I was supposed to meet Ethan at the hospital by 9:00 a.m. He swore he’d be there, holding my hand before I went in for surgery. But as I sat alone in the back of a cab, trying his number over and over again, all I heard was the same message: “The number you have dialed is currently busy.” No texts. No missed calls. Just silence. And me, wondering why the man I loved had vanished.
When I finally checked into the hospital, he called—finally.
“Mia, I’m sorry… I really wanted to be there, but something happened. Leah called this morning crying. She said she was going to hurt herself. I didn’t know what to do.”
I didn’t yell. I didn’t argue. I just hung up. Because deep down, I knew—it was no coincidence. Leah had done this on purpose.
Let me explain who Leah is.
We used to work together. She was charming, a little too touchy, and always had something to say. I met Ethan at a group lunch—Leah’s idea, of course. And somewhere between appetizers and dessert, she decided she’d play Cupid.
“Ethan’s single. You’re single. You two have to go out,” she gushed.
It felt awkward, but a few days later Ethan messaged me. He was sweet, attentive, and clearly interested. And Leah? She made sure she stayed part of the process. She gave him tips, told him my favorite flowers, how I liked my coffee. At first, I thought it was cute.
But it quickly turned into something darker.
Every date, she’d find a way to insert herself. Always nearby. Always whispering in Ethan’s ear. Offering “advice.” If I voiced concern, I was labeled jealous or dramatic. She was always “just a friend.” And Ethan bought it.
Then came his birthday.
He rented a beach house and invited everyone. While I was in the kitchen sweating over dinner with the other girls, Leah breezed in and leaned over to me.
“Ethan doesn’t like pepper. And only eats shredded potatoes. He’s allergic to peanuts, too.”
I set the knife down. “Then maybe you should cook for him.”
She smiled, venom hidden beneath her lipstick. “I’m just the best friend. You’re the girlfriend. This is your moment to shine.”
Before I could say more, Ethan walked in, pulled me aside, and whispered, “Don’t be mad. Leah’s harmless. She’s like a dude in a girl’s body.”
She giggled, fake tears streaming. “Ethan! I wouldn’t be your friend anymore even if you begged!”
Then she ghosted him.
But after that, Ethan changed.
He grew distant. Clumsy. Forgetful. He poured vinegar into pasta. He forgot birthdays. And when I asked what was wrong, he blamed everything but her absence. But I knew. He missed her.
I asked him outright, “Are you still in this with me, or are you still grieving your best friend?”
He swore I was imagining it. Told me not to make him choose. That I was overreacting.
Two weeks later, I was diagnosed with uterine fibroids. Not fatal, but serious enough to need surgery. I was scared. I needed my partner. And Ethan promised he’d be there.
But when Leah cried “emergency,” he left me in the dust.
Shortly after his pathetic excuse of a phone call, she called.
“Mia, let’s clear something up,” she said, all ice and pride. “You wouldn’t even know Ethan if it weren’t for me. We never slept together. Never even kissed. But I’m more than a girlfriend—you don’t belong in his world.”
I was shaking. But I responded calmly.
“You’re right, Leah. You’re something else. The only woman I know who can latch onto someone else’s boyfriend and still act like she’s the victim. Congrats—you win. Tell Ethan we’re done. And remind him to stay as far from me as you do from self-awareness.”
I went into surgery alone. Or so I thought.
As they wheeled me in, someone ran up, breathless.
“Mia! Wait!”
It was Thomas. A mutual friend. Not especially close, but always kind.
“I heard about the surgery. I wanted to be here.”
“Did Ethan send you?”
“No. I came on my own.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I’m not here for him. I’m here for you.”
“Then prove it. Cut him off.”
Without hesitation, Thomas pulled out his phone, dialed Ethan, and said, “We’re not friends anymore. Don’t contact me again.”
Thomas stayed by my side through recovery. He brought me food. Laughed at my terrible TV choices. Listened without pushing. Never mentioned Ethan unless I did.
Then one day, I got a message from Leah—from a fake account, of course. A picture of her in bed with Ethan
“Sorry, sis. I guess he just couldn’t resist. Should’ve known better than to fall for someone I picked.”
I didn’t cry. I didn’t even flinch. My heart was already numb.
Eventually, Thomas and I grew closer. There was no pressure. No chaos. Just peace.
Then Ethan called.
“Mia… can we talk?”
I answered, deadpan. “Sure. I’m in bed. With your best friend. Just wanted to see what all the ‘nothing ever happened’ fuss was about.”