The night Jason proposed, I felt like I was on top of the world. My heart soared, eager to share my joy with everyone around me—friends, family, and even old acquaintances all chimed in with congratulations. But there was one voice I missed.
Brooke.
She had been my rock for years—the friend I trusted with my whole heart. While we hadn’t known each other since childhood, it felt like we had. Our bond was effortless, almost fated. We’d met at a party after college, and it was like we’d known each other forever. She was there for me through every breakup, every career struggle, every moment of self-doubt.
So when she didn’t celebrate my engagement, something felt… off.
Then, in the middle of the night, my phone rang.
I fumbled to answer in the dark, squinting at the screen. Bestie flashed across it. Relief washed over me. But when I answered, her whisper sent chills down my spine.
“Don’t trust him.”
Then the line went dead.
I stared at the phone, my heart racing. What did she mean? Why now? I called her back over and over—once, twice, a dozen times. Nothing.
By morning, frustration had set in. I needed answers. Brooke had never been one to hide her feelings, but this? This was something different.
I replayed our last conversation in my mind. It had been a few months earlier when she met Jason for the first time. We had gone out for drinks, just the three of us. Jason had been charming—asking questions, making jokes—but something in her smile had seemed… strained.
When he went to the restroom, I leaned in, eager to hear what she thought.
“I don’t think he’s right for you.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. I had hoped for excitement, but there was only hesitation.
“How do you know who’s right for me?” I had asked.
“It’s just my opinion,” she had shrugged, brushing it off.
I had pushed back, defensive. “Are you jealous?”
Her lips had curled into a bitter expression. “Jealous? You think I want your life?”
That night marked the beginning of a silent war. Every time I mentioned Jason, she shut down. Conversations became arguments, and the tension grew unbearable.
Jason had become my escape, always there to reassure me. “She’s jealous. She doesn’t want you to be happy.”
I had believed him.
Ignoring Brooke had been easy at first—the unanswered texts, the missed calls. They all built an invisible wall between us. And when Jason proposed, I convinced myself I didn’t need her blessing.
But then came the call. And now, I had to know why.
The next morning, I drove straight to her house. My heart pounded as I knocked.
The door opened, but it wasn’t Brooke who answered.
Her mother, Stephanie, greeted me with a warm smile. “Claire, sweetheart. It’s been a while.”
“Is Brooke home?” I asked.
Stephanie hesitated. “She’s out right now. Did something happen?”
I stepped inside, the scent of coffee and lavender wrapping around me like a familiar hug. We sat at the kitchen table, and I poured everything out—Brooke’s coldness, the midnight warning, my confusion.
Stephanie listened intently, her expression shifting from concern to something else. Something darker.
“What’s your fiancé’s name again?” she asked.
“Jason. Why?”
Her fingers tightened around her mug. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” she murmured.
“What is?” I pressed.
She sighed, her face grim. “Melanie’s father. His name was Jason too.”
My stomach twisted. “You mean—?”
“I never met him,” Stephanie admitted. “But Brooke never forgave him. He left her when she was pregnant. She never even kept his photos.”
A cold weight settled in my chest. “Are you sure?”
Stephanie hesitated, then stood. “Let me check.”
She disappeared into another room, rummaging through old boxes. When she returned, she held a single, faded photograph.
“This is all I could find.”
I took it, my fingers trembling.
And in that moment, my world collapsed.
Staring back at me was Jason.
My Jason.
The man I was about to marry. The man who had abandoned my best friend when she needed him most.
The pieces clicked into place—the tension, the warnings, the way he had convinced me to cut Brooke out of my life.
It had all been deliberate.
The front door creaked open. Footsteps.
Brooke.
She froze when she saw me. “Claire?”
I stood up, gripping the photo. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her face went pale. “How did you—?”
“Your mom.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a defeated sigh. “I thought I destroyed everything.”
“Don’t avoid this, Brooke. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Because he threatened me.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “He said if I told you, he’d take Melanie away. He called me the night we went out to that bar. I was scared, Claire.”
My anger melted into something deeper. Something protective.
“Oh, Brooke.”
I stepped forward, pulling her into an embrace.
“You should have told me.”
She sobbed against my shoulder. “I didn’t know what to do.”
I pulled back, looking her in the eyes. “Well, now you don’t have to do it alone. Jason won’t know what hit him.”
For the first time in months, a real smile broke through her tears.
“Thank you.”