Chapter 3: Disposable

I pushed open the door to the apartment. Laughter and music crashed into me. The living room was a mess—beer cans, chip bags, Lila in Noah’s arms, her face flushed, the love between them obvious.

I froze on the threshold. The room went quiet. Noah’s eyes darted with panic. He pulled me aside, voice tense.

"Babe, it’s not what you think. We were just playing a game—I was helping Lila out."

His grip was gentle but desperate. I just nodded, too tired to care. I couldn’t tell the truth from the lies anymore. I just wanted to sleep.

As I turned to leave, he stopped me again. "No one knows we’re together. I told them you’re my cleaning lady—just drop off the stuff and go. Their mouths are too big. If they find out, they’ll tell my family. When the time’s right, we’ll go public. I booked you a hotel room."

His words hit me like a slap. He wanted me gone—immediately. I looked up at him, pain burning in my chest. Was he really kicking me out before I could even process any of this?

Inside, every trace of me was gone. The apartment had been scrubbed clean, as if I’d never existed. I grabbed my documents, but Lila blocked my way, grinning.

"Aubrey, you’re here? Thought you called in sick. Don’t worry, I’ll still pay you. Could you whip up some hangover soup?"

Her voice was syrupy sweet, but her eyes glittered with malice. I glanced at Noah, who just looked at me with pleading, guilty eyes.

"Lila’s always been spoiled—she can’t cook. I’ll count this as overtime for you."

Fine. Just for the memory of the boy who once made me feel special.

After he pushed me into the kitchen, I heard voices from the bedroom. Lila’s whine floated down the hall.

"Why does she get overtime? She didn’t even show up today."

Noah’s voice, low and coaxing: "You’re the real boss here. Aubrey’s just… cost-effective."

Their laughter drifted through the walls, muffled but sharp. "You’re so annoying—don’t touch me!"

Their flirting made me want to scream. After a while, they came out. Lila waltzed into the kitchen, bowl in hand.

"Aubrey, let me carry it. I’ll do it."

She leaned in, whispering in my ear: "Desperate cougar, eavesdropping at the wall. If you’re so lonely, get yourself a toy. Still have the nerve to show up here?"

Her words were cold and cutting. My eyes went wide. She knew everything.

Dazed, I barely noticed when she poured boiling soup onto my arm. The pain was sharp, but the humiliation was worse. I flashed back to every time I’d bent over backward to please Noah—every salad, every mask, every desperate attempt to stay young.

The bowl crashed to the floor. Lila shrieked, "Aubrey, why’d you let go?"

Noah rushed in, shielding her, glaring at me. "I told you Lila never does anything. You insisted she carry it. Don’t you have hands?"

His eyes blazed, like I was the villain. Lila hid behind him, sniffling. "Noah, forget it. It was my fault. I heard some older women try to play mom."

Noah shot me a look full of disappointment and warning. "Aubrey, know your place."

My place. I met his eyes and saw guilt flicker before he looked away. "Apologize to Lila, and we’re done."

Why should I? I had nothing to be ashamed of. I grabbed my bag to leave, terrified for my burned hand.

"I told you to apologize. Didn’t you hear me?" He grabbed my wrist, shoving my burned hand toward Lila. My stomach slammed against the counter, pain radiating through me.

Lila pretended to pull him off. "Forget it, it’s nothing. My hand’s just a little red."

"It’s not nothing. Let’s go to the hospital, then deal with her later."

Noah scooped up Lila and rushed out, covering her legs with my coat.

When they left, only Noah’s friends remained. The one who joked the most swaggered over, grinning. "Noah said you get lonely. Maybe you want some real company?"

He leaned in, reeking of beer. "Those legs of yours—damn."

Suddenly, I felt invisible, like I’d never existed in Noah’s life at all. I gritted my teeth, stood up, and spat in his face. "If you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops."

His grin twisted into a sneer. He grabbed my neck, squeezing. "Don’t pretend to be pure. We’ve all seen your sexy pics."

He kicked me twice, hard, then stormed out, leaving me gasping for air. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold my phone. When I was sure they were gone, my legs gave out and I slid to the floor, dialing 911 with icy, steady fingers.

"Emergency? I think I’m having a miscarriage."

As the sirens wailed in the distance, I realized: this was the last time anyone would ever call me a fool.