You open Instagram and there it is—her story.

Lisa. Standing in front of the mirror. Peace sign. White tee. Jeans hugging her hips just right. Hair perfect, casual like she didn’t spend twenty minutes making sure it looked effortless. But your eyes don’t land on her first.

They land on the roses.

Bright yellow. Perfectly arranged. Sitting just far enough in frame to look accidental—but you know her too well.

And the caption?

“Spoiled 💛💛✨” no tag. no context. no need.

Your stomach twists.

She knows yellow roses are your favorite. She’s the one who called them “sunflowers in disguise” that day you were crying on the kitchen floor. And now—after the fight, after the silence, after you stormed out because she said you were “too much”—now she’s posting that?

Your chest tightens with jealousy. Not because someone else gave them to her. But because you know no one did.

She bought them herself.

She staged this.