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After Jack Hunt showed up at my parents’ house in suburban Alexandria, Virginia, carrying
two bottles of counterfeit whiskey, I broke up with him.
He stared at me in disbelief.
“All because I gave your dad two fake bottles of whiskey? Emma, come on. If you feel that
strongly about it, I’ll send over ten cases tomorrow.”
I kept my eyes on the road and said nothing.
It wasn’t until we got back to the house we shared, the one meant to be our future marital
home, that I finally spoke, calm and composed.
“In about ten seconds, you’ll understand the real reason I’m ending things.”
Right on cue, the front door flung open.
“Jack! You’re back!”
A pretty young woman peeked out from inside, her voice sweet and eager.
Jack’s face darkened immediately.
He snapped at her, “Olivia Moore, you said you’d be gone today. Why the hell are you still
here?”
Olivia turned pale.
She pulled the door wide open, not to plead with Jack, but to look directly at me.
“Emma, I’m begging you. Just let me stay here a few more days, please. You know how bad
the job market is right now. I wouldn’t be clinging to Jack if I had any other option.”
Jack’s face soured even more.
He brushed past me, grabbed Olivia by the wrist, and dragged her into the house. The door
slammed shut with a loud bang.
He didn’t say a single word to me.
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Didn’t even notice I was still standing outside.
Almost immediately, the sound of shouting echoed from inside.
I couldn’t make out every word through the door, but I could guess the gist:
Jack yelling at Olivia to get out of the house, and Olivia begging him to let her stay just a few
more days.
I’d heard this scene play out more times than I could count.
I was tired of it.
Tired of the drama.
Tired of pretending not to see what was obvious.
It had all started six months ago, when Jack’s ex-girlfriend showed up outside our apartment
building, dragging a battered old suitcase behind her.
The moment Jack saw her, something changed.
This man who had never raised his voice at me suddenly exploded, screaming at her right
there on the street.
He even shoved her, told her to get the hell out of his life.
They looked just like a pair of ex-lovers caught in a nasty, unresolved breakup.
And I? I just stood there.
The fiancée he’d dated for a year.
The woman he was supposed to marry.
I couldn’t get a word in, couldn’t even figure out where I was supposed to stand in that scene.
Later, Jack tried to explain everything to me.
He said she was his ex of five years.
Their breakup had been ugly.
He’d caught her kissing another man outside their old apartment building, and they hadn’t
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spoken since.
He swore he was done with her.
That he’d send her away.
He even said it while smoking a cigarette, so distracted he didn’t notice the flame had gone
out, or that his fingertip had burned black from the ember.
Maybe that’s when I knew, deep down, that we weren’t going to make it to the altar.
Sure enough, the very next day, he let her move into his house.
When I confronted him, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“I didn’t have a choice, okay? Olivia gave me her medical report. She has depression. She said
if I didn’t let her stay, she’d throw herself into the river.”
“She was already halfway over the railing last night, Emma. What was I supposed to do? Let
her die?”
No. I didn’t understand.
But I still went along with the wedding plans.
Still arranged for him to meet my parents.
That’s because on paper, we were a perfect match, background, personality, everything. And
because I loved him.
I wasn’t ready to let go.
I wanted to give him another chance. Give us another chance.
But then he showed up at my dad’s house with two bottles of fake whiskey.
And I knew.
It wasn’t just about the whiskey, not really.
That was Olivia’s move.
I knew it the second I saw the labels.
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Ever since she’d moved into Jack’s place, she’d been trying to undermine me.
She’d call him late at night on purpose.
Show him photos of me and my ex, pretending that she did it without meaning to.
She wasn’t subtle about her intentions.
And Jack? Every time, he’d drag her into the bedroom and shout at her:
“Olivia Moore, how many times do I have to say it? I don’t love you anymore! Get out of my
house! I have a life now.”
And every time, Olivia would sob, “No! If I can’t have you, no one can! I only kissed that guy because I was drunk. I made a mistake, I admit it. But you’re mine, Jack. You’ve always been
mine.”
They argued. Again and again. Always the same lines.
No one ever stopped to explain anything to me.
Not once.
Until now.
Until that final straw, Olivia swapping out the whiskey Jack brought to my father.
And Jack, as usual, brushing it off with the same damn line:
“It’s just two bottles of whiskey. What’s the big deal? If it really bothers you, I’ll send your dad
ten cases tomorrow.”
Sure. No big deal.
Jack was a CEO.
His startup had already made him millions.
Ten cases of whiskey? He could afford a hundred.
But it wasn’t about the money.
It was the fact that he was still tangled up with another woman.
And I was done.
That’s because no matter how rich Jack was,my dad still wouldn’t accept those whiskey.
And neither would I.
