Part 2Not What He Wanted

When we went to bed, Liam still tried to hold me close, but I found myself inching away from him, creating as much distance as the mattress would allow.

Just as I was drifting off, the phone on my nightstand vibrated, a single, sharp buzz in the dark. I had a feeling I knew who it was. I was right. A message from Robin.

"Nina, Liam didn't yell at you, did he? If he bullies you, you tell me. I'll come over and punch him for you."

If she truly cared about me, she wouldn't have spent an hour on the phone with my husband on my wedding night. I stared at the message for a long moment before a competitive, bitter spark ignited within me.

I snapped a photo of Liam, fast asleep, his head resting on the pillow beside me, looking for all the world like a devoted husband. I sent it to her.

"Nope, he was great! Thanks for checking in, though. We're both exhausted, about to pass out. Big day tomorrow, after all. We're going to get that tattoo removed."

For the first time all night, Robin, who usually replied in seconds, went silent.

In the dead of night, after hours of suffocating pain, I finally felt a small, triumphant breath of relief.

I met Robin when we were nine. Her life was hard. Her father had abandoned her and her mother, leaving them to fend for themselves. Money was always tight, and she never had the things other kids had. But she was so full of life. When I threw a tantrum because my sandcastle collapsed, she quietly came over and built me a new one, bigger and more beautiful than I could have imagined.

That's how we became friends. I saw how skinny she was and started sneaking her milk and snacks from our kitchen. Robin would always accept them with wide, shining eyes and a whispered, "Thank you."

Over time, it became a habit. She got used to my food, my clothes... and eventually, my man.

In the long, dark night, memories sliced through me like a thousand tiny cuts. I stared at the ceiling, my eyes wide open as silent tears tracked paths down my temples into my hair.

The next morning, Liam and I went to the tattoo parlor. He was back to his usual self, buying me coffee on the way, handing me his tablet so I could watch my shows while I waited.

"This won't take long," he said, kissing my forehead. "Watch an episode and then we'll go get some lunch."

He smiled and disappeared into the back room. I watched him go, a small bit of tension leaving my shoulders.

But the relief was short-lived. A moment later, Liam burst out of the room, his face pale with panic. My heart skipped a beat. I jumped up and stood in his way.

"What's wrong?"

"Robin was in a car accident."

My mind went blank. Instinct told me this was no coincidence.

"I'll go," I said, blocking his path. "You stay and get the tat—"

He cut me off before I could finish. "What do you mean, you'll go? We're both going. Now."

The old me would have been just as panicked as he was. But the new me didn't move a muscle. I stared him straight in the eye, my voice dangerously steady.

"She's my best friend. Isn't it enough that I'm going?"

Time seemed to freeze. When Liam looked at me, his eyes were filled with an unmistakable disgust.

"Are you even human? All this over a stupid tattoo? You want it gone so bad? Fine!" He stalked over to a counter, snatched a utility knife, and held it to his chest. "I'll cut the whole damn piece of flesh off! Happy now?"

"Go to her," I said softly, just as the blade was inches from his skin.

He froze for a second, then dropped the knife with a clatter and stormed out without another word.

As I turned to leave, the tattoo artist looked at me with an awkward, pitying expression. I just gave her a polite nod and walked out.

A few minutes later, the sky opened up. A sudden flash of lightning was followed by a torrential downpour. I had no umbrella and was soaked to the bone in seconds, forced to hail a cab.

When I got home, I was sneezing, and a wave of nausea rolled in my stomach. Before I could even change out of my wet clothes, my phone buzzed with a series of notifications.

It was Robin. She'd sent a picture of Liam asleep in a hospital chair next to a bed.

The caption read: "Poor guy. He ran around doing everything for me. He's totally exhausted."

Followed by another message: "Oh, by the way, I guess he didn't have time to get that tattoo removed, huh?"

In that moment, I couldn't even describe what I was feeling. My reflection in the dark screen was a mask of cold indifference. In the game of our relationships, I had been made the fool.

So what? At least now, I was free.

I drew a hot bath and was soaking in the tub, drifting in and out of a daze, when a shrill ringtone cut through the quiet. I jolted awake, fumbling for the phone.

It was Robin.