At the National High School Football All-Star Game, my boyfriend Evan had just been named MVP. Sophia, the cheer captain, immediately posted on Instagram.

Caption: "Guess who got a little something from the champion himself~"

The photo turned out to be a pair of Evan's worn underwear!

Scrawled across them in lipstick were the words: "For my dearest Sophia."

She held them up with her long acrylic nails, pouting for the selfie.

The internet exploded. "Why does she have his underwear?" "Isn't it obvious? They're totally together." "Sitting here waiting for the official couple photo."

Within seconds, a close-up of the two of them cheek-to-cheek surfaced in the comments.

Congratulations and teasing flooded the feed.

I gripped my phone, a chill spreading through my entire body.

Evan had promised to go public about us ages ago but kept putting it off, saying he needed to prove himself first. He'd been stalling ever since.

Now here I was, his actual girlfriend, and I didn't even get an invite to his victory party.

I took a deep breath and called him.

"Explain."

On the other end, Evan's voice was lazy, almost amused. "The fans grabbed everything off me. Jersey, pads, all of it. Sophia insisted on keeping something as a souvenir, so I gave her the underwear. No big deal."

"The Instagram post is just riding the hype. Don't be so uptight about it."

Then Sophia's voice chimed in. "Yeah, honey, Evan and I are like brothers! I've seen everything on him already. It's just a pair of boxers, so don't be so petty."

I listened to their increasingly flirtatious banter through the speaker, then slowly pulled off my engagement ring and tossed it aside.

"Fine," I said to Evan. "I'll be the bigger person. Why don't you skip the 'girl bro' thing and just make her your girlfriend? I'm tired of watching this act."

The other end went dead silent, and then Evan's voice shot up.

"Lillian, are you threatening me?"

"This is publicity. A marketing strategy. Do you even understand that? We're a friendship duo. Sophia's helping me build buzz. This is the most critical time in my career, and you're pulling this crap?"

I swallowed the ache in my throat.

"Do you even remember what you promised me?"

A pause. Then a sigh, and his voice came drifting over, light as air.

"Lillian, I know. You've been waiting for me to go public with you."

"But have you ever considered what kind of damage it would do to my image if I suddenly announced some no-name girlfriend? I'd take a massive hit."

"I didn't have a choice. If you could help my career the way Sophia does, I wouldn't need to do any of this."

My knuckles whitened around the phone.

He was right about one thing: I was nobody compared to Sophia. She had the body, the face, and she'd been the most popular cheer captain in the country for years.

All I had was eight years. Eight years he now considered too embarrassing to show the world.

I let out a quiet breath.

"You're right. It was my mistake."

"So from now on, I won't stand in the way of your future, superstar."

Silence stretched on his end. Then his fury erupted.

"Lillian, do you have any idea how much pressure I'm under? I've barely gotten a foothold, and instead of supporting me, you're picking fights at every turn!"

"What happened to the girl who used to put up with everything? When did you become so unreasonable?"

He hung up. Nothing left but the flat drone of a dead line.

A sharp pain shot through my right foot. I crouched down, pressing my fingers gently against my ankle.

The dull throb pulsed over and over, a reminder that the person who used to rub the pain away was gone.

Back then, Evan wasn't some star, just a scrawny kid who kept getting hurt playing football.

Football was expensive: the gear, the travel, the injuries. Evan was always covered in bruises.

To save every penny I could, I turned down a full scholarship to a top university, scrounged together basic medical supplies, and taught myself how to treat wounds until my hands were thick with calluses. I ground my way to a medical license through sheer willpower.

In eight years, I'd stitched and bandaged every single wound on his body myself.

Then, during a game, an opponent delivered a dirty hit. Evan went down hard. His right fibula shattered.

The doctors said he'd never play again.

I rushed to the hospital. Seeing his face, empty and shattered, felt like a blade dragging across my chest.

Evan was born to stand under championship lights. His career couldn't end like this.

Without telling him, I signed the consent form to donate my own fibula.

He broke down, grabbed the form, and hurled it to the floor.

But I cupped his face in my hands and smiled.

"I'm just a regular person. I'm not the one on the field, so that bone's no use to me."

"Take it and go be a star. It'll be like you're carrying a piece of me with you."

He cried. In the end, he said nothing and went through with the surgery.

Afterward, he had his own broken bone fragment made into a bracelet and fastened it around my wrist.

"Lillian, I swear: this bone is part of me. It'll protect you for the rest of your life."

"When I make it big, I'm going to hold this hand, the one wearing this bracelet, and show the whole world that you're my girl."

I held the bracelet, still warm from his body, and smiled for a long, long time.

The transplant was a success. He was back on the field in no time, a rising star all over again.

I could still walk, still live a normal life. But every time it rained, every time I climbed stairs, the spot where the bone had been taken from sent a deep, drilling pain through my right leg.

I pulled myself back to the present and let out a slow breath.

Now that bone, along with everything I'd ever given, was useless to him.

The suitcase sat open in the living room. I packed slowly.

At the bottom, my fingers brushed a cream-colored envelope.

A job offer from Valley Creek Private Hospital, received two months ago. A position as a surgeon, with generous pay.

