Chapter 3

Alycia Lawson (POV)

The two pendants lay in my trembling hands, silent witnesses to a betrayal that felt like a punch to the gut. The silver wave from Carmelita, the silver mountain from Kyle. Identical in style, design, down to the tiny, glittering diamonds. They weren't just gifts; they were matching halves of a whole, designed to intertwine, to belong together. Sea and mountains, forever connected. It was the same design I had chosen for Kyle weeks ago, a symbol of our enduring love. Now, it was undeniably theirs.

Carmelita' s face was a mask of panic, her eyes darting from the necklaces to Kyle, then to me, pleadingly. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

I felt a cold calm descend upon me, a strange, terrifying detachment. My voice, when it came out, was surprisingly steady, a little too bright. "Oh my goodness! What a coincidence! You two have such similar taste!" I forced a laugh, a brittle, high-pitched sound that didn't reach my eyes. "These are absolutely beautiful. And so perfectly themed together!"

I carefully took the wave pendant from its box and fastened it around my neck. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, I picked up the mountain pendant and, despite the suffocating lump in my throat, put it on top of the wave. Two symbols, now resting on my chest, a heavy weight against my failing heart.

"See?" I chirped, my voice still unnervingly cheerful. "They look perfect together! It's like you both knew exactly what I wanted. Thank you both, so much." I even blew them a kiss, a desperate, pathetic attempt to maintain the illusion of happiness.

I pulled out my phone, forcing myself to smile for a selfie, the two necklaces glinting on my collarbone. "Okay, everyone smile! Birthday picture!" The flash went off, momentarily blinding us, capturing a moment of forced joy that was anything but.

The air in the room remained thick, heavy, despite my desperate attempts to lighten it. The tension was a palpable thing, a suffocating blanket. Kyle's jaw was clenched, a muscle working furiously. His eyes were dark, filled with a mixture of guilt and something else I couldn't quite decipher-fear, perhaps, of what I knew, or what I would do.

Carmelita, ever the quick thinker, though clearly flustered, cleared her throat. "Well, you know, great minds think alike! I was telling Kyle about how much you loved the ocean, and he must have just... picked up on the theme, too." Her explanation was flimsy, transparent, but she clung to it like a lifeline.

Kyle just nodded, his gaze fixed on the table, offering no further explanation, no more lies. His silence was a scream. He let her carry the weight of their deception alone. My heart ached, not just for the betrayal, but for the weakness I saw in him.

My mind reeled, a whirlwind of pain and confusion. It was confirmed. Undeniable. They weren't just emotionally entangled; they were intertwined, their lives, their gifts, their secrets. And I, unknowingly, had become the thread that bound them. The realization was a cold, hard stone in my stomach.

"Well, this calls for a toast, doesn't it?" I declared, my voice still unnaturally bright. I grabbed a bottle of champagne from the cooler, my hands shaking only slightly. "To twenty-five! And to... friendship." The last word was a bitter echo.

I poured three glasses, the bubbles fizzing merrily, a stark contrast to the despair bubbling inside me. I drank deeply, letting the sharp burn of the alcohol cut through the raw pain in my chest. I wanted to feel nothing. I wanted to drown the betrayal, the cancer, the shattering reality of my life, in a sea of blissful oblivion.

Carmelita, perhaps trying to match my pace or escape her own guilt, drank just as eagerly. Soon, her usual fiery energy began to wane, replaced by a slightly slurred speech and heavy eyelids. She was the first to succumb. Her head lolled to the side, then she collapsed onto the couch cushions, a soft, incoherent mumble escaping her lips.

"...Kyle... always knew... you'd be good for her... for me..." Her words trailed off, lost in the depths of her drunken slumber.

My heart wrenched. I wanted to ask her what she meant. Good for whom? What did she know? But my throat was tight, choked with unshed tears. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.

Kyle, with a practiced ease that made my stomach churn, gently lifted Carmelita. He scooped her up effortlessly, her head resting against his shoulder, her arm draped loosely around his neck. It was a familiar, intimate embrace. One he had once reserved for me.

