Chapter 3 - The Twelve-Year Illusion
The email I sent Chad had a very clear subject line: Invoice. The body contained only a few sentences: "Here is every dollar my family and I spent on this wedding. Wire it to my account within 72 hours, and buy out my half of the townhouse deposit, or my lawyer will see you in court."
How did we get here? It always came back to Chloe. She was his high school friend’s little sister, a girl who simply refused to grow up, constantly playing the sick, fragile victim who needed a savior.
On my sophomore year birthday in college, Chad saved up to take me to a fancy downtown steakhouse. I wore a brand-new dress. But when he arrived, Chloe was trailing right behind him. "She failed her midterms and was crying, so I brought her along to cheer her up," he had explained. That night, she conveniently "tripped" and spilled a full glass of red wine all over my white dress. Chad immediately defended her, saying I was being "too harsh on a sensitive girl."
It only got worse over the years. We’d plan a weekend getaway, she’d get a mysterious fever, and he’d cancel our trip to take care of her. When we were house hunting, I wanted a sunlit, south-facing place. Chloe said it was "too far from her apartment," so Chad convinced me to buy a gloomy, north-facing unit just to keep her happy.
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Even the wedding dresses. We went shopping, and Chloe tagged along, trying on gowns like she was the bride. She fell in love with a mermaid dress, and Chad looked at her with an absolute daze in his eyes. "Tara, maybe you should pick this one," he suggested. "Just to fulfill Chloe’s dream."
That was the day I secretly bought this condo. The day I realized I was the third wheel in my own relationship.
