Errol's POV
Eight days before our engagement, I stumbled upon an Instagram video of my girlfriend, Sacha Ferguson, with her male best friend, Craig Kinsman. The caption was teasingly cryptic: [There's rain ahead, and he has an umbrella.] In the video, they were dressed in matching outfits, walking side by side beneath a shared umbrella, the chemistry between them undeniable. Against my better judgment, I left a comment: [You two look great together.]
Soon after, the video disappeared, and a drunken Sacha called, accusing me of being petty and once again targeting her male best friend. A few minutes later, Craig posted a picture of them hugging on his feed, the location tagged for all to see. He wanted me to react, to charge over in a jealous rage, and make a scene like I had in the past.
But this time, I didn’t take the bait.
It was already morning when Sacha came back, and I had just finished freshening up by then. The dining table was still set with the dishes I had made, and the unopened bottle of wine was left untouched. Yesterday was my birthday, and she had promised to spend the evening with me. As such, I took the day off and went to the market to buy all her favorite food. When I started cooking the first dish, she told me she was already on her way back home. Yet, she hadn’t shown up until now.
If it weren’t for Craig's post, showing off their cozy evening together, I might have spent the night worrying, imagining her caught in some accident during the mere three-kilometer drive from his place to mine.
“Something came up yesterday, couldn’t make it back. But here’s the cake I got you,” she said with a yawn, tossing a small cake box onto the table like an afterthought. “Let's take a picture, come on. You can post it this time, you know, as a little apology.”
She stretched lazily on the couch, her eyes half-closed, like she was doing me a favor. In the past, I would’ve jumped at the chance to take a photo together, carefully setting the cake and lighting candles, crafting a thoughtful caption for social media. It was a rare privilege, after all. Sacha rarely allowed me to post pictures of us, always claiming that our relationship was private and there was no need for others to get involved as long as we were happy. Over time, those photos had become more of a reward than a shared moment.
But this time, I just looked at her and shook my head. “No need,” I said, my voice even. “If you’re tired, go rest. I’ve got to head to work anyway.”
Her casual smile faltered, her brows knitting into a frown. “Fine! Forget it,” she snapped, glaring as she stood up abruptly. She didn’t storm off right away, though. Instead, after seeing that I was unmoved, she flung her bag at me in a fit of irritation. It hit me hard enough to sting, and with that, she slammed the bedroom door behind her, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment.
I stood there for a moment, watching the remnants of her anger settle. After that, I calmly picked up her bag, returning the scattered contents—her makeup and her phone—to the coffee table. Then I turned back to the table and began clearing away the dishes that had never been touched.
Sacha had this habit of lashing out whenever she knew she was in the wrong. She’d wait for me to make an excuse for her behavior, to apologize for her. Then, graciously, she’d forgive me. It had worked for her countless times, but like any well-worn strategy, it was bound to fail eventually.
As I was gathering the plates to bring them to the kitchen, her phone chimed with a message.
[Craig: Sacha, you left your lipstick in my car’s passenger seat. Want to come get it tonight?]
I didn’t mean to look at it, but the preview flashed on the screen, too obvious to miss. Before I could react, Sacha burst out of the bedroom in a panic. “What are you doing?” she shouted, shoving me roughly aside as she snatched her phone from the table. Caught off balance, I dropped the dishes in my hand. They shattered on the floor, a sharp piece of porcelain slicing deep into my leg.
A small gasp escaped me as blood instantly soaked through my pant leg.
Despite that, Sacha’s face twisted in annoyance, not concern. “That's karma for you. You shouldn’t have been snooping through anyone's phone.”
“I wasn’t snooping, and I’m not blaming you,” I said quietly, pressing a piece of cloth to the wound. But blood seeped through it rapidly; it was deeper than I thought. I might have to go to the hospital in this state.
Realizing the time, I dialed my boss to request a day off as I certainly would not make it in time and needed to rest. On the other hand, Sacha hovered uncertainly nearby before finally offering to take me to the hospital. Since the wound was still bleeding, it wasn't wise to move much, so I didn’t refuse.
With Sacha's help, I limped toward the car and opened the passenger door, only to see a man’s bag sitting prominently on the seat.
Chapter 2Errol's POV
In my peripheral vision, I saw Sacha’s expression faltered. She then opened her mouth to explain, but I quietly shut the car door and slipped into the back seat without a word.
Still, she hurriedly explained, “It’s probably my coworker's. They caught a ride with me after work." Her voice was unnervingly calm, lips trembling ever so slightly as if she were holding back something deeper.
Not wanting to prolong the topic, I simply hummed and nodded. Afterward, the atmosphere in the car became heavy and tense in an instant.
Had I not seen that same bag last night, in the photo of her and Craig, I might’ve believed her. The unmistakable Pikachu keychain dangling from the zipper—the one we’d won together on our first date—stood out like a flashing neon sign. That keychain had gone missing weeks ago, and I had turned the house upside down looking for it. I remember Sacha snapping at me, saying it was just a worthless trinket. “It’s not worth fussing over if it’s lost,” she had said. In hindsight, she wasn’t wrong, it really isn't worth anything—once a keepsake loses its meaning.
