My Boyfriend Chose Her. So Did My Two Best Friends. Chapter 07

My Boyfriend Chose Her. So Did My Two Best Friends. Chapter 07

“Hi, I’m looking for Cassidy Marsh.”

The receptionist stuck her head into the office to find me.

“There’s a guy downstairs, says he’s your friend.”

I set down the draft I was working on.

Weston had actually come.

He was standing outside the building entrance, wrinkled white button-down, dark circles under his eyes, hair

a mess, like he’d gone straight from the airport to a cab.

A shopping bag in his hand.

He saw me and took two steps forward, then stopped.

“You’ve lost weight.”

The first thing he said wasn’t accusatory. His tone was careful.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“You won’t answer my calls, won’t reply to my messages, deleted me, blocked me-what else was I supposed

to do besides come?”

“You could have not come.”

He looked at me, lips moving, like he was holding something back.

He held out the bag.

“For you. That paint set you said you wanted.”

I didn’t take it.

“Weston, I never said I wanted a paint set.”

He froze.

“You… didn’t you say in the group chat once-”

“That was Harlow. She said she wanted to try watercolor, needed a set of Holbein solid pans. You mixed us

up.”

His hand stayed frozen in mid-air, still holding the bag.

Two years.

And he’d tangled up the things I’d said with the things she’d said.

He couldn’t even tell anymore which memories belonged to me and which belonged to her.

“I…” He set the bag down. “Sorry, I mixed it up.”

“You didn’t just mix up one thing.”

“I know.”

I leaned against the doorframe, didn’t let him in.

“Weston, you don’t even know what I actually want. What are you doing here?”

“I came to tell you I was wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

He opened his mouth, eyes shifting.

“…I shouldn’t have left you out of the sunrise.”

“And then?”

“Shouldn’t have been so attentive to Harlow that it made you feel invisible.”

“What else?”

He went quiet.

Couldn’t continue.

Because he genuinely couldn’t list any more.

He didn’t remember I’d said I was scared of the dark. Didn’t remember my birthday getting swallowed by Harlow’s celebration. Didn’t remember the 103-degree fever, the solo ER visit. Didn’t remember my good news

getting buried under cake photos.

All he remembered was the sunrise.

Because that was the last straw. The only one he’d actually noticed.

The nine hundred and ninety-nine before it, he’d never seen a single one.

“Weston, go home.”

“Cassidy-”

“I said go home.”

“You won’t even give me a chance to talk?”

“I gave you two years of chances.”

His eyes reddened.

It was the first time I’d ever seen Weston’s eyes go red.

Two years together, we’d fought, gone through cold silences, I’d cried plenty of times-he never had.

He’d always been the one who said that’s enough, stop making a scene, there you go again.

Always righteous, always certain he’d done nothing wrong.

Now, standing outside an office building on the other side of the world, his eyes were red.

But there was nothing left in me.

No ache. No wavering. Not even satisfaction.

Just nothing.

“Cassidy,” his voice cracked, “I really do know I was wrong. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll cut Harlow off

“Don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t need to cut off anyone. There was never anything to cut, between you and Harlow, was there? You

always said she was just a friend.”

“She…”

“If she’s just a friend, keep being friends. It’s not my business anymore.”

“Cassidy, is your mind made up? Completely?”

“Yes.”

He stepped back, like the word had physically pushed him.

“You won’t give me any way to fix this?”

“What do you mean by fix it? Fly here, say sorry, and go back, and everything’s the same as before?”

“It won’t be the same, I’ll really change-”

“Weston, you say that every time.”

“Last Christmas you forgot our plans and went to shoot winter photos with Harlow instead. You said you’d

change. On Valentine’s Day, you left me sitting alone at the table while you helped her pack up the leftovers.

You said you’d pay more attention next time.”

“Have you ever changed? Not once.”

He stood there, head down.

The bag sat by his feet, a corner of the paint box packaging showing.

Not what I wanted.

Just like everything else he’d given me these two years.

Looked like something. Was never actually the right thing.

“Go.”

He looked up.

“I’m not leaving. Not until we actually talk this through.”

“Then stand there.”

I turned and pushed through the office’s glass door.

Three steps in, he called after me.

“Cassidy Marsh! You’re just going to do this to me? I flew a dozen hours to find you-”

I stopped.

Turned back and looked at him once.

“You flew a dozen hours to find me and you think that makes you the wronged one?”

“Do you know I made calls for two years, sent messages for two years, said things for two years, and you

never once heard a word of it?”

“A dozen hours doesn’t add up to anything.”

He didn’t say anything else.

I walked into the building.

The glass door closed behind me.

I didn’t look back.

Sloane was waiting at my desk.

“You don’t look great.”

“I’m fine.”

“That guy leave?”

“Don’t know.”

She poured me a glass of water and set it by my hand.

“Drink. Your lips are white.”

I picked up the glass. My fingers trembled slightly.

Not from sadness.

From the fact that this might be the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life.

It’s not leaving someone that’s hard.

It’s leaving someone you’ve grown used to appeasing.

For someone who’s spent their whole life saying “okay”, saying “it’s fine”, saying “I don’t mind”-saying one single “no” takes everything you’ve got.