I Refuse to Be His Second-Best Choice

My boyfriend, Jenson Fuller, and I had planned to have dinner on Valentine's Day to celebrate the winning of a case, but he had to go back to the law firm to work overtime yet again because of a mistake in Ashley Pearson's case file.

I, Denisse Clayton, sat in the corner of the conference room, wearing an uncomfortably tight dress, my hands ice-cold.

Jenson closed the case file and said in a deep voice, "You've won so many cases. This is the first time for Ashley to handle files for a criminal case. Cut her some slack."

I didn't respond.

The dress was so tight that it made it hard for me to breathe, and the zipper was chafing against my side.

I stood up to ask him to get me a glass of warm water, only to realize he'd already taken Ashley to the archives.

I unlocked my phone and scrolled to Ashley's latest WhatsApp status. "Jenson is personally helping me sort through the case file. Lucky me!"

The photo in the status was a selfie of her holding a coffee, with Jenson standing beside her, pointing to the case file and explaining in detail.

Jenson pointed gently at the statute with incorrect notes made by her, looking incredibly patient.

I pressed my hand to my side and suddenly felt a searing pain from the spot where the zipper had been chafing.

This dress was a gift for winning my case he'd given me.

It was a size small. It was so tight it felt suffocating on me, but it was the perfect size for Ashley.

I suddenly recalled what my professor in college had said, "A defense based on the wrong position can never win, no matter how hard you try."

So I took off the tight dress and submitted my request to transfer to the firm's headquarters in Huvella City.

And I also decided to leave Jenson.

...

As I walked out of the building of the law firm, I checked my phone and saw Ashley had posted something again on her WhatsApp status.

In the photo of the status, she was sitting in the passenger seat of Jenson's car, with a gift box containing a limited-edition pen by her side.

The caption read, "Nailed it when I handled files for a criminal case for the first time and got a gift from Jenson! Thank you, Jenson!"

I'd told him three times last month, right before my birthday, that I wanted that pen.

Jenson said it was flashy and impractical, and there was no need to waste money on it.

The spot on my side where the zipper had chafed still hurt; with every step I took, I tugged at the wound, which sent a sharp sting through me.

I hailed a taxi, and the driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "Just back from a party, young lady? Why are you all alone?"

I didn't answer; I just gave him the address of the mall.

I wasn't the only one at the law firm.

But as long as Ashley was there, I was always the one left out, as if they were the ones fighting side by side, and I was just an outsider tagging along.

When I arrived at the mall, I headed straight to my usual clothing store.

There, I picked out a well-fitting beige business suit, size medium, that hugged my body comfortably.

The salesclerk asked with a smile, "Ms. Clayton, would you like me to pack this gown you just wore for you?"

I shook my head, my gaze falling on the size small satin gown the clerk was holding.

With rhinestones adorning the neckline and a cinched waist, this dress was just totally not my style.

But when I received it, I'd been happy for quite a while.

Jenson rarely gave me gifts.

He said we were both in the same line of work, so there was no need for such formalities.

Looking back now, perhaps this dress wasn't meant for me from the very beginning.

I tossed the dress into the mall's used clothing donation bin and turned toward the pharmacy.

I bought some iodine solution and band-aids to treat the small injury on my side. By the time I took a taxi back to the apartment Jenson and I shared, it was already eight PM.

A pair of women's flats sat in the entryway, but they weren't mine.

The warm yellow light in the living room was on.

Ashley was curled up on the couch, wrapped in my cashmere blanket, watching a show on a tablet.

Jenson came out of the kitchen holding a glass, his tone very gentle. "Water with glucose in it. Drink it slowly."

When he turned and saw me, he paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "Where have you been? You didn't answer your phone."

He was wearing the plaid apron I'd bought, his tone flat, as if nothing had happened.

He didn't ask why I'd left early or what was going on with me.

He didn't even notice that I'd changed into a different outfit.

Setting down the glass, he explained casually, "Ashley was working late and got low blood sugar, so I brought her home and let her rest for a bit here."

His laptop sat on the coffee table.

The screen was lit, displaying a document that was a timeline of the case he'd concluded for Ashley, with so many annotations in it, even the detailed instructions for cross-examination of each piece of evidence clearly laid out.

I suddenly felt it ironic.

The last time I handled a major case like this, I pulled three all-nighters looking for defense arguments.

He'd just glanced at it and told me I should work harder to handle my own cases.

"Denisse, you're back," Ashley called out sweetly, jingling the silver bracelet on her wrist. "This is a gift from Jenson to celebrate my completion of probation and becoming a permanent employee of the firm now. Do you think it's good on me? He's so good to me. Ever since I joined the firm, he always looks out for me."

She said, counting on her fingers. "He helps me revise my opening statement for court; he takes the heat when clients are difficult; even when I make mistakes in my case files, he works overtime with me to fix them. Oh, and last week he even bought me a dress, which was size small, but it was too mature for me, so I didn't take it."

I clenched my fist tightly.

I felt my chest tighten and suffocated.

So the dress he gave me as a reward for winning the case was one Ashley had rejected.

It turned out that his so-called surprise for me was nothing more than something someone else didn't want.