"I'll take her to the guest room," he murmured, his voice soft, almost tender, as he looked down at Carmelita. He didn't meet my gaze. "She's out cold."

I just nodded, my eyes fixed on their retreating forms. He carried her carefully, as if she were made of fragile glass, his steps light and purposeful. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the silent living room, the champagne glasses still sparkling on the table, the ruined cake a distant, forgotten memory.

They belonged together. It was clear now. The way he held her, the way she spoke his name even in her sleep. Their connection was undeniable, a silent force pushing me out of their orbit. I was the relic, the placeholder, the one who had simply overstayed her welcome. And I couldn' t fight it. I was too tired. Too sick. Too broken.

I walked over to the coffee table, picking up a slice of the plain vanilla cake Kyle had brought. It tasted bland, uninspired, like everything else in my life had become. I took one bite, then set it down, the sweetness turning to ash in my mouth. My appetite, already diminished by the cancer, had completely vanished.

I retreated to my bedroom, closing the door softly behind me. I wasn't packing to leave Kyle. I was packing for a different kind of journey. One I had been preparing for, in secret, for months. I opened my closet, pulling out a small duffel bag.

As I began to clear out some of my old belongings, my hand brushed against a hidden compartment at the back of my nightstand drawer. Inside, carefully tucked away, were miniature objects, symbols of our shared memories: a tiny seashell from our first beach trip, a miniature telescope from the night we watched a meteor shower, a pressed flower from the garden we' d started together. Dozens of them, each one a tangible piece of our seven years.

I smiled, a genuine, bittersweet smile. We had so many beautiful memories, so many shared dreams. My heart ached for the purity of that love, for the innocence of those days. I traced the outline of a tiny wooden bird, a gift from Kyle on our first anniversary. He had carved it himself.

My fingers brushed against a faint, almost invisible line on the back of the bird. A tiny, etched script. My heart hammered against my ribs. I turned it over. And then I saw it.

It wasn't a flaw in the wood. It was writing. Tiny, meticulously carved words.

Carmelita laughed today. That deep, throaty laugh that lights up the room. Alycia was quiet, as usual. I sometimes wonder what she' s thinking.

My breath hitched. More. There was more. I picked up another item, a miniature lighthouse. Words on the back:

Carmelita told me about her dream to open a foster home. Her passion is incredible. I feel a pull towards her strength, her fire. Alycia always seems so fragile, so delicate. I want to protect both of them, but in different ways.

My hands were shaking uncontrollably now. I opened another, then another. Each one, a tiny journal of his shifting affections. His complaints about my quiet nature, his admiration for Carmelita' s vivacity, his growing concern for her, his protectiveness. His love.

Carmelita cried today, talking about her past. My heart ached for her. I wanted to just hold her, tell her everything would be okay. Alycia was sleeping. She always seems to be sleeping lately.

The dates were staggered, spanning months, even years. His feelings for her hadn' t blossomed overnight. They had grown, slowly, insidiously, right under my nose, while I was so focused on battling my own silent war. Each tiny carving, a confession of emotional infidelity, a chisel chipping away at my heart.

The most recent one, carved just a few days ago, on the back of a miniature mountain peak. The other half of his gift.

I know I need to be honest. It' s not fair to Alycia. I love her, I do, but... something has shifted. I think I' m in love with Carmelita. And she... I think she might feel the same way. I need to tell Alycia. Soon.

The words blurred before my eyes. Tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging. He was going to tell me. He was going to break up with me. But he hadn't. Not yet. He was just waiting for the right moment. Waiting to rip my heart out, piece by painful piece.

A sudden, violent cough tore through me, racking my body, doubling me over. My lungs burned, a sharp, metallic taste filling my mouth. When the spasm finally subsided, I looked down at my hand. It was flecked with blood. Bright red, stark against my pale skin.

I frantically wiped at it, trying to hide the evidence, trying to compose myself. But it was too late. My vision blurred.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Kyle stood there, silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. "Alycia? Are you asleep?" His voice was hesitant, laced with a strange mixture of concern and something else... guilt?