They Laughed I Let My Boyfriend and Bestie Share a Bed

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Everyone laughed at how ridiculous I was, actually sharing a room with my boyfriend and my best friend both.

Three months ago, my best friend was beaten so badly by her ex-husband that she was left half paralyzed, and she only got her divorce by walking away with nothing.

Crying, I brought her homeshe was falling apart mentallyand cared for her myself, even sleeping in the same bed with her.

My boyfriend was forced onto a makeshift bed on the floor, and he complained about it.

"I won't even let you put on your own socks, and here you are playing nursemaid to her?"

"You could just pay to send her to a care home, but no, you'd rather make yourself a laughingstock."

I folded her clothes with brisk, neat movements. "She's traumatized. She's too scared to sleep without me."

"She was the one who pulled me out of my depression back then. I can't just turn my back on her."

He didn't say anything more.

Then one day I forgot my ID on a business trip and had to turn back home.

The bedroom door was ajar, and I could hear soft, suggestive panting from inside.

My heart lurched, and I softened my steps and moved closer.

My best friendwho was supposedly bedridden all day, unable to care for herself, with nothing to do but crywas now straddling my boyfriend, full of energy, her voice sweet and syrupy.

"You really are clever, coming up with this scheme to make her pity me so I'd have a perfect excuse to move in."

My boyfriend chuckled softly, his voice low.

"You played your part well too, acting sick every day to keep her occupied, afraid she'd have any time to get close to me."

Before the bed frame started creaking, she let out a long sigh.

"I just pray we never get caught. I don't want to lose her."

I stood frozen outside the door, cold all over.

I wiped away my tears, took out my phone, and messaged my mother.

Mom, that guy you said you wanted to introduce me toset up a time for us to meet.

......

I turned and went into the study to look for my ID.

My body wouldn't stop shaking, and I accidentally knocked into the desk.

Hearing the noise, Otto pushed the door open, his expression freezing.

"Zoe? Weren't you away on a business trip?"

I glanced at his neck.

His collar was rumpled, and it couldn't hide the glaring red marks.

"I forgot my ID."

He seemed to relax, and pulled open the second drawer on the right with practiced ease.

Handing me the ID, his tone was resigned.

"I honestly don't know how you'd get by without me."

My eyes went red in an instant.

I kept my head down, my voice muffled.

"Is Isabella still asleep?"

He cleared his throat, his gaze wandering.

"Probably. I haven't been paying attention to her."

As cold as ever.

"Otto, maybe we really should send her to a care home."

He shook his head reflexively, his voice rising a few notches.

"No."

Then he caught himself and added another line.

"I don't want you running to a care home every day."

I said nothing.

After a long silence, he made it sound offhand.

"Why bring this up all of a sudden? Did you... just see something?"

I shook my head. "I just feel like I've really put you through a lot."

He smiled. "I'm used to it. It's because you care about her so much."

I gripped my ID tightly, turned, and walked out of the study.

I caught a glimpse of Isabella lying in the bedroom with her eyes closed, as if she were truly asleep.

As though she hadn't just been smiling sweetly on top of him a moment ago.

As I passed the kitchen, Otto called out to me.

"Have some soup before you go?"

I paused. "Okay."

Not long after Isabella moved in, he'd started making slow-simmered soup every day.

"You've worried yourself thin. Drink more soup and build yourself back up."

I really believed he cared about me.

I'd forgotten that Isabella had a Cantonese stomach and loved slow-simmered soup.

Now the warm liquid slid down my throat, but the taste was bitter.

I set down the bowl, took my suitcase, and headed out.

Waiting for my ride downstairs, I opened the security camera feed for the bedroom.

I'd installed it a couple of days ago, thinking it would be convenient for checking on Isabella.

I hadn't had the chance to tell them yet.

On the screen, the two of them sat propped against the headboard, wrapped in each other's arms.

Isabella looked uneasy. "Zoe hasn't found out, has she?"

Otto shook his head with certainty. "No, she's perfectly calm."

"That's good."

She burrowed into Otto's arms and wrapped hers around his waist.

"She'll never imagine my marrying someone far away was a lie."

"I only went to the next city over, so it's not easy to get caught when you come see me."

"If the two of you weren't about to get married, I wouldn't have wanted to move in either."

