Posted Their Texts, Blocked His Number, Bye - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Leigh looked embarrassed, but Harvey didn't seem to care.
Our paths crossed right at the elevator bank.
I stayed quiet while Leigh fidgeted in Harvey's arms, her cheeks burning red.
"Harvey, put me down already," she whined.
He tightened his grip, scowling. "You're injured. Stop squirming."
Then his gaze shifted to me.
"What are you doing here? You sick?"
I held up my medicine bottle.
"Just some sleeping pills," I said.
He considered this for a moment. "I'll have my assistant drop off some lavender. Put it by your bed—might help you relax."
Before he could continue, Leigh let out a pitiful whimper, like a wounded kitten.
The elevator descended smoothly until—BANG!—we jerked to a violent stop.
The lights flickered and died.
Total darkness.
I dropped to the floor, my entire body shaking.
I've been terrified of the dark since childhood.
Harvey's voice cut through the blackness. "Berenice? You okay?"
All I could manage was a shaky "M-mm."
"Leigh, I need to put you down for a sec," he said, concern lacing his words.
"But Berenice—"
From the corner, Leigh started sniffling. "I'm scared too, Harvey! Don't leave me!"
That was it. His attention snapped to her, his voice softening as he comforted her.
Meanwhile, my palms turned clammy, my tremors uncontrollable.
This wasn't new. Years ago, Harvey and I had been trapped in an elevator just like this.
Back then, when the lights went out, he'd held me—this germaphobe who couldn't stand mess—held me without complaint as I shook like a leaf.
Just like he was holding Leigh now.
"H-Harvey..." My whisper cracked.
The darkness made me feel small. Tears spilled over.
For one pathetic moment, I wanted his arms around me again.
Then he shattered that hope: "Leigh's hurt..."
I shut my mouth and buried my face in my knees.
An eternity later, the lights flickered on and the elevator lurched back to life.
The second the doors opened, I bolted.
At home, I sat in a daze.
Mom had texted wedding dress options, but I couldn't focus.
Just stared at the clock.
Harvey finally returned holding lavender in one hand, takeout in the other.
I opened the container—lobster bisque.
He'd forgotten my shellfish allergy.
Didn't even realize until I pointed it out. Just muttered, "Shit, sorry."
Then: "You haven't eaten, right? It's still warm."
I ate every drop.
The hives came fast, but I didn't care.
"Come home for dinner tomorrow," I said. "Your birthday."
He blinked, then nodded.
I went for the antihistamines.
Cooking's never been my thing.
The only dish I can halfway make? Birthday spaghetti.
Tonight, I kept screwing it up.
Couldn't waste food, so I choked down my mistakes.
Kept checking the clock.
After Harvey's birthday dinner, I'd leave.
For good.
But he never came.
His call came instead.
"Leigh burned herself cooking. Taking her to urgent care," he said. "Go ahead and eat without me."
So transparent.
My main Facebook showed nothing.
But my burner account? There they were—Harvey and Leigh grinning by a cake, streamers mid-air, hands clasped.
"Hello? You there?" Harvey's voice snapped me back.
I exhaled shakily. "It's... fine. No rush."
Then—from my alt account—I liked his post.
The spaghetti went straight in the trash.
Harvey doesn't love me.
Letting go might actually make him happy. So I hauled out my suitcase.
On the way out, I uploaded every screenshot of Harvey and Leigh's years-long flirtation to my main Facebook.
Our entire social circle would see.
If I'm leaving, I'm taking the truth with me.
Before boarding, one last text:
[Happy birthday. Goodbye.]
No dramatic breakup needed.
Seven years with no ring? Nothing to break.
Even the abortions meant nothing to him—just casualties of his chaos.
As I powered off my phone, it lit up with calls.
My finger slipped.
I answered.