his “best friend,” and the quiet saboteur of our relationship.

She inserted herself into everything—our plans, our conversations, even our arguments. Ethan brushed it off. “She’s harmless.” But she wasn’t. She was possessive, manipulative, and always just close enough to take my place. When I was diagnosed with uterine fibroids, I told Ethan. He promised he’d be there. Instead, Leah cried “suicidal” again—and he vanished.

Later, Leah called me: “You’ll never mean as much to him as I do.” That was it. I ended it. Then, just before surgery, Thomas—one of Ethan’s friends—showed up. Not for Ethan. For me. He stayed. Drove me to appointments. Sat in silence when I couldn’t speak. And when Ethan tried to crawl back, I didn’t flinch.

“I’m in bed with your best friend,” I told him. “Just wanted to see what the fuss was about.” Thomas backed me. Ethan melted down. But I didn’t budge. “We’re done. Period.” Now? No Ethan. No Leah. Just peace. And someone who shows up. And honestly, that’s all I ever needed.