Otto stroked her hair.

"So that's why you cling to me so tightly every day once she's off to work?"

She pouted. "In a month you two will be married, and who knows if you'll settle down then. I have to make every second count."

"You little minx..."

My hands trembled as I shut off the sickening footage and closed my eyes.

Isabella got married three years ago.

Back then I'd cried my eyes red and asked her why she was marrying someone so far away.

"Nothing I can do about itmy husband's just so good in bed."

She'd pinched my cheek and given me a playful smile.

"Don't be sad. However happy you and your boyfriend are, that's how happy my husband and I are."

At the time I thought she was just comforting me. Now, looking back, every word of it was true.

The thought of who that husband of hers really was, of how they'd played me for a fool for three years

My stomach heaved.

No wonder.

From then on, Otto went away on business every month.

And Isabella never once let me visit her new home.

Every time her husband came up, she'd give some vague answer and change the subject.

As the tears fell, my phone rang.

"Sweetheart, that young man's free tomorrow. Do you want to meet him?"

I answered softly, "Okay."

A year ago, my mother said we'd been together for five years and it was time to talk about marriage.

But every time we set up a meeting-the-parents dinner, Otto always found a reason not to show.

One time, all the dishes were already on the table before he called to say he had to go discuss a partnership at the last minute and couldn't make it.

My mother slammed her chopsticks down right there and said she was going to set me up on a blind date.

"Once or twice is one thing, but it's been a year, and he can't even manage a single meal."

"If he doesn't keep you in his heart, we shouldn't go rushing to marry him either. We have plenty of options."

And I still made excuses for him.

"He's a CEO, he's busy. The moment he has time, I'll bring him to meet you."

Only now do I understand.

He wasn't busy. He was saving his time for someone more important.

The ride-share dropped me at a hotel not far from my house.

I'd taken leave from my boss and never gone to the airport.

After putting my luggage away, I sat on the edge of the bed and searched for Isabella's social media accounts.

She probably knew I wasn't used to these apps, so she'd set her handle to her own real name.

I clicked in. Her latest post was from three days ago.

The photo showed two hands clasped together, the background the headboard of my own bedroom.

The one with the sharp knuckles had a scar on the thumbfrom last month, when Otto cut himself cooking for me.

The small, slender one wore, on its wrist, the safety cord I'd gone to the temple to bless for Isabella.

Caption: Home is wherever you are.

That day I'd worked overtime until late and brought Isabella her favorite chestnut cake.

I'd barely set the bag down before I wiped her body clean and changed her dressing, and only then went to wash up.

Before sleep she'd hugged me, her eyes going red.

"Zoe, we'll be sisters for life."

Otto's voice was cool from off to the side. "Her whole life can only belong to me."

Looking back now, their acting was really good.

Scroll down.

Six months ago, on my birthday, Otto went on a business trip. He video-called me that night to show me the fireworks from his hoteland at that very moment, Isabella was right there beside him.

A year ago, on our third anniversary, he said with such regret that he had to see a client, and sent me photos of a business dinner. It turned out he was having a candlelight dinner with her.

Three years ago, on the night Isabella "got married," I cried on a video call with her. Off-camera, Otto was massaging her calves.

I turned my phone face down on the bed and lay back.

At some point the lights outside the window had all come on.

A few hundred meters away, the two people I trusted most were sharing body heat.

Before I knew it, the pillow was soaked through.

The next day, I went to meet my blind date.

When it was over, I turned my phone on.

Fifteen minutes earlier, Otto had sent me a barbecue place, saying he was taking his employees out for a team-building thing.

If it's good, I'll bring you next time.

He was the same as ever, volunteering his whereabouts down to the last detail.

I told the driver to change the destination.

When I got to the place, there weren't any employees at all.

There was only Otto and Isabella.

I pulled my hat down low and sat at a table off to the side, behind them.

Isabella went to the cooler to get a drink.

She walked steadilyeven rose up on her toes to reach the top bottle of soda.

I watched quietly, my fingernails digging into my palms.

For three months, I'd bent over every day to wipe her body, turn her over, carry her to the toilet.

When she threw up on me, I didn't even furrow my brow.

What I got in return was a herniated disc and an arrhythmia from long-term sleep deprivation.

And now she was walking around fine, making a joke of everything I'd given.

