You sat alone at the little restaurant by the lake, your fingers tracing the rim of your untouched glass. The candle in the center of the table flickered, casting soft shadows across the white tablecloth. Three years. Three years of love.

Your phone buzzed, lighting up with a message from Mark.

“Hey, sorry, can’t make it tonight. Something came up.”

Something. You already knew what that “something” was. Or rather, who.

It wasn’t the first time Mark had blown you off for Rebecca, his so-called best friend. You had swallowed your jealousy for months, telling yourself it was nothing, that he loved you, that Rebecca was just a friend. And deep down, you knew that but you couldn’t stop the pang of disappointment and jealousy.