Chapter 5: Rewriting the Script

No need to guess, Jason would definitely go comfort Rachel.

The comments started flying again:

“God, am I the only one who thinks the supporting character is kind of cool?”

“Not just you, I feel the same way. The supporting character is so cool and decisive.”

“This main character is way too much of a delicate flower.”

“So what if she is? Rachel has the boyfriend to rely on, she has the right.”

“Ooh, the boyfriend is comforting the main character—so sweet.”

Let those two losers be together, just don’t get in my way.

As I walked, I took the chance to carefully read through the comments and sorted out my thoughts.

I scrolled through the mental feed, feeling a mix of vindication and exhaustion. Their voices faded into background static as I replayed every step of the day.

Turns out, I’m the tragic stepping-stone supporting character in a campus novel.

I imagined myself as the sidekick who never gets the happy ending, whose sole purpose is to build up the main characters. It was a script I’d played for too long.

My main job is to be a doormat for the underdog boyfriend, and after marriage, to help him in every way without complaint.

Jason used my lab data to publish a top-tier paper, which won him the favor of a big shot. After that, he kept using my feelings for him to get help with experiments and paper edits. I strained my eyes so much I developed a serious eye condition before I was thirty, but when I got sick, Jason ignored me and even let my child call Rachel ‘mom.’

The whole thing played out in my mind like a bleak Lifetime movie marathon—one I was sick of starring in.

In the end, I died of depression, while he and Rachel lived happily ever after.

Really, the loyal wife helps him rise to success, and I deliver both the loyal wife and the mistress to him.

It’s the American tragedy you never see on Instagram: the supporting character left behind in someone else’s love story.

The next day, as soon as I entered the classroom, Jason walked straight up to me.

The classroom was full of the usual Monday morning groans and the sound of coffee cups hitting desks. Jason’s face was pinched, his eyes darting around as he zeroed in on me. I tucked my hair behind my ear and buried my nose in my textbook, determined not to let him ruin my day.

I couldn’t be bothered to look up and kept reading my book.

But he seemed a bit anxious.

“Hailey, I can forgive what you did yesterday, but you have to apologize to Rachel and pay her double the money.”

His voice echoed off the cinder block walls, more desperate than angry now, as if he still thought he could control the narrative. I didn’t even blink. All around, classmates looked up, some whispering, one person holding up a phone to film. For once, I was the main character in my own story—and I wasn’t about to hand the script back.