After a while, we finally arrived at the hospital. Just as Sacha was about to help me out of the car, her phone buzzed, slicing through the uneasy quiet. A hint of hesitation then flashed in her eyes, but after a few seconds, she eventually answered the call.
"Sacha, I slipped in the bathroom. I'm now having a hard time walking. Can you come over?" Craig’s voice came through the phone, sounding pitiful.
Her eyes instinctively darted to me. With no expression, I gave a small nod and said calmly, “If you need to go, don’t worry about me. I’ll manage.”
“I… I have something urgent at work,” she muttered, already shifting back into the driver’s seat. “You just rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And with that, she sped off at a pace much faster than when she’d brought me here.
Grimacing from the pain in my leg, I checked myself into the hospital, borrowing a wheelchair from the nurse’s station. Kind strangers helped me navigate the halls until my wound was finally cleaned and bandaged. By the time the doctor finished, it was already past noon. Still, Sacha hadn’t returned yet nor called or messaged me once. Left with no other choice, I hailed a taxi and made my way home on my own.
By the time I stepped through my front door, it was late afternoon, and only then did Sacha finally call.
“Errol, where are you? I’m back here in the hospital,” she said, her voice irritated.
"I’m home," I replied calmly.
“You’re home? Why didn’t you tell me?” she snapped, her anger sparking over the line. “I went all the way back to here for nothing!”
Not once had she called to check on me, to see how I’d managed with my injury, or even how I’d gotten home. And now, the first thing she did was scold me for wasting her time.
If it were in the past, we would have had a big argument over the phone by now. I would’ve let all my frustration spill out. But now, it no longer seemed necessary.
Maybe, from the very beginning, it wasn’t that she didn’t understand my frustrations or didn’t know what I cared about. She just simply didn’t care. Holding the phone, I suddenly felt like laughing.
How absurd was it to keep demanding care and attention from someone who didn't want to give it to you in the first place?
"Hello? Are you going to say something?" Sacha barked, her impatience palpable through the phone.
I could only shake my head. “I thought you were busy,” I replied, my voice flat. “Didn’t you tell me not to bother you when you’re busy?”
Being reminded of her own words, she could only snort and hung up the phone.
For a long moment, I sat there in silence, the phone still clutched in my hand. In the past, she’d berate me for calling too much, for interrupting her precious time. Now that I didn’t call, she found a reason to be angry anyway. No matter what I did, I was wrong.
As the sky outside darkened, Sacha finally returned. She staggered through the door with a shopping bag dangling from her hand, clearly drunk. Her eyes then landed on me sitting on the couch as I watched TV, and without a word, she plopped down beside me with a smug smile playing on her lips.
She opened the shopping bag with deliberate flair, pulling out a box and showing off the label. It was the PS5 I had been dreaming about for weeks.
Chapter 3Errol's POV
Sacha was eyeing me, seemingly waiting for me to say something first. But when all she got was a sideways glance at the PS5, she couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Errol, I bought you a PS5!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with forced enthusiasm. "Didn’t you want to play that Fortnite game? Now you can stay home and rest your leg for the next few days. I don’t want you limping around at our engagement party, or my friends will laugh at us."
Little did she know, I saw Craig’s Instagram post earlier. He was smiling with a PS5 in front of him, and in the reflection of the mirror behind him, half of Sacha’s body was visible. The apology gift was real, but it was clearly something she bought on the side.
“Thanks,” I said flatly. “But I already bought my own console. It’ll be delivered tomorrow. And honestly, you didn’t do anything wrong, so there’s no need to apologize.”
Her face stiffened. "Who told you to buy it yourself?" she snapped.
I raised an eyebrow. “Do I need permission to buy something for myself?”
Since the day we’d started dating, it felt like every small decision I made needed to be cleared with her. It was as if I lost the right to pursue even the smallest pleasures. Buying a console—something as trivial as that—had somehow become an act of defiance. But when she wanted something, I wasn’t even allowed to question it. If I showed the slightest hesitation, it turned into a full-blown argument about how useless I was, how I couldn’t even meet the simplest expectations.
“What exactly do you want from me, Errol?” Sacha finally exploded, her patience snapping like a brittle wire. “Yes, I shouldn’t have left you at the hospital this morning. But I’ve already apologized with a gift! What more do you want?!”
I met her gaze, unblinking. “You haven’t done anything wrong. And I don’t expect anything from you.”
Her eyes flared with anger. “You… you don’t want to get engaged, do you?”
I shrugged, feeling a strange weight lift off my shoulders. “I don’t really care.”
Her lips parted, shock and fury mixing on her face. “Fine! Let’s cancel the engagement!” she shouted, storming out and slamming the door so hard the walls shook.
