Ever since Ethan and I started dating, I’d been making him a birthday cake every single year—by hand, from scratch. But this time, when he asked me to make a cake, I knew it wasn’t for him. I didn’t need to check his phone to know who the cake was really for; I’d seen that little cartoon avatar on his screen before. It was Fiona’s.
The silence in the room was unnerving, but Ethan seemed oblivious to the weight of his request. His expectant gaze lingered on me, waiting for my usual compliance.
“Send me the picture,” I said, keeping my voice neutral as I stood up. “I’ll head out now to buy the ingredients.”
As I walked out, my mind drifted back to the time Ethan had helped me land my first job, seven years ago. I had been so grateful then, thinking I owed him everything. But now, all I wanted was to be free. ‘Once I finish this cake, I’ll be done with him,’ I thought, my steps feeling heavier as I left the apartment.
“Skylar,” Ethan’s voice broke through the silence just as I reached the door. His tone was unsure, as though he had more to say.
“Anything else?” I asked flatly, without turning around.
There was a pause. “…I’ll Venmo you for the ingredients,” he added weakly.