Back then, Evan had been stressed about the championship. I hadn't even looked at it before shoving it away.

At least now it would finally come in handy.

I wanted to prove that I wasn't just some no-name.

I finished packing the living room, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and looked around the apartment Evan and I had shared for eight years.

The wallpaper was peeling, the window frames had rusted over, and I'd just repainted the whole place.

Romance DVDs lay scattered across the floor, used condoms were piling up in the trash, and leftover pizza sat in the fridge. Every corner held some trace of us.

I took a deep breath, refusing to let myself drown in it, and pushed open the bedroom door.

My eyes went wide.

In the center of the bed, on sheets I'd changed not long ago, was a fresh bloodstain.

There were lipstick smudges on the pillowcase, and the fabric reeked of Sophia's perfume.

My nails dug into my palms.

A key turned in the lock.

Evan walked in wearing an expensive charcoal coat, every inch the star quarterback. He looked nothing like the boy who used to wait for me to bring him cheap hot dogs after my shift.

He seemed surprised to see me, but recovered quickly with a smile.

"Babe, still mad? Don't worry. Once the buzz dies down, I'll make Sophia delete that post right aw—"

His gaze caught the open suitcase. His expression shifted.

"Lillian, you're still at this?"

"I told you, it's a business arrangement. Can you grow up? Just try to understand my—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

He'd seen the blood on the sheets.

The room went dead silent.

"Evan." My fingertips were ice. I pointed at the stain. "What is this?"

His Adam's apple bobbed. He looked away.

"Don't get the wrong idea. Sophia was on her period last time she was here. I was taking care of her and the sheets got stained. It was an accident—"

He looked back at me, words tumbling out faster.

"Nothing happened between us! The blood was just ... she brushed against the sheets by mistake. It was a prank. That's all."

"A prank." I repeated the word slowly.

"She was in our bed. You were taking care of her. And she deliberately left this for me to find."

My eyes burned.

"And that's all just a prank?"

Evan's face went from white to red, and then he snapped.

"Lillian, not everyone's mind is in the gutter like yours!"

"And even if something had happened, would I still be letting you stand here and yell at me about it?"

"She's my friend. We need to build chemistry for the cameras. Of course we're going to be close."

"You're paranoid, obsessive, blowing every little thing out of proportion. You sound like some bitter housewife running surveillance."

Every accusation landed like a rusty blade, sawing back and forth across a heart that had already gone numb.

Then a lazy voice drifted in from the doorway.

"What's going on? The door was open."

Sophia strolled in, her gaze landing on me. One perfect eyebrow arched.

"Oh, sweetie, you've got it all wrong." She drifted to Evan's side, practically pressing against his arm. "I'm just like that, a total airhead. I got my period and Evan carried me to the bed. Didn't even think about the sheets."

She put on a guilty face.

"Send me your account number and I'll cover the dry cleaning."

She held out a manicured hand, waving it casually in front of me.

And that's when the overhead light caught what was on her wrist.

The bone bracelet Evan had given me.

Every nerve in my body froze.

That bracelet was the only thing I had left from eight years together.

The only proof that someone had once loved me.

It couldn't be taken away. If it was, then those eight years really were nothing but a joke.

"Give it back."

My voice came out dry and cracked.

Sophia blinked, then put on an exaggerated look of sympathy.

"This? You like it? But Evan gave it to me for my birthday. I can't just hand it over."

I stared at Evan, disbelief flooding through me. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"She saw it at my place and liked it, so I let her have it. It's just a bracelet. I'll get you something better. Don't make a big deal out of it."

Something inside my chest collapsed, and I shot to my feet.

"I said give it back!"

Sophia flinched like I'd lunged at her, letting out a little yelp. She shrank back, delicate and helpless, and her wrist twisted.

Crack.

The bone bracelet shattered against the floor.

I stood frozen, eyes locked on the fragments.

The last thread holding me together snapped.

My palm connected with Sophia's face.

She clutched her cheek, staring at me in shock, then let out a shriek and stumbled backward.

The next second, a massive force slammed me to the ground.

"Lillian, have you lost your mind?"

Evan's roar nearly split my eardrums.

I hit the floor hard, and sharp fragments bit into my skin.

But that pain was nothing compared to what came next: a savage, grinding agony that exploded from my right ankle like red-hot needles driven into the bone.

I couldn't stop the cry that tore out of me. I curled into myself.

The old injury. The ankle the doctors had warned me to protect at all costs after the fibula was removed—the one that could never take another serious impact.

Evan didn't even glance at me. He scooped Sophia into his arms, turned, and headed for the door.

The pain came in waves, each worse than the last. I could barely breathe. I forced the words out.

"Wait… Evan… my foot… the old injury…"

He paused and looked back at me. His eyes were cold enough to freeze skin.

"It hurts? Good. Maybe the pain will teach you what happens when you don't know when to stop."

The door slammed shut.

Nothing left but my ragged, gasping breaths echoing through the empty apartment.

Minutes passed. The pain didn't ease.

I lifted my head and, with the one hand that still worked, began dragging myself inch by inch toward the old landline on the other side of the living room.

It wasn't far. Maybe fifteen feet.

It took me a very long time.