iancé, Andrew Scott, the "golden boy" non-profit lawyer, the man who spent two ye

ith my best frien

Andrew's bachelor party, a joint celebration before our

Like You"

ndrew, ever the charming host, joined her on stage. Th

g, Andrew' s

turned to Molly, ready to make a lighthear

y was cr

room shifted. It wasn't beautiful anymore, it was wrong. Andrew, without

e murmured into the

and I was on the outside looking in

I fumbled with the pack, my hands shaking. It was a habit I'd quit for A

nd me. I froze, pressing myself into the

e," Molly whispered, he

gut. "Molly, I don't even have t

shirt-a shirt he once yelled at me for putting too close to my colorful c

g," he said, his voice low and pain

m for his 18th birthday. I remembered him telling me the story, framing it as

new. It was ancient. I

heart hammering against my ribs. The party was a blur of noise an

rom Venmo popped

rt to leave anything there. I opened the Venmo app. And there it was. Not ju

of you, M. Remember

nternet slang, it means "I will love you for a li

throat. Another one, from three years ag

our partner, let me be your best friend's fiancé. At least

ement, it was all a lie. I wasn't the woman he chose. I was the ticket he

ho was my b