Part 2The Fourth Wheel

I stayed downstairs by the apartment building while I finished my call with the department manager, finalizing my flight for Friday night.

When I got back and unlocked the door, the four of them were crammed together on the sofa, watching a movie.

Summer was curled up in the middle, hugging a throw pillow. Luke was on one side, Ryan on the other, and Sam was at the very end, laughing so hard he was doubled over.

Not a single person looked at me.

I stood in the corner of the living room for a moment, then turned and walked into my bedroom, pulling the door gently shut behind me.

I reached up to the top of the wardrobe and pulled down a suitcase—the exact same one I had used when I first moved in.

I unzipped my closet and started taking out my clothes one by one.

I was going to be gone for a long time; I needed to bring my seasonal clothes.

I picked a few practical pieces, folded them neatly, and packed them. The rest I planned to have shipped to New York later.

I folded everything slowly, carefully smoothing out every single crease.

The books on my nightstand, the skincare bottles by my vanity, and a potted mint plant I had raised for a long time.

Not a single thing left behind.

The door opened without a knock.

Luke stood in the doorway, still holding a can of cola. His gaze shifted away from the television and landed on my open suitcase.

"Why are you suddenly packing?"

I didn't stop what I was doing. "I'm going on a business trip for a while."

"How many days?"

"Not sure yet."

"When are you leaving?"

"The company hasn't set the date."

He stared at me for a moment, then took a gulp of his cola. "Alright. Don't work too hard. I'll drop you off when the time comes."

With that, he turned and walked back to the living room, leaving the door wide open.

A fresh wave of laughter burst from the living room.

I crouched in front of the suitcase, smoothed out the half-folded sweater, and tucked it at the bottom.

He had asked three questions.

He didn't ask where I was going, nor why I was leaving so suddenly. He hadn't even bothered to look at what season of clothes I was packing.

I pulled the zipper shut, strained to stand the heavy suitcase up, and pushed it into the corner.

Another roar of laughter erupted from the living room.

I sat back down on the bed and opened Summer’s nine-photo grid on Moments again.

Four people, perfectly filling the frame.

I switched over to our five-person group chat and scrolled up.

This past Friday, when I said I had to work late and would be back a little after nine, the only response from Summer had been an "OK" sticker.

The Friday before that, Luke had tagged Summer in the chat: No rush shopping, we'll wait for you to have late-night snacks.

The Friday before that, Ryan had tagged Summer: Take your time getting back, we won't start cooking until you're home.

I kept scrolling back, searching the chat for the word "wait."

Fifteen times.

All fifteen times were about Summer.

My name had appeared next to the word "wait" exactly once.

It was a Tuesday two weeks ago. Luke had sent: It's about to pour, Summer doesn't have an umbrella so I'm going off my route to pick her up. I won't wait for you tonight, talk when I get home.

That day, I had stood in the pouring rain with an umbrella for an hour before I could flag down a cab.

I stared at the screen, suddenly remembering a winter back in my freshman year of college, when I had asked in the chat:

How come none of you ever wait for me?

Ryan had answered: You're a grown-up, why do you need people waiting around for you?

Luke had answered: We were in a hurry to grab seats, we'll definitely do it next time.

Next time, next time, and yet another next time.

He had used that phrase so many times. Every single time, it sounded like a line from a play—once spoken, there was no continuation.

I set the five-person chat to "Do Not Disturb," then swiped left and cleared all chat history.

I wondered what they were saying in that other four-person chat without me.

Never mind. Some things didn't need to be dragged out into the light.

By Wednesday, after wrapping up my final handovers, I packed away my personal belongings at the office.

Suddenly, my creative director called me into the conference room. On the large all-in-one screen, the pre-selection list for the agency’s new quarterly design projects was displayed.

"Mia, did you submit this externally?"

The director tossed a folder onto the table. I opened it to reveal a cover page that was impossible to mistake.

It was the design series I had spent last month working overtime to finish.

The core visual, the color palette, the layout—pixel for pixel, it was identical.

Yet the credited creator was "Teak Studio."

That was the design agency where Summer worked.

"I never submitted it."

The director frowned. "The company is pushing this direction next month. Our concepts are overlapping; legal is already checking the timeline."

"Did you show your drafts to anyone else?"

Standing in that conference room, despite the summer heat, I felt a biting chill.

That night when I got home, I placed the folder on the coffee table.

"Summer, did you submit this?"

Summer was curled on the sofa eating an apple. She glanced over, and her hand froze mid-air.

"Sis... where did you get this?"

"I asked if you submitted it."

"It was me."

She lowered the apple, her voice instantly turning small and pitiful. "I just wanted to take it and try my luck, I didn't think it would actually get selected... Sis, did I cause trouble?"

As she spoke, her eyes welled up with tears.

Ryan walked over with a plate of washed grapes, glanced at the papers on the table, and then at me.

His tone was far calmer than I expected.

"It's just a set of designs, why are you coming down so hard on her?"

"Ryan, this is a project for my company. Legal is already running investigations."

"You're both in design, do you think I don't know how this works?"

He sat down beside Summer and nudged the grapes toward her. "How big is your company anyway? A pre-selected project draft—what kind of real damage could it do?"

Sam leaned against the wall and chimed in. "Exactly. Mia, a big company like yours isn't going to miss just one design. Let your little sister catch a lucky break."

"A lucky break? That took me a whole month of working overtime to finish."

