Charlotte’s apartment smelled like cinnamon candles. They flickered on the windowsill while rain tapped against the glass. It was a cold November night, and we were curled up on her worn blue couch — the one we’d dragged up three flights of stairs the day she moved in.
Charlotte and I had been best friends for fourteen years. We met when we were thirteen, both awkward, both figuring out skateboards and how to sneak sips of her dad’s beer. She was there when my mom got sick. She’d send me dumb memes at 2 a.m. and knew every dream I was too scared to say out loud. I thought nothing could come between us.
Until that night.
We were laughing about something ridiculous — a guy at my coffee shop job who kept asking for “expresso” — when she suddenly got quiet. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater. She wouldn’t look at me.
“Kieran,” she said, soft but serious, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
I sat up, heart sinking. Charlotte didn’t talk like that unless it was big.
“What’s going on, Char?”
She took a shaky breath. “I’ve been seeing Riley.”
Riley. My ex. The one who disappeared after a year of dating, left me hanging without an explanation. The one I…