When she came back with her drink, Otto had already mixed the dipping sauce for her.

"This is their secret dipping sauce. Try it, but don't eat too muchit's too spicy, your stomach can't take it."

"And this other plate is done to your taste, less spice, more cumin."

Isabella smiled until her eyes narrowed. "You really do understand me."

Then she tilted her head.

"Do you understand Zoe this well too?"

He set the grilled meat into her bowl.

"With her it's just habit. With you it's genuine care."

My chewing stopped, a dull pain spreading across the tip of my tongue.

Tears dropped into the bowl, blurring out a ring of oil.

Isabella took a bite of meat and leaned against his shoulder.

"How should we spend our time alone these few days while she's away on her business trip?"

Otto ruffled her hair.

"I'll make the arrangements. Just don't stay homeit's too stuffy."

Stuffy.

When Otto and I first started the company, we were dirt poor, crammed into a basement.

Only about a hundred and fifty square feet, windows that leaked drafts, the winter wind cutting straight to the bone.

I lay burning with fever on a secondhand spring mattress, and he held me in silence all night long.

Later, the moment the company started to turn a corner, he emptied his savings to buy that apartment.

When he pressed the keys into my hand, his eyes were rimmed red.

"Zoe, I've finally given you a home."

After that our savings kept growingenough to buy several apartments at that price.

But we never had the heart to move.

It didn't even have a guest room, yet it had witnessed us go from having nothing to his company going public.

He once said, "Every time I step through that door after work, that's when I really come back to life."

Now he calls it stuffy.

Isabella blinked. "Sure, and I'd love to spend a few days at your bridal home too."

A flicker of disappointment crossed her eyes. "I don't think I'll ever get to live in a bridal home in this life."

"Is that okay?"

I stared hard at Otto.

He'd told me the bridal home would only feel complete when we crossed the threshold together on our wedding day.

So not even I had lived there yet.

Yet he fed her a meatball, his voice doting. "Whatever you want."

My heart stung for an instant, then went completely numb.

For the next five days, Otto still reported everything to me.

Exhibitions, dinners, movies.

With clients, with employees, or on his own.

But I knew who was keeping him companymy best friend.

On the sixth day, he sent me a message.

What time is your flight tomorrow? I'll come pick you up.

I didn't reply.

Back at the office, I handed in my resignation.

My manager was stunned. "This sudden? Your numbers are goodthere's a bonus coming in the second half of the year"

I smiled. "I'm getting married."

His eyes lit up. "To that boyfriend of five years? Congratulations, congratulations. It hasn't been easy getting here."

I shook my head. "Not to him."

His expression turned odd, but he didn't press.

After finishing the paperwork, I went home.

The apartment was very quiet.

I sent Otto a message.

What are you up to?

He sent back a picture of a bowl of soup.

Waiting on that precious best friend of yours, getting her some soup.

I asked: Are you at home?

He sent a sticker of someone patting a cat's head.

Silly, where else would I be if not home?

I didn't reply. I turned, went downstairs, and hailed a taxi.

Destination: the bridal home.

I pushed the door open. Warm yellow light spilled out, and the air was thick with the smell of chicken soup.

Otto sat on the sofa with his arm around Isabella, watching TV.

Warm, peacefullike home.

And I stood at the door of my own bridal home like an outsider who'd wandered in by mistake.

Hearing the sound at the door, they both turned at the same time.

Then sprang apart like a pair of springs.

Otto stood and came toward me.

"You're back early? Why didn't you tell me to pick you up?"

Isabella braced herself on the armrest, struggling to stand.

Then, as if her strength gave out, she dropped back onto the sofa.

She looked up and forced a smile at me.

"Zoe, please don't get the wrong ideawe just got caught up in the show"

I looked at her. "You had to come all the way to mine and his bridal home to watch TV?"

Otto frowned. "She was just tired of lying around and wanted a change of scenery to lift her mood."

I turned to him. "Weren't you always annoyed by her? Since when do you speak up for her?"

Isabella's eyes reddened. "Please, don't fight over me"

She gritted her teeth and pushed herself up again, as if putting everything she had into standing.

"I'm sorry, this is all my fault I've caused you both so much trouble"

I watched quietly, and then I laughed.

"Isabella, drop the act."

