Love made her build a life for Rose — betrayal made her come back to destroy it
Meryl sat behind the wheel of her car, perfectly hidden by darkness and the shadow of a wide-branched maple that crowded the sidewalk.
Patience, please! She told herself.
She had been in that exact position for three hours, her legs had gone numb. Her eyes were fixed on the dark silver gate ahead, occasionally drifting to the right. That was where she expected her target to appear.
Targets. Correction. Targets. Because it was two people, goddammit.
The pain in her chest flared again. It had been like this for two months, ever since she found out. When she confronted her lover, she had been so nonchalant. So unfazed. It shocked her.
How can you love someone and still act so indifferent to their pain? To their suffering?
The worst part was knowing she truly did not care.
All the memories. The shared dreams. The laughter. The promises. Meryl forced herself not to dwell on them. The ache in her chest was becoming unbearable. She was here because she needed answers. Her lover, pardon, ex-lover, owed her that much.
Closure, Rose. That’s all I want.
The incessant pain needed to be understood, named, dissected. And tonight, she was going to get her answers.
She rolled her shoulders and noticed the stiffness there. She had been leaning against the steering wheel for so long that her upper back throbbed. The leather seat beneath her had grown warm and sticky in the humid night air.
Relax, babe. All this will be over soon.
She slumped back, wriggling her toes inside her heels for circulation. Her windows were tinted. The engine was off. The only sounds were distant traffic and the faint hum of insects gathering around the streetlight at the corner.
Her eyes closed, and her mind drifted back. Way back.
She was thirteen when her cousin Anne, fifteen, came to stay with them for the summer. Anne was what adults liked to call a troubled teen. Introduced to drugs and alcohol too early. Suspended twice. Always angry at someone. She had recently declared she was dropping out of school. Her parents, exhausted by her late nights and mood swings, sent her to the city to live with Meryl’s family. A change of scenery might help, they said. Distance from “bad influence.”
“Meryl, my parents think I’m being influenced by bad people,” Anne had laughed one afternoon, sprawled across the bed. “I am the bad influence. Other parents should be scared of me.”
Meryl soon understood why her mother had been hesitant. Anne did not behave like a guest. She moved through the house like she owned it. Loud. Careless. Alive.
And at night, they shared a bed.
The first time Anne slid her hand under Meryl’s nightgown, Meryl froze. The house was quiet. The ceiling fan creaked above them. She could hear her parents’ television murmuring in the living room before it finally clicked off.
Anne’s fingers traced slow circles on the inside of her thigh.
“Meryl, you see these two fingers? Wonder why the nails are so short?” Anne whispered. “I use them on my girlfriends at school. Why do you think I got expelled? I was the dyke every girl wanted. Mrs. Smooth Operator.”
At first, it disgusted her. This was her cousin. It was wrong. But curiosity crept in where disgust had been.
What is the worst that could happen? It’s not like I’ll get pregnant.
One night she didn’t resist when Anne lifted her gown. She didn’t stop her when her hands moved higher, brushing over her budding breasts. The sensation startled her. It was unfamiliar but electric. When their lips met, something inside her unlocked.
Anne pulled the gown over her head. In the dim light leaking through the curtains, Meryl saw her own skin differently. Her nipples tightened under Anne’s gaze. When Anne slid her underwear down, Meryl hesitated for only a second.
She was embarrassed by how young her body still looked, how little it had grown into itself. But Anne did not hesitate. She parted her gently and began touching her with slow confidence. Meryl bit back a sound. Her parents were asleep in the next room.
When Anne’s mouth followed, Meryl had to press her fist against her lips to keep quiet.
So this is what heaven feels like? she thought. This is the forbidden fruit they warn you about? And they expect me never to taste it again?
When Anne left at the end of summer, she hugged her tightly.
“Meryl, I’ll miss you. You’re my favorite. I promise to write every weekend. You’re so beautiful. Don’t let anyone take advantage of you. Don’t let any man just touch you. You’re too precious.”
The ache she felt when Anne disappeared was identical to the one tightening in her chest now. She came home from school one afternoon and found her gone. No note. No warning.
Anne never wrote.
Years later, Meryl saw her at a wedding, draped in gold jewelry beside a wealthy oil tycoon, a one-year-old balanced on her hip. Anne laughed as if nothing had ever happened.
Was I just an experiment? Meryl had wondered. Or did I matter?
She never got to ask. Anne moved abroad soon after.
But Anne had introduced her to something she could not unlearn. Something that refused to be buried under boyfriends and polite dinners and mediocre sex.
Ten years later, she met Rose.
She had been sitting alone in a diner, drafting a breakup text to her boyfriend. Four months of boredom had drained her. No spark. No chemistry. The sex uninspired and mechanical. She wanted out. She was only twenty-eight.
The diner smelled of fried oil and cheap coffee. The vinyl booths were cracked at the edges. A bell chimed every time the door opened. She was digging through her bag for a notebook when she heard a soft voice ask for her order.
