Chapter 1: The Last Straw

After three days of radio silence with my childhood friend-turned-almost-boyfriend, I decided I was done being the one who always broke the ice first. I wasn’t texting, I wasn’t calling. If Derek wanted to talk, he could be the one to start for once.

My friends showed up that night, arms full of greasy Thai from the place down the block—the one with the neon elephant in the window—and worry stamped across their faces. Sarah handed me a Diet Coke, flopping onto the couch with a sigh about her nightmare commute.

"He's just being stubborn," she insisted, spreading cartons across my coffee table. "Saying the opposite of what he means, as usual."

"Difficult people need patient lovers," Melissa chimed in, snatching a spring roll and giving me a meaningful look.

But I was too wrung out to care about being patient anymore. My shoulders drooped as I stabbed at a tangle of cold noodles with my fork, appetite shot. I remembered the last time I’d apologized first—Derek had barely acknowledged it, barely looked up from his phone. I’d cried in the shower afterward, water hiding the sound. I was so tired of being the one who always caved.

Years of cold wars, snippy arguments, and drawn-out silences had drained me until I couldn’t tell if Derek was just difficult or if he simply didn’t love me anymore. My nerves were raw, my heart numb—like I’d been sprinting on a treadmill that never stopped, going nowhere.

So when he threatened to break up with me again, I didn’t flinch. I said, "Then let’s break up." The words came out steady, even though my hands trembled under the table.