She stared at me, eyes wide, her face going white in an instant.

Otto's head snapped around toward me too, his pupils shrinking.

The room fell dead silent.

Isabella suppressed the panic in her eyes, her voice turning wounded.

"Zoe, what are you saying... Are you sick of me? Fine, I'll go..."

I walked straight over and yanked her up off the sofa.

She took two steps out of reflex, then froze.

After a moment of silence, she lowered her head and stood there quietly.

I stared at her face, and it brought back our college days.

We saved up together to go to concerts, took turns wearing each other's favorite clothes.

When I was heartbroken, she stayed with me on the field, walking until dawn.

She said, "Zoe, from now on, if anyone makes you shed a single tear, I won't let it go."

When a classmate spread filthy sexual rumors about me and my depression flared up and I slit my wrists, she broke down the door and called 911.

She kept watch outside the operating room all night, and the first thing she said when she saw me wake up was:

"Zoe, don't leave me. I can't take it."

All these years, I'd long thought of her as my own sister.

She fell into an online loan scam, and I emptied my living expenses to pay it off for her.

After graduation, when she kept hitting walls in her job hunt, I stayed up late nights coaching her on interview skills until she landed an offer.

When she went through her "domestic-abuse divorce," I drove to the station that same night to pick her up and took care of her down to the last detail.

I handed her the best of everything I had, and she was the one who hurt me the deepest.

My voice was calm.

"Three months of pretendingno, three yearsaren't you tired?"

Otto shifted to block her from me.

"It's not her fault. The wrong is mine."

"Don't blame her. If you want to curse someone, curse me."

I looked at him coldly.

"Of course you're in the wrong. Your wrong was making me wait on the woman you treasure like a dog for three months."

He said in a low voice, "Don't put it so ugly. She's still going to be our bridesmaid at the wedding."

Isabella came over and grabbed my hand, her tears splashing onto the back of it.

"Zoe, I know I was wrong. I was planning to end this before you two got married... I didn't want to hurt you..."

I flung her off hard. "Keep this marriage for yourself, then."

Isabella staggered and fell to the floor, bending over and clutching her belly.

Her face twisted in pain. "Otto, the baby..."

Otto's face went white. He shoved me away hard and rushed over to scoop her up.

I dropped onto the sofa, my mind ringing.

My gaze fell on her hand covering her lower belly, then slowly moved to the taut line of Otto's jaw.

I was shaking all over, a wave of nausea rushing up my throat.

"Otto, Isabella, you two make me sick."

He turned his head to look at me, his face livid.

"Is now really the time to hear you air your grievances?"

"If anything happens to the baby, fiance or not, I won't go easy on you."

He carried her out the door, his hurried figure making it look as if she were the most precious treasure in the world.

The door shut, and I sat alone for a long time.

When night fell, I stood up and took a cab home.

I opened my suitcase and started packing my things.

At half past midnight, Otto sent a message.

The baby's fine. I'll stay with her at the hospital these next few days.

Don't blame Isabella. You're afraid of the pain and don't want to have kids, so she offered to have one for you.

Take this time to cool off. The wedding still happens, life still goes on.

I didn't reply. I dragged my suitcase to the entryway and changed my shoes.

I turned around and took one last look.

The blanket I loved to curl up under was on the sofa, the decorative print I'd picked hung on the wall, and the half-finished bag of chips still sat on the coffee table.

I gave a little wave, saying goodbye to the home I'd lived in for five years.

The door closed softly behind me.

......

A few days later, Otto brought Isabella home from the hospital.

Looking at the empty apartment, the two of them fell silent.

After a while, Isabella spoke. "She needs some quiet time alone. Let's give her a little space."

"I know her. She can't bear to leave us. In the end she'll forgive us."

"The wedding's in a month. She'll come back."

Otto touched the photo of the three of us on the coffee table and gave a low "mm."

But a week went by, then two.

I still hadn't shown up.

He finally couldn't hold back and sent me a message.

You should be over it by now. If you don't come back soon, there won't be time to look at the venue or try on the wedding dress.

When he saw that red exclamation mark, he frowned and called me.

The call connected, and the other end was loud with voices and firecrackers going off.

The voice that came through the receiver was a stranger's.

"Isn't this the bride's phone? How did it end up here in the dressing room?"