In the past, I would’ve been out the door in seconds, running after her, pleading for her to come back. But this time, I stayed planted on the couch. The TV continued playing a mediocre comedy, and despite everything, I found myself laughing.
A couple of hours later, my buddy Alfie Steele called. On the other end, he sounded shocked. “Bro, did you and your fiancée have a fight?”
“No, we didn’t,” I replied casually.
“Then why did she come to me saying you’re calling off the engagement? What the hell is going on?” he asked.
Everyone knew I’d been the doting, henpecked fiancé for as long as they could remember. I always let Sacha call the shots, so they had to sneak me out just for us to hang out together. Because of that, Sacha never liked my friends, calling them bad influences and forbidding me from seeing them. So, the fact that she went to Alfie spoke volumes.
“It’s nothing. I’m just tired, man,” I admitted.
“Tired? Dude, this isn’t like you. If something is going on between you two, why not just talk it out?” Alfie suggested. “You’ve always said you’d only marry her. You’re so close to getting engaged—why stop now?”
“Maybe it’s because I’m so close that I’m finally seeing things clearly,” I sighed.
“What do you mean?” Alfie asked, puzzled.
“I just realized that if I marry her, I’ll be living this same kind of life every single day in the future. And I don't want that,” I said, taking a deep breath.
“Bro, everyone’s life is a mess at some point. Just make sure you’re thinking clearly,” Alfie advised.
Sacha always thought my friends were no good, that they were just as useless as me. But when we had problems, these friends of mine—whom she despised—stood up for her. Meanwhile, her friends she thought highly of would only add fuel to a fire whenever we argued. I had to not only placate her but also cater to them.
Sacha didn’t come home for the next two days, leaving only four days until our engagement.
Then, around 8 p.m. on the third day, my phone buzzed with a video call from her. I answered the call, only to see her and Craig, heads pressed together. She was grinning, cheeks flushed as she fed him wine by biting the rim of the glass.
“Oops! Sorry, Sacha! I was trying to record a video of you but accidentally called Errol instead,” came a panicked voice from the other side.
As soon as the person on the other end of the line finished apologizing, the wine glass slipped from Sacha’s mouth and crashed to the floor.
Chapter 4Errol's POV
Sacha’s face filled the screen, panic clear in her voice as she hurried to explain, "Errol, don't get it wrong! I just lost a bet, that’s all. There’s nothing going on between Craig and me."
Before I could respond, Craig leaned into the camera with his usual innocent facade. "Come on, man, we were just messing around. Sacha and I are best friends, nothing more. If anything was going to happen between us, it would've happened a long time ago. You’re not that insecure, right?"
"Don't worry, I didn’t misunderstand," I replied calmly, a strange serenity washing over me. "Have fun." With that, I ended the call.
Barely thirty minutes later, Sacha barged through the door, followed by her usual entourage—Craig included. She never brought her friends over, but tonight was different. Tonight, they had come to put on a show.
A petite, doll-faced girl named Mabel Byrd stepped forward first. Her voice was sugary, but her eyes darted nervously. “Errol, I’m so sorry. It was my fault. I was the one who suggested the bet. The loser had to feed the winner a drink, and it wasn’t just Sacha. We all fed Craig, you know, just for fun.”
I smiled politely and replied, “No need to explain. Everyone drinks to have a good time.”
Mabel blinked, visibly taken aback. She had expected me to get angry, to call out their lies, as I had done in the past. But my indifference seemed to unsettle her more than any confrontation would have. Quickly recovering, she plastered a smile back on her face. “I knew you weren’t a petty guy, Errol. Haha, you two are couple goals, seriously. Sacha is always bragging about how lucky she is to have you—barely lets you out of her sight because she’s afraid we’ll snatch you away.”
“Yeah, Sacha is so annoying,” another friend added. “We’re all her close friends, yet she guards you like treasure.”
“How’s the engagement party coming along?” asked another. “When you two get married, I have to be one of your bridesmaids!”
Sacha’s friends surrounded us, deliberately shifting the conversation to the engagement. Just as I was about to respond, Craig sauntered over, beaming. “I told you Errol wouldn’t be upset,” he laughed. "You guys really didn’t need to rush over here and make it look like he’s some sort of jealous boyfriend."
On the side, I noticed Sacha shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to Craig as he moved closer. She hesitated, taking half a step forward, like she was trying to stop him—but then she faltered, as if unsure of what to do.
Craig, however, was unfazed. He smiled wider and patted me on the back as he said, “Errol, don’t worry. As long as I’m around, no one will ever hurt Sacha. I’ll always protect her.”
Bothered by his hand on my shoulder, I glanced at it, only to see a ring on his finger. The one Sacha and I had custom-ordered a month ago for our engagement. Only one ring like that existed as it was custom-made. Yet here it was, resting on Craig’s hand like some cheap accessory.
“Nice ring,” I remarked.
Suddenly, the noisy living room fell deathly silent, and Sacha’s face drained of color.