My Boyfriend Gave Our Home Access Card To My Best Friend Chapter 04

My Boyfriend Gave Our Home Access Card To My Best Friend Chapter 04

Before I could make it to the appointment, I went viral.

The video showed me hauling bags up seventeen floors every day, stopping to lean against the wall and catch my breath. The caption told a different story.

[Side chick squats in wife’s home for FOUR YEARS. Now she’s playing the victim to steal her man.]

A screenshot of the building records listed Vanessa as Mrs. Cole. I was the other woman who’d invaded their

home and refused to leave.

When I returned to the office to collect some personal documents, an egg struck my forehead before I even

reached the entrance. Sticky, foul-smelling yolk slid down my face.

“Homewrecking slut!”

“You steal her husband and bully her? Why don’t you just die?”

People closed in around me, shoving phones inches from my face. Someone spat at me. Someone else

pulled at my clothes.

Protecting my stomach, I reached for my phone with a shaking hand. “I’m not the other woman! Ethan and I

have been together for seven years-”

“Claire!”

Ethan pushed through the crowd and forced my phone down. Vanessa followed, her eyes red from crying,

and the abuse around us grew louder when people saw her.

He immediately tucked her against him and warned me under his breath, “Just admit it for now.”

I thought I’d misheard. “What?”

“Nessa’s mother is still in the hospital. She can’t handle people attacking her online.” He frowned as if the

answer should have been obvious. “You’ve always been strong. Take the heat for her for a few days. Once

things calm down, I’ll clear your name.”

I looked at the man I’d loved for seven years and felt my blood turn cold. “She can’t take it, so I deserve to be called a homewrecker? I’m the one who’s been with you for seven years, Ethan!”

“I’m asking you to put up with it for a little while!” he snapped. “You’ve already pushed Nessa to the edge.

Does someone have to die before you’re satisfied?”

The crowd surged again. In the crush, a hand slammed into my abdomen, and pain tore through me.

I couldn’t breathe. I clutched Ethan’s sleeve. “Ethan, help me… I’m preg-”

Vanessa pressed a hand to her forehead and sagged against him. “Ethan, I feel dizzy.”

He pried my hand loose and held her close. “Hang on, Claire. I’ll get Nessa somewhere safe. I’ll be right

back!”

He lifted her and hurried into the building without looking back. A second later, someone shoved me hard to

the ground.

My lower belly struck the concrete steps. Warm blood soaked through my skirt, and at last the crowd fell

silent.

Before everything went dark, I saw Ethan through the glass doors. He was wiping Vanessa’s tears.

He never looked back.

When I woke, the hospital room smelled sharply of disinfectant. The doctor handed me a report with a quiet

sigh.

“I’m sorry. You lost the pregnancy.”

I’d already scheduled an abortion. Still, seeing the word “miscarriage” felt as though someone had hollowed

out my chest.

Choosing to end the pregnancy was mine to do. My baby still didn’t deserve to be abandoned like that by its

own father.

My phone lit up with Vanessa’s latest Instagram post. In the photograph, candles glowed while Ethan

tenderly cut her steak for her.

Vanessa: [Rough day, but at least someone’s always here to make it better.]

So much for “I’ll be right back.”

Neither I nor the baby I’d lost had mattered enough to make him turn around. I covered my face and cried

until my whole body shook.

Then a message from a recruiter appeared.

Recruiter: [Ms. Bennett, we’ve verified your project records. We’re prepared to help clear your name over the plagiarism allegations and offer you the position of project director at our Seabrook branch. Would you be

interested?]

Seabrook was more than twelve hundred miles away. I wiped my tears and typed a reply.

Claire: [Yes.]

After I was discharged, I went straight to the airport. Before boarding, I emailed the project source files, version history, and proof that Vanessa had passed my work off as hers to everyone at the company.

I also posted proof of my seven-year relationship with Ethan, records of my payments toward the apartment, and the complete recording of management admitting to the improper registration.

Last, I sent Ethan the miscarriage report. Then I pulled out my SIM card and dropped it into a trash can.

Seven years of love. Twelve years of friendship. Both were over.

I headed toward my new life without looking back.