Chapter 3: Settling Old Scores

His friend snorted: “Now you want to pay her back after all these years? What about interest?”

The joke stung, but I forced a smile. Some wounds never really close.

Eli shot him a glare.

The look he gave could’ve frozen water. For a second, I saw the old Eli—the one who’d stand up for me, no matter what.

“Don’t mind him,” Eli said. “You don’t need to pay me.”

He tried to brush it off, but I could hear the strain in his voice. We both knew it wasn’t that simple.

I scratched my head. “I have to.”

It was more than money. It was about closure. About drawing a line under everything we’d been.

Back then, I spent Eli’s money like it was nothing. When he bought me stuff, I took it for granted.

I’d never thought twice about letting him pick up the check, never questioned where the money came from. We were a team, or so I believed.

I thought we were family. His money was mine, and someday, mine would be his.

We’d talked about sharing everything—bank accounts, dreams, even the future. I’d believed it all.

But now, we’re strangers. Gotta settle the books.

It felt transactional, but maybe that’s all we had left. A final reckoning before we both moved on.

Eli never gave me his account, but I still went to the bank and got a statement.

I stood in line, nervously tapping my foot, the teller giving me a polite but puzzled smile. It was a small town; everyone knew everyone’s business. I just wanted to get it over with.

Next day, I worked up the nerve, brought my card, and went to the hospital.

I rehearsed what I’d say, practiced in the mirror, tried to make it sound casual. My stomach was in knots the whole drive over.

But his room was empty.

The bed was made, flowers wilting on the windowsill. No sign of Eli, just the faint scent of antiseptic and something sweet—maybe the ghost of his cologne. I stood there for a minute, not sure what to do next.

Honestly, I knew he wouldn’t take it. I just wanted an excuse to see him again. Pathetic, I know.

I told myself it was about money, but really, I just wanted to see his face one more time. Maybe say goodbye the right way.

But he didn’t even give me that. The moment he saw me, he vanished.

He was always good at slipping away, leaving before anyone could ask him to stay.

Sometimes I wonder. What did I do wrong?

I replay every argument, every silence, trying to find the moment things broke. Maybe there wasn’t just one. Maybe it was a thousand little cracks I never saw coming.

I never yelled, never made a scene. Just how much does he hate me, to dodge me like that?

It’s a special kind of pain, being ignored by someone you’d have set yourself on fire for.

I never wanted drama, just answers. But Eli never gave me those.

“Honestly? Guys hate it more when a girl won’t let go. Like sticky tape you can’t shake off—it’s just gross.”

My friend’s voice was sharp, cutting through my pity party. She always said what everyone else was too polite to mention.

At the bar, my friend downed her whiskey sour and tapped my forehead. Hard. “I’m talking about you, girl.”

She leaned in, eyes narrowed, the kind of friend who’d drag you out of a burning building or throw you in the lake if you needed a wake-up call.

“Sometimes I want to crack open your head and see what’s inside. How can you be hung up on a guy who’s no good?”

She shook her head, exasperated, but I knew she cared. Her tough love was the only thing that ever got through to me.

I swirled my wine and protested, “First, I’m not obsessed with love. I’ve never loved anyone but Eli. Second, he’s not a bad guy. He was actually really good to me.”

I tried to keep my voice steady, but it wobbled at the edges. It was the truth, or at least the version I still clung to.

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? After all these years, you still haven’t wised up. Hopeless. You should be buried alive.”

She laughed, but there was an edge to it. I just grinned, letting her words wash over me. I’d heard it all before.

I just smiled. What else could I do?

Every one of my friends has scolded me for not thinking straight.

They mean well, but they don’t get it. Not really. Love makes fools of us all, but I guess I’m the biggest fool of the bunch.

And every time, I’ve told them—I know what I’m doing. Even if I don’t.

I’m not obsessed. Eli really was good to me once.

I hold onto that memory, even when it hurts. Sometimes, it’s all I have.

“That’s what every girl says. But look—he cheated, slept with someone else in your place, blocked your calls, you begged him to come back, waited outside his bar for a week, and he never showed.”

Her voice was gentle now, not judgmental. She was just tired of seeing me hurt.

“You don’t get it. Without Eli, I wouldn’t have made it to college. Might not even be here.”

I stared into my wine, remembering late nights in our tiny apartment, Eli counting crumpled bills on the kitchen table, promising me a future I couldn’t see for myself.

I took a big gulp of wine. Over the years, my tolerance has grown, but tonight I’d mixed red, white, and beer, so I felt the buzz.

My head spun, the world going soft around the edges. I didn’t mind. It was easier to talk when things were a little blurry.

I lay on the bar, tugged my friend’s sleeve, and pointed at the male dancers on stage: “Four years of college tuition and living expenses—all from Eli, dancing every night.”

The bar was loud, music thumping, lights spinning. I watched the dancers, half-jealous, half-amused. Eli had done what he had to, and I never asked questions I didn’t want answered.

He made two grand a month. Five hundred for rent, five hundred for food, the rest went to me.

I did the math out loud, surprising myself with how easily the numbers came. It was a survival game, and Eli played it for both of us.

“He actually got into college, but my folks wouldn’t pay for me to go. Eli said his school wasn’t that great anyway, so he’d work and send me instead.”

He’d shrugged it off, told me not to worry. But I knew it cost him more than he let on.

“When I graduated, my parents wanted me to marry for a dowry. Eli borrowed from everyone he knew to scrape together the money.”

He went door to door, called in every favor, just to make sure I had what I needed. It wasn’t about tradition—it was about giving me a shot.

So I’m Eli’s wife. He even paid, so I have to marry him. It’s not like a real dowry or anything, but that’s how it felt.

The music thumped on, but my friend was out cold, sprawled beside me.

She snored softly, head on the sticky bar top. I smiled, grateful for her stubborn loyalty.

I was quiet for a long time. Then I said, “It’s normal for Eli to want out. I dragged him down too long.”

The words floated into the noise, lost in the haze of neon and spilled drinks. Maybe I believed it, or maybe I just needed an excuse.

My friend was out. I finished my wine and paid the tab on my phone.

The bartender nodded, sliding me my card back with a wink. I tucked my friend’s purse under her arm, made sure she was safe, then stood up, swaying a little.

As I got up, I glanced toward the bar entrance—and my heart skipped. No way.