They only cared that my company wouldn't suffer any major damage, completely ignoring the fact that my hard work and sweat had just been swept away for nothing.

Sam laughed. "Look at you, making a big deal out of nothing again over a minor issue."

Luke was the last one back.

Walking in and seeing everyone gathered around, then seeing the papers on the coffee table, he figured it out instantly.

He didn't look at me; instead, his eyes went straight to Summer. "What are you crying for? Your sister isn't going to blame you."

He took off his coat with practiced ease and sat down beside me.

"Mia, don't sweat it over Summer."

I turned my head to look at Luke.

"You think I'm in the wrong too?"

He chuckled, shaking his head, his tone softening. "I'm not saying you're wrong. I just mean there's no need to blow this up."

At just the right moment, Summer reached out to tug on my sleeve, her voice thick with tears.

"Sis, I'm sorry, I really didn't know it would turn out like this."

"I just saw your drafts sitting on the desk and thought you weren't going to use them, so I figured I'd try submitting them."

As she talked, the tears began to fall.

Ryan instantly frowned. "Look at you, what's the point of making Summer cry like this?"

Sam stepped in to smooth things over. "All right, all right. We're family, don't ruin the harmony over something so small."

Luke pulled a tissue from the box and handed it to her. "Wipe your eyes. Your sister didn't mean it that way."

Everyone was rushing to comfort her.

Not a single person asked if the director had given me a hard time.

Not a single person cared what it had felt like to stand in that conference room for those few agonizing minutes.

Not a single person stopped to think about how I had survived that brutal month of exhaustion.

A sudden, bone-deep weariness washed over me.

I was too tired to even argue.

I picked up the phone Luke had left on the coffee table.

He hadn't locked it. He never locked his screen, having once told me, Go ahead and look, I don't have anything to hide from you.

The screen automatically unlocked to Instagram.

The pinned chat at the very top was named "Summer's Plan."

Four people in it. No me.

My thumb swiped up the screen, reading through the messages one by one.

Last Tuesday at 9:00 PM.

Luke: The designs on her desk look really good, they've been sitting there for days and she hasn't touched them.

Ryan: Hasn't Summer been wanting to join the project pre-selection? Just take them and submit them, it's a guaranteed pass.

Summer: Is that really okay? What if my cousin finds out?

Ryan: She hasn't touched them in days, she probably doesn't even need them anymore.

Sam: Haha, committing grand larceny in secret.

Luke: Still, it's better not to let her know. You know how she is—once she finds out, she'll start making a fuss.

I scrolled further.

Last Thursday at 2:00 PM.

Summer: I finally submitted it!

Ryan: Fingers crossed for good news.

Luke: Good job, let's find a time to celebrate—just leave Mia out of it so she doesn't ask a million questions.

Sam: Agreed.

Last Friday at 4:00 PM.

Summer: It passed! It passed the first round!

Ryan: Awesome. Our little Summer is going places.

Luke: Congrats. Let's celebrate tonight—didn't your sister say she has to work late and will be back around nine? Let's just eat without her.

Sam: Remember not to let it slip in front of your sister, she takes things too seriously.

I felt a little pathetic.

That Friday when I said I was working late and only Summer had replied with a sticker, they had been busy in another chat figuring out how to celebrate my cousin passing the first round of selections using my design drafts.

I placed the phone gently back on the coffee table.

"Ryan."

It was my brother's full name. I said it very softly.

"When you typed in the chat that our little Summer is going places, did you remember you have a biological sister?"

The smile froze on Ryan's face.

"Luke."

I turned to him.

"When you said she'd start making a fuss if she found out, did you remember I'm your girlfriend?"

Luke's expression shifted.

"Mia, listen to me, at the time we honestly thought..."

"Thought what?" I cut him off.

"Thought a set of design drafts wasn't worth the trouble of asking me? Or did you just think I wasn't worth the trouble?"

The living room fell completely silent.

Summer started crying again. This time, nobody went to comfort her.

I stood up and walked toward the door.

Ryan called out behind me.

"Mia, can you stop making a federal case out of every little thing?"

I stopped, without turning back.

"A little thing? When you guys were conspiring in a group chat to avoid me, making sure not to let me know in case I 'made a fuss'?"

"Now that it's my turn to say two words, it's making a federal case?"

"Everything I drew took blood, sweat, and overtime—and you treated it like a casual little gift to hand out."

"If this counts as a little thing, then I suppose nothing involving me ever matters at all."

I pulled the door open and stepped outside.

As the door clicked shut behind me, muffled through the panels, I could hear Summer's crying and Ryan's heavy sigh.

Nobody chased after me.

I stood in the stairwell and pulled out my phone. The screen flickered bright, then dark, then bright again.

The flight info for Friday was still frozen on the interface.

I spent two days staying at a hotel near the office.

They didn't reach out.

On Friday morning, timing it for when they'd all be off at work, I went back to the shared apartment to grab my luggage.

As I dragged my suitcase past the kitchen, my footsteps paused.

A brand-new sticky note was plastered onto the refrigerator.

Mia, I'm sorry, I know I was wrong. Today is family dinner night, you're definitely coming back, right? We're waiting for you to have dinner together.

I peeled the sticky note off, read it, and tossed it straight into the nearby trash can.

The circle that used to make me feel so insecure—the waiting I used to pour my heart into—couldn't even raise a single ripple in my heart anymore.