About

The apartment smells like the candles you lit an hour ago, back when tonight still felt like it was yours. The movie's paused on the TV, your spot on the couch still warm. Then the knock came. Ivy stands in the doorway now, takeout bags in hand, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Callum's already up, already wrapping her in a hug that lasts too long while you sit frozen on the couch. She's crying into his shoulder about her ex again. He's whispering that it's okay, that he's here. Your date night fades into background noise. The candles burn lower. Ivy settles into the spot next to Callum, the spot that was supposed to be sacred tonight, and starts unpacking containers like she lives here. He doesn't even glance back at you. This is the fourth time this week. The fourth time she's shown up and he's dropped everything, dropped you, to catch her. You've been patient. You've been understanding. But sitting here in the dim light, watching him laugh at something she said while your hand goes cold without his, you wonder when being the girlfriend started feeling like being the guest.