My Best Friend Stole My Husband, So I Ruined Them Both

"Chloe? What are you—didn't you say your flight was tomorrow?" Isla Vance was the first to speak, her voice trembling with panic. I stood in the entryway, the wheels of my suitcase still spinning quietly. The entire living room was filled with the rich aroma of garlic butter ribeye steak and creamy carbonara. It was a smell I hadn’t encountered once in our three years of marriage. Ethan never cooked. He always said the kitchen grease gave him a migraine. Yet, on the stove, there was a massive spread that clearly took two people to coordinate. I replied calmly, "My flight got bumped up." Ethan finally pulled his hands back. He casually put some distance between himself and Isla, took two steps toward me, and naturally took the handle of my suitcase. "You must be exhausted. Did you eat on the way?" Isla’s eyes were already turning red. She grabbed my wrist tightly. "Chloe, listen to me, it’s not what you think. Ethan saw me eating instant ramen alone in my apartment, so he offered to come over and teach me how to cook a few dishes. I’m just so clumsy and couldn't tie the apron, so he—" "Isla," Ethan interrupted her. "Go home first. I’ll drive you." Isla froze, seemingly caught off guard by his words. Her lips parted, but she didn’t argue further. She lowered her head and walked to the entryway to change her shoes. As she passed me, she lightly brushed the back of my hand. "Chloe, let’s talk tomorrow, okay?" The sound of the front door closing was very soft. I walked over to the dining table. Two sets of forks, two glasses of warm water, a side salad, and the perfectly seared steak. Ethan’s fork had been used. The salad was half gone. "You’re teaching her how to cook?" I pulled out a chair, sat down, and picked up a fork to take a bite of the steak. I chewed slowly. "Tastes good. When did you learn how to make this?" Ethan leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching me, his brow furrowing. "Chloe, cut the sarcasm. She’s having a hard time living alone. I went to check on her and made a quick meal. Is there a problem with that?" "No problem." I took another bite. "It’s just that in three years, this is the first time I've eaten your cooking. I didn't know you were such a chef." "What is that supposed to mean?" "Nothing." I put down my fork and looked up at him. "Ethan, you used to tell me that kitchen smoke triggered your migraines, so I did all the cooking. Three months ago, before I left for London, I stuffed the freezer with all your favorite meals. I wrote down the heating instructions for every single container on sticky notes." "You didn't touch a single one, did you?" He was silent for a few seconds. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, but stuffed it back in without lighting one. "What exactly are you trying to say, Chloe?" "I'm saying you tie apron strings very quickly. It didn't look like your first time." After I said that, a heavy silence settled over the living room. From somewhere outside, the distant, tinny music of an ice cream truck drifted through the window. The cheerful, out-of-tune melody paired with the suffocating silence in the room felt ridiculously absurd. Ethan walked over and sat down across from me, crossing his hands on the table. "Chloe, I’m only going to say this once. There is absolutely nothing going on between Isla and me. If you don’t trust me, go ahead and check my phone. Check whatever you want." He looked me dead in the eye, his gaze steady and resolute, like he was making a sacred vow. But vows were something I had long stopped believing in. Years ago, my dad was scammed out of everything by his business partner. Overnight, we went from high society to social pariahs. Our relatives and friends vanished faster than ghosts. Even my own mother packed her bags and abandoned us. In that dark world, Isla was the only one who shoved a debit card into my hand. She told me it was the savings from her last four years of work, and if it wasn't enough, we'd find another way. Later, I gritted my teeth, finished my master's degree, got a high-paying corporate job, and married a successful husband. I honestly believed the greatest stroke of luck in my life was having her as my best friend. So, when her ex-husband's family played dirty and coerced her into signing away her daughter's custody, leaving her shaking and sobbing in the hospital hallway, I didn't hesitate for a single second. I owed her a debt I could never fully repay. "I trust you," I finally said. Ethan’s shoulders visibly relaxed. "But Ethan—" I stood up, taking the dishes to the sink, keeping my back turned to him. "The next time you go to her apartment, could you at least let me know first?" There was no reply from behind me. I turned on the faucet. The rush of running water drowned out everything that should and shouldn't have been said. *** #### 0

