That night, I curled up under the blanket and shook with pain until my whole body was slick with sweat.
I took a sleeping pill and lied to myself.
If I could fall asleep, maybe it wouldn’t hurt.
Half-conscious, I drifted into a dream.
I dreamed about when I was twenty.
Back then Ethan was poor. So poor it hurt to look at him sometimes.
But he loved me.
He loved me desperately.
That year, on my birthday, we passed a café and saw a couple sitting by the window. The girl had a tiny white cake in front of her, delicate and beautiful and expensive-looking. I stopped walking and stared too long.
It was snowing that day.
I remember scooping up a little pile of snow into my gloved hands and grinning at Ethan.
“Ethan, look,” I teased. “Doesn’t this look like a cake?”
He froze.
Then he pulled me into his arms so suddenly I nearly dropped the snow.
I didn’t see it then, but later I realized his eyes had gone red.
Three days later, he showed up outside my dorm with a real cake in his hands.
A whole one.
The bakery sold them for two hundred and fifty-eight dollars.
To buy it, Ethan had spent an entire day handing out flyers in the freezing wind, thousands of them, for less than a hundred dollars.
When he handed me that cake, the skin on his fingers was cracked raw from the cold.
I took one look at his hands and burst into tears.
I yelled at him through my sobbing, “Your hands are supposed to hold books. They’re supposed to write exams and build your future. They’re not supposed to be ruined just to make me happy.”
I told him I didn’t deserve a cake that expensive.
He frowned immediately and answered without hesitation.
“Ava, you’re the best girl in the world. You deserve every good thing in it.”
That day, I cried while eating cake until I could barely taste it.
Years had passed since then. I no longer remembered the flavor.
But I still knew one thing for sure.
I had never eaten a cake that tasted better.
When I woke up, my phone was ringing.
Still half-asleep, I answered it.
“Ava,” Ethan said on the other end.
My lips curved faintly.
In a sleepy voice, I called him by the old nickname I hadn’t used in years.
“Ethan… it’s snowing. I want cake.”
Before he could answer, I rolled over and fell asleep again.
When I woke up for real, it was past midnight.
I was starving.
I went to the kitchen to look for something to eat, only to find Ethan standing by the floor-to-ceiling window in the dark.
He leaned there lazily with a cigarette in his mouth, staring at me.
For a second, I thought I was still dreaming.
Ethan had bought Chloe a large apartment months ago. They lived there together most of the time. She cooked for him, waited for him, acted sweet and warm and domestic.
He hadn’t come home in forever.
But there he was.
I lowered my eyes and tried to walk past him.
He reached out and caught my wrist.
His brows drew together as he looked at me.
“Why have you lost so much weight?”
His voice was gentle.
So gentle it made me freeze.
For one cruel second, it sounded like he still loved me.
I came back to myself and yanked my arm away.
“Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you?”
He glanced down at his empty hand.
His expression cooled.
I kept walking toward the dining table—and then I saw it.
A cake sat there, candles already lit.
So that phone call earlier hadn’t been a dream after all.
I’d said I wanted cake.
And Ethan had gone to buy one.
What was this supposed to be?
A peace offering?
An apology?
A reminder?
But I was dying.
I didn’t need cake anymore.
And I definitely didn’t need Ethan.
Without a word, I picked up the cake and threw it straight into the trash.
The room went still.
Then Ethan moved.
He crossed the distance in two steps, slammed me against the wall, and snarled through clenched teeth, “Ava, are you screwing with me?”
I looked him right in the eye and smiled.
“Yes, Ethan. I am. So what?”
I wanted to hurt him.
So I did.
“I said I wanted cake, and you ran out and bought cake. Why are you still so pathetic after all these years?”
I watched the color drain from his face.
He crushed out the cigarette, grabbed me, and dragged me into the bedroom. Then he threw me down on the bed.
He’d lost his mind.
He was like some wild animal finally slipping its leash.
He yanked at the straps of my nightgown, rough and furious, and panic shot through me. I hit him with clenched fists.
“Ethan, you bastard! Don’t touch me! You disgust me!”
He trapped my legs under his weight and bit down hard at the side of my neck.
The pain made tears spill out immediately.
Against my ear, he growled, “Would it kill you to just soften for me once? Do you know how long I waited for you to come after me? Do you know how happy I was when you said you wanted cake? And then you turned around and made a joke out of me?”
He lifted his head.
His eyes were red.
I glared right back at him through tears.
In the dark room, neither of us spoke.
Neither of us was willing to surrender first.
He lowered his face slowly, closer and closer to mine, until he was almost kissing me—
Then his phone rang.
Chloe.
He paused.
Then answered.
Her crying voice came through clearly enough for me to hear.
“Mr. Shaw… did you really choose Ava over me? I thought you liked me. I’m at a bar. I drank too much. Some guy here keeps harassing me. I’m scared. Can you come get me? Please?”
Ethan said nothing at first.
He just looked at me.
Then he smiled coldly and gave his order.
“Beg me to stay.”
I stared at him.
He spoke more softly.
“Ava. Beg me. If you ask me to stay, I won’t go.”
It was almost funny.
Maybe he’d forgotten that years ago, I had already thrown away my pride and begged him once.
Ethan, can we talk calmly?
Ethan, can we stop hurting each other?
Ethan, can we be together properly?
Ethan, can you be a little kinder to me?
That day, he had looked at me with the same cold smile and said three words I never forgot.
You don’t deserve it.
Those words had stayed buried in my heart for years.
Now, finally, I could return them.
I grabbed the front of his shirt and said slowly, clearly, “Ethan, you don’t deserve it.”
He went quiet.
Then he laughed once, bitterly, at himself.
He lifted the phone back to his ear.
“Wait for me,” he told Chloe. “I’m coming.”
Then he got up, left the room, and slammed the door behind him without looking back.
The next morning, photos of Ethan fighting another man over Chloe spread through our circle like wildfire.
For the first time, his affair wasn’t just whispered about.
It was everywhere.