Chapter 5: The Secret Girlfriend

I had a girlfriend, but only Rachel knew. She didn’t say, I didn’t say.

Every now and then, she’d Venmo me with a note: come over for dinner, then an address.

I’d go. Rachel was generous—not just cash, but free meals too.

Sometimes it was just us. She’d book a private room at a steakhouse, order filet mignon, and eat slow, like a pampered heiress. I’d stick with the house burger. The tablecloth was so white I was scared to spill ketchup.

If I ate too fast, she’d give me a look. "Why so fast? Drink some soup first."

I’d take a sip, look up, see her smile, then keep eating.

If there were more people, I kept my mouth shut and my eyes on my plate. In foster care, you learn that silence is safer than attention.

Someone once said, "How can a guy be so quiet? Loosen up a bit." I just smiled and nodded, then went back to my burger.

I can’t really say much. Growing up an orphan, you learn not to take risks—not even with words. Better to just stay quiet.

I quietly followed Rachel for a long time. Later, on my birthday, she asked me to celebrate. I went.

Her family’s yacht was docked on the river. The water glittered with city lights, and somewhere on deck, someone played Post Malone too loud. Rachel’s nails flashed like tiny disco balls.

I helped her put on nail polish as she curled up on the couch. "If you have a birthday wish, just say it."

I hesitated, then blurted, "I want an apartment."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "An apartment? Sure, in a few days."

She was still lazily playing with her phone.

Rachel made the promise so casually, it took me a while to process it. I just cut the cake and sat beside her, eating. My hands felt sticky with frosting and regret. The sunset at the dock was beautiful, the frosting was sweet, and on a whim, I turned to look at her. My heart calmed, and I just stared at her for a long time.

Suddenly, I didn’t want the apartment anymore. I could always save up and buy one myself. Right now, I really, really wanted to kiss her.

I liked her a lot—right now, today.

But I didn’t say anything, didn’t move. She was still bored, playing with her phone, then seemed to get a voice message.

I didn’t catch what it said, but she frowned: "I have something to do, need to leave first. You go back by yourself."

I watched her walk off, my slice of cake untouched. When I got back to the dorm, my roommate showed me a photo from the hospital—Rachel standing at Derek’s side.

My roommate patted my shoulder. "They’re a better match. Stop being a doormat. Find someone more suitable while you’re still in college."

I tried to laugh it off, but the image of Rachel by Derek’s bed stuck in my head all night. I just stared at the ceiling, feeling the birthday sugar crash and wishing the world would pause, just for me.