"Chloe, are you still mad at me?" First thing the next morning, Isla showed up at my door. She was holding a bottle of the peach cider I loved, looking incredibly anxious and small. Ethan had already left for work. I let her inside and poured her a glass of warm water. "No, I'm just exhausted. I haven't recovered from the jet lag yet." She let out a massive sigh of relief and smiled. The tension drained from her body as she slid next to me on the sofa, naturally wrapping her arm around mine. "I knew you wouldn't overthink it. Ethan really helped me out a lot while you were away. When I was moving, my water heater burst, and he came over in the middle of the night to fix it. And last month when I had that high fever, he drove me to the ER—" "Isla." "Yeah?" "He never mentioned any of those things to me." Isla blinked, processing my words, before biting her lip. "He probably just thought they were minor things... Chloe, don't look at me like that. I swear, nothing happened between us." "If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't ask him for help anymore." Her eyes welled with tears as she spoke, her voice dropping into a soft, vulnerable whisper. "You're the only person I have left in this city. If even you don't trust me, I don't know what I'll do." The tight knot in my chest loosened slightly. Isla had always been like this. When she cried, she looked like a helpless, drenched kitten. It was impossible to stay mad at her. "Alright, I'm not blaming you," I said, patting her hand. "I heard from your Snapchat updates while I was in London that your new job is going well?" The moment I mentioned work, her face lit up. Her eyes sparkled as she began babbling about how nice her new coworkers were, how much her manager appreciated her, and how she had even won "Rookie of the Month" last week. I smiled and listened, remembering how she had been curled up on that hospital floor three months ago. Suddenly, everything felt worth it. That evening, when Ethan came home, I was in the kitchen prepping dinner while he sat in the living room watching the financial news. "Did Isla stop by today?" he asked. "Yeah." "What did you guys talk about?" I walked out carrying a plate of food and glanced at him. "She told me about all the things you did for her over the last three months. Fixing her heater, driving her to the ER at midnight... Ethan, I asked you to look out for her, not to be at her beck and call." He put down the remote, leaning back against the sofa. "You weren't here. Who else was she supposed to call? She has no family here. When something goes wrong, she shouldn't have to face it completely alone." "So you think you did nothing wrong?" "What *is* wrong with it?" he retorted, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You're the one who told me to take care of her. Now that I did, you're pissed. Chloe, what do you actually want from me?" My mouth opened, but no words came out. He was right. I was the one who practically begged him to do it. Before leaving for London, I had repeatedly reminded him that Isla's mental state was fragile after the divorce, and asked him to help watch over her. He had looked annoyed at the time, but he had ultimately nodded. Now that he had done exactly what I asked, I was starting to act paranoid. "I'm sorry," I said, sitting down next to him and leaning my head on his shoulder. "I'm just overthinking." Ethan didn't say anything, but he reached out and gently stroked my hair. "Where's Leo?" I suddenly realized. "At my mom's place. With you gone for three months, I couldn't handle him alone, so I dropped him off there." Leo was our two-and-a-half-year-old son. Before leaving, I had specifically hired a full-time nanny so Ethan wouldn't be overwhelmed. "What about the nanny?" "I let her go," he said casually. "I don't like having strangers in the house." I looked up at him. His gaze was fixed on the TV screen. His phone lit up with a notification, but he glanced at it and immediately swiped it face down. "Who was that?" "Just work." I reached out to grab his phone, but stopped myself halfway. Forget it. I didn't want to become one of those paranoid, suffocating wives. But late that night, insomnia hit me. I tossed and turned, completely unable to fall asleep. Ethan was fast asleep, his phone tucked under his pillow. I stared at the ceiling for a long time before finally rolling over to close my eyes. At 3:00 AM, his phone buzzed. He rolled over, groggily pulled the phone out from under the pillow to check it, and then quietly slid out of bed. He slipped out of the bedroom, clutching the phone. Muffled whispers drifted from the living room. I couldn't make out the words, except for the very last sentence. "Stop crying. We’ll talk about it tomorrow." I lay there in the dark, gripping the bedsheets until my knuckles turned white. *** #### 0

"Chloe, how is Isla doing lately?" When I went to my mother-in-law’s place over the weekend to pick up Leo, she suddenly brought it up. I was kneeling on the floor, tying Leo’s sneakers. My hands froze for a split second. "She's doing well. Her job is stable now." Ethan’s mother wiped her hands on a dish towel as she walked out of the kitchen. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Ethan hasn't been home much these past few months, has he? He told me his firm was incredibly busy and he had to work late." "Yes, he’s been busy." I picked Leo up and gave her a polite smile. "Mom, we should get going. Leo needs his nap." She stopped me, looking conflicted. "Chloe, I’m not trying to meddle. Isla is a sweet girl, but you have your own family to think about. When Ethan came over last week to pick up some of Leo's clothes, there was a silk scarf sitting on his passenger seat. Men are careless, he probably didn't even notice it..." "But I know for a fact that scarf wasn't yours." I kept holding Leo, my smile unchanged, but my grip on him tightened until my fingers turned pale. On the drive back, Leo fell asleep in his car seat. I pulled over to the side of the road and called Isla. "Chloe! Hey, I was actually just about to text you to grab lunch—" "Isla, you left a silk scarf in Ethan’s car." The line went dead silent for two seconds. "Oh... right! That must have been from when he drove me to the hospital. I was feeling super carsick and took it off. I totally forgot about it. Chloe, I'll grab it next time I see you—" "No need. I’ll bring it back to you." After hanging up, I sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel for what felt like hours. I wondered if I really was just being crazy. Ethan was distant