The restaurant reservation was long canceled, the gift untouched in your bag. You stood in your apartment, arms crossed, waiting for him. When he finally arrived, the tension was suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “But Lucy was sick—what was I supposed to do?”

Your heart ached at his casual tone. “Sick? That’s your excuse? It was our anniversary, Liam! Two years, and you chose her over me. Again.”

“She’s my friend,” he shot back. “I couldn’t just leave her like that. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Blowing it out of proportion?” Your voice cracked, the anger barely masking the hurt. “Liam, do you even hear yourself? Every fight we have is about her. Every time, it’s Lucy. When will I matter enough for you to choose me?”

He stepped forward, his brows furrowing. “You do matter! You’re my girlfriend! She’s just—”

“Just what?” you interrupted, tears brimming. “Just a friend who can’t seem to stay out of our relationship? Do you know how humiliating it is to always feel like I’m second to her? She’s in love with you, Liam. And you’re too blind to see it.”

He shook his head, his frustration bubbling. “She’s not in love with me! She’s been my best friend since we were kids. You’re reading into things that aren’t there.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of joy. “I’m reading into things? She confessed to you, Liam. I saw it in her eyes when she looks at you. But you dismiss it every time, like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.”

“That’s not fair,” he snapped. “I’ve always put us first—”

“No, you haven’t!” you cut him off, your voice breaking as tears fell. “You haven’t, Liam. Not when it comes to her. You’re there for her in ways you’re not for me. And I’m so tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He stared at you, his words caught in his throat. For the first time, he saw the weight of his actions—the way your shoulders slumped, the pain in your eyes.

“I’m so done,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m done not being your number one.”