He Chose His Friend, So I Chose to Leave Him

I got my hands on tickets to the World Cup final—the match Matteo wanted more than anything. I went to find him, buzzing with excitement, only to stop outside the door when I heard one of his friends pleading with him. “Celeste cleared her entire schedule for this, and she moved heaven and earth for those tickets. You’re taking Chiara instead? That’s a seriously bad look, man.” Matteo exhaled a cloud of vape smoke, his voice a study in casual indifference. “It’s no fun with her. Besides, Chiara and I have a tradition. We watch every World Cup final together.” No fun. A tradition. The words were clean, sharp, and they went straight through me. Twelve years. Three World Cup finals. He’d gone to the first two with Chiara. I’d brought it up with him more than once. I’d even lost my temper over it. And every single time, he’d coaxed me into submission. “Chiara and I grew up together. It’s just habit. Before you, she was always the one with me. Come on, be good. Let this one go. Next time, I promise, it’ll just be you and me.” I believed him. I waited four years. And this time, I still wasn’t his choice. I glanced down at the tickets in my hand, let out a short, sharp breath that might have been a laugh, and tore them in half. I let the pieces flutter into the trash can. For twelve years, I had been the one chasing him. Now, I was done.