I couldn't believe I was dying.

I had no parents and no family, with only a handful of contacts on my phone.

I thought for a moment and decided to call Mateo. He answered instantly but hung up just as fast.

Thinking it was a slip, I dialed again. This time, it rang forever before he answered, sounding pissed.

"What now?"

"Mateo..."

The thought of my diagnosis hit me. Memories of our happy times flooded back.

It pained me that I couldn't be by his side much longer. My voice shook, but the words died in my throat. I didn't know how to bring it up to him.

"It's just a fake breakup, alright? We'll get back together. Why are you acting like this?" he grumbled. "Grow up. If Sophie offs herself, that's on us."

Once, he said that he knew me best, able to read my every thought.

He knew how fragile I was and promised he'd stick by me through anything. He was my therapist and my closest love.

But everything changed when Sophie showed up. Our relationship was reduced to a joke.

The second he suggested splitting, I knew we were done. The double blow wrecked me.

Still, I steadied myself and said flatly, "I've made up my mind. Let's break up for real."

It was time to end this fantasy and my miserable life.

...

Since that day, Mateo hadn't come home.

I boxed up his stuff and shipped it to Sophie's place. Most of my things went to the landlady.

Mary Thompson stared at the pile I hauled over, confused. "Are you guys moving out?"

I forced a smile. "Yeah, I can't take all this stuff. Pick whatever you need."

She saw right through me. "You broke up with that lad, didn't you?"

I laughed bitterly. She caught herself, patting my shoulder.

"I thought you two were solid," she sighed. "Oh well, life is full of curveballs. Just remember that there are other fish in the sea."

Her open-mindedness soothed me a little.

The next day, sorting through the apartment, I felt drained. Even my once-sharp mind became dull.

I tossed and turned all night, stuck between nightmares and waking up.

By the next evening, I finally dragged myself out of bed. In my haze, I kept calling for Mateo.

Back when I had cramps, he'd stumble out of bed, grab me a hot bottle of water, and rub my belly while nodding off.

Maybe I leaned on him too much. When no one answered, I cried.

Then it hit me that we had broken up.

Growing up unloved, I never learned how to love or what it felt like. Mateo was my light, showing me what it meant to be cared for.

It was new and strange, something I couldn't let go of.

I never thought anyone could love a wreck like me.

Maybe it was too good to last. When the dream ended, the pain hit hard.

I had held onto something that wasn't mine for too long. Now it was time to pay back.

I charged my phone. When it powered on, missed calls from Mateo flooded in.

I hesitated for a moment before calling back. He answered and tore into me.

"I told you I'm busy today," he huffed. "Why did you blow up my phone last night? I called back, and you ignored me. Are you messing with me?"

I froze, then realized I must have called him in my sleep.

"I'm not," I said.

He regretted his harsh tone and softened a little. "No harm done. Once Sophie is better, we'll get back together. Just wait for me at home, okay?"

There he came again, always putting Sophie first. When it came to me, he never gave a definite answer, just letting me wait endlessly.

He took my silence for acquiescence and threw me a couple of sweet words before hanging up.

The room went silent again. I curled up, hugging my knees.

Tears welled up in my eyes. Time was running out.

I couldn't make it till he came back.

...

My limbs gave out first. I couldn't lift a heavy mug anymore.

I managed to cook a simple meal, but halfway through eating, I ran out of steam.

Weak and miserable, I flopped onto the couch and closed my eyes.

When I woke up, I caught myself muttering Mateo's name again.

Back when he lived here, all I had to do was call for him. He'd scoop me up and carry me to bed.

He was attentive, able to catch my every little mood. He made me feel special in the smallest ways.

Now he was no longer there.

In fact, this wasn't the first time he had brought up breaking up. Every time, it was because Sophie needed him.

He had said, "You grew up without parents. You're tougher than Sophie. She can't survive without me. Besides, she's my childhood friend. My parents can't stand seeing her hurt herself. I can't watch her suffer either. Let's fake a breakup. When she's better, we'll patch things up, alright?"

I had asked, "Why does her treatment even need us to break up?"

Guilt had crept onto his face. "Sophie has always wanted to be my bride. If she finds out I've got a girlfriend, she'll kill herself on the spot."

For four years, he had been great to me but kept it low-key.

I had never gotten to meet his parents, and he had never taken me to his friends.

I had thought he just didn't want their meddling.

Mateo had posted about us on social media, so I hadn't thought much of it.

Then one day, he handed me his phone to pay the bills. I saw that post and found it was visible only to me.

Turned out, he had faked it the whole time. His love for me was nothing but a show.

The doorbell rang, interrupting my thoughts.

I opened the door, expecting Mary. It wasn't her, but Mateo.

I looked at him but didn't feel a thing. I said firmly, "We're over. I'm not getting back to you."

He was already on edge, and my words lit a fuse.

He slammed my favorite mac and cheese on the entryway table, grabbed my hand, and stared me down.

"Say that again," he growled. "What do you mean by that? You're an orphan, and I'm the only one in this world who cares about you."

I shook him off and stepped back.

"You dumped me first," I said, tearing up.

He couldn't bear to see me cry. He cooled off and took my hand, trying to coax me.

"Don't cry. That will wrinkle your face. I only suggested breaking up because her parents asked. I'm still your guy. I just need to step away for a bit, okay?" he said softly, pulling me to the couch.

His soothing voice lulled me to sleep, but my symptoms felt worse.

I only half-heard him whispering that it wasn't his choice. Their parents were tight, and they had begged him to help.

Besides, Sophie was his childhood friend. He couldn't sit by.

I bought it, but his lies were short-lived.

One day, I went to his office and saw a black car parked downstairs. It was Mateo's.

A girl lounged in the driver's seat, scrolling her phone.

When Mateo came down, she honked. He smiled and walked over with brisk steps.

Sophie rolled down the window, tilted her chin up, and demanded a kiss. He leaned in and planted one on her lips.

They acted like no one else existed. They didn't even notice me.

Something in me shattered.

Sophie grinned, "Hop in. I'm taking you for a spin."

Mateo climbed in without a second thought. That side of him was something I had never seen before.

Seeing his true colors made my skin crawl. It was hard to believe someone could play the perfect boyfriend for four whole years.

I started to doubt that our breakup was really about Sophie's depression. Maybe he was just done with me and used her as an excuse.

He had been in love with her all along, playing me like a fool.

It all clicked. The other day, he'd rushed to dump me so that he could rekindle things with his old flame.

I tore up a referral letter from some big-shot client, saying goodbye to the fake past.