When she looked up, the sentence she had been meaning to type vanished from her mind.
The woman standing in front of her had a face that did not belong in that place. Warm golden skin. Clear eyes. A mouth that curved easily into a smile that felt private.
Her gaze dropped to the name tag.
Rose.
“Milk tea and a slice of chocolate cake,” Meryl said, clearing her throat.
***
She blinked and forced herself back to the present, scanning the area.
Did she miss them? How long had she been distracted?
Her eyes lifted to the second-floor window across the street. Still dark. No movement. A subway rumbled somewhere beneath the pavement, faint but familiar. Even at this hour, the city refused to sleep.
She exhaled and leaned back in her seat.
The rental car smelled faintly of synthetic leather and stale air freshener. Not the most comfortable, but comfort was not part of the assignment. She had chosen a common make, a white Toyota. Anonymous and unmemorable, the kind of car that dissolved into traffic.
Now she understood why people paid obscene amounts for German and American machines. She missed her Lexus.
Her gaze drifted to the dashboard. Her fingers brushed the small metallic object resting there, cool and patient. She sat in total darkness. No interior lights. No phone screen. Even the engine was off.
Do not draw attention. Do not ruin the plan.
Her eyes fluttered shut again. Back to the diner.
She could see Rose moving toward the counter, hips swaying gently as she carried a tray. Rose was small but curvy. Back home they would call her “a laptop,” slim at the top and generous at the base. Perfectly shaped calves, round hips, a narrow waist. Men stared openly. Women too. She seemed unaware of it.
What was someone like her doing in a place like that?
I have to save her, Meryl thought. She doesn’t belong here.
At the end of that first meal, she left a heavy tip. She did the same every day after that. Generosity became ritual.
This rose does not belong in a dusty diner with cracked vinyl booths and chipped mugs. She belongs somewhere refined. Elevated.
Eventually, she gathered the courage to ask her out. She was ecstatic when Rose agreed. When they made it official, Meryl felt triumphant.
It was not a conventional romance. Yes, there were flowers, chocolates, weekend movies, park walks, even vacations. But beneath it all, Meryl was building something.
Rose was her investment. Her most prized asset.
First, get her out of that diner and away from the leering regulars. Then open a business for her. Whatever she wanted. Move her into a luxury apartment uptown while she completed her bachelor’s degree, fully funded. New clothes. Jewelry. A curated life.
I will elevate her, Meryl promised herself. I will give her everything.
Five years later, things were going well.
Until they were not.
After graduation, Rose landed a position with a multinational firm. The office tower had glass walls and a lobby that smelled of polished marble and money. Soon after, she began to change.
Messages went unanswered. Calls straight to voicemail. Excuses. Distance. A chill Meryl could not thaw. Then one evening, Meryl came home to find the apartment half empty.
Rose was gone.
The business had already been shut down, supposedly because of low traffic during COVID. At the time, Meryl had believed it. Then she heard the truth. Rose had moved in with her campus sweetheart. Confused and heartbroken, Meryl confronted her outside an aerobics studio. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as people filtered past them.
And what did Rose say?
That she had used her for traction.
That she never truly loved her.
That she wanted the education, the apartment, the connections. The safety net.
She said she was grateful. She just did not want Meryl to find out the way she did. She had planned to leave quietly.
Leave quietly?
Meryl blinked back to the present.
Beautiful Miss Rose was moving forward with her life while every breath Meryl took scraped inside her chest. This was the reward for generosity. For sacrifice. Movement caught her eye. That silhouette. That laugh. That walk.
Rose.
She was walking beside a tall, broad-shouldered man. Even in the dim streetlight, he looked polished. Expensive coat. Easy confidence.
So this is your type now?
Her thoughts turned sharp.
Not into cat food anymore? Was that all I was? A stepping stone?
She felt heat rise in her throat.
A girl from the slums, thinking she could outmaneuver me.
Her hand found the cold metallic object again. She slid it into her waistband. It felt heavier than before. For a fraction of a second, she hesitated.
I just want to talk.
Finding Rose had not been difficult. She documented her life online in curated fragments. Meryl had followed the trail for days. As the couple approached the silver gate of the townhouse, Meryl stepped out of the car and moved after them. Her footsteps were silent on the pavement.
She waited until they reached the door.
“Rose! ROSE!”
A gasp.
“No, Meryl, stop! It’s not what it looks like, no — ”
BANG. BANG. Click. BANG.
***
The next day’s headlines read:
Headline 1: “Attempted Murder-Suicide Claims the Life of One, Leaves Another in Critical Condition in Upper Manhattan.”
Headline 2: “Daughter of Prominent Businessman Caught in ‘Love Gone Sour’ Tragedy.”
The LGBTQ+ Community mourns the loss of one of their own in a senseless crime. The victim, recently diagnosed with cancer, was returning home with her cousin after a family day out.
