling that profound loneliness. Now, I was giving this information, this vulnerability, to his new conquest. The irony was a bitter pill.

"Make him feel loved, Britney," I advised, my voice a hollow echo. "Make him feel like he's the center of your world. He's very good at making you feel like he's the only one who can save you. But he needs to feel saved too, sometimes." I paused, a faint, sad smile touching my lips. "He's very good at giving, but he needs to receive. He's incredibly insecure, beneath all that bravado. If you make him feel like he's truly adored, truly indispensable, he'll never leave you."

Britney stared at me, a flicker of suspicion in her eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Believe it or not, Britney, I just want him to be happy. And I want to be left alone." My voice was weary. "Whether you believe me or not is up to you."

A small, irrational part of me, a tiny ember of hope refusing to die, still held onto the fantasy that he would see through her. That he would eventually realize what he had lost. I needed to know, with absolute certainty, that he wouldn't. That he truly deserved the misery he had created. This was my last, desperate test.

The next morning, Graham's phone, still on the nightstand, buzzed relentlessly. Notifications from Britney. Message after message. Photos of lavish birthday decorations, a gourmet meal, a perfectly wrapped gift. She was executing my advice, but with her usual flair for the dramatic. She was trying to lure him with grand gestures, not with the quiet, understanding companionship I had suggested.

Graham, however, ignored them. He was bustling around the apartment, making coffee, humming a tune. He turned to me, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey, Katelyn. Ready for that cafe? And maybe the art gallery today? Just us." He looked hopeful, almost desperate.

A cold rain was falling outside, mirroring the chill in my heart. He held an umbrella over my head as we walked, his hand now clutching mine tightly, as if afraid I'd disappear. He led me down a narrow, cobbled street, his smile faltering as he pointed to a small tea shop. "Britney and I found this place last week," he murmured, his voice a little too casual. "They have the best Earl Grey."

My stomach clenched. Our street. Our memories. Now hers.

Further down, he paused by a small, hidden garden, its autumn leaves shimmering with rain. "This is where Britney and I came to relax after our exams," he said, a wistful look in his eyes. "We talked for hours."

He then showed me a quaint stone bridge. "Look," he said, pointing to a small, almost invisible carving on the stone. "Britney and I carved our initials here. Yours are buried under some moss, but I can still find them." He laughed, a nervous, hollow sound. Our initials. And hers, fresh and new, right beside them. I had seen the chat. He had carved her initials next to his own, and mine had been erased, swallowed by time, just like our love.

My feet felt heavy, each step a struggle. I stopped abruptly, turning to face him. "Graham," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "What was your birthday wish last year?"

He blinked, surprised by the sudden question. "My wish?" He chuckled, a genuine, unforced sound. "Of course I remember. It was..."

Before he could finish, his phone buzzed again, a frantic vibration against his leg. He pulled it out, his eyes instantly drawn to the screen.

Britney.

The message flashed, stark and demanding: "Graham, please. I don't want to be alone. Come back."

My hand, which had been fumbling for the small velvet box in my coat pocket, froze. The simple, heartfelt ring I had chosen for him, the one I planned to give him as a surprise today, remained hidden.

His face paled. He glanced at me, then at his phone, a battle raging in his eyes. It lasted only a second. Then, his thumb flew across the screen, typing a rapid reply.

"Katelyn," he said, his voice strained, avoiding my gaze. "I... I have to go. Something just came up in the lab. A major emergency. I really can't miss it."

The words, the same hollow lie he used every time, were a dull, familiar ache. He was leaving. Again. For her. Again. I knew. I knew he had made his choice. And it wasn't me.