Chapter 3

Sunday evening. Grant had promised to take me out for dinner. Just the two of us.

I made the reservation. Two years ago, we had walked past this exact restaurant. Grant had promised that once work slowed down, he'd definitely bring me here. Every time I brought it up since, he'd say "next time."

But tonight, it was his idea.

"No plus-ones tonight," he said, adjusting his collar in front of the walk-in closet mirror. He sounded serious. "Just us."

I looked at him and nodded.

I didn't mention Brooke. I didn't bring up what I'd heard outside the kitchen.

The most exhausting part of a marriage isn't the screaming matches—it's standing there with the smoking gun, knowing your partner has already decided you're the one lying.

We were about to head out when his phone buzzed.

It was the group chat.

Scott sent a video. In the grainy footage, the old crew was crowded around a long table at a bar. In the center was an old polaroid: Grant and Brooke sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, Brooke's head resting against him.

A second later, a text from Brooke popped up.

Stay with Lauren. We're just looking through some old college tapes. The guys are being nostalgic. It's totally fine, we'll survive without you tonight.

It's fine.

We'll survive without you.

That was her signature move. No demands, no ultimatums. She just highlighted the empty space he was leaving behind, making him feel the weight of his absence.

Grant stared at his screen, frozen.

I stood in the entryway, my purse still in my hands.

"You want to go?" I asked.

He looked up, guilt flashing in his eyes. "It's rare they all get together."

"You just said tonight was about us."

"I know." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll just go show my face. Thirty minutes, tops."

I held his gaze. "What if I told you I don't want you to go?"

Silence.

The answer was in his hesitation.

A few seconds later, he muttered, "Lauren, don't make a huge deal out of this. You know there's nothing going on between me and Brooke."

I let out a dry laugh. "Did I say anything about Brooke?"

He looked confused.

"I'm talking about you," I said. "Every single time, you make me prove that I'm not being paranoid, but you never make her prove she's not crossing a line."

His expression hardened. "Here we go again."

Again.

That word stuck to me like a brand.

Whenever I opened my mouth, I was "causing a scene again," "being sensitive again," "being unreasonable again."

His phone lit up.

A photo from Brooke. She was sitting next to his old seat, a glass of red wine resting on the table.

The caption read: Don't worry, keeping your OG spot warm.

Grant stared at the photo, his jaw tightening.

I didn't ask another question.

He grabbed his keys. "I'll be quick."

The door clicked shut, and the apartment sank into silence.

I went to the restaurant alone.

When the waiter asked if I was waiting for someone, I glanced at the empty chair across from me and said, "He's not coming."

I didn't finish the meal. Halfway through the entrée, my screen lit up. Scott had posted a video on his story.

There was Grant, sitting right next to Brooke. The whole table was cheering.

"That's more like it! Some things never change, OG spot for the OG girl."

Brooke laughed and playfully shoved Grant's shoulder. He didn't pull away. She tipped her glass toward his lips, and the cheering grew deafening.

The camera wobbled, and I heard someone ask, "Isn't Lauren going to be pissed again?"

Someone else scoffed. "She needs to get over it. We knew Grant before she was even in the picture."

I closed the app.

The restaurant window reflected my face. I looked calm. There were no tears.

I was done asking if Grant loved me. I was done trying to prove that Brooke was doing it on purpose.

They had their unspoken rules, their old photos, and their peanut gallery ready to defend them.

Well, I could have that, too.

I scrolled down to a number I hadn't texted in years.

Owen.

He used to be crazy about me. Before I even met Grant, he was the one always standing by my side.

When Grant and I got married, Grant told me that keeping an ex-fling around was inappropriate. I thought he had a point, so I slowly cut ties.

Turns out, I was the only one who actually respected boundaries.

And my willingness to play nice just became the weapon they used against me.

I typed out a message to Owen.

Are you free tomorrow? I need someone to go somewhere with me.

The reply came almost instantly.

Always. Where are you?

I stared at those words, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Grant was always telling me to stop overthinking.

Tomorrow, I was going to look him in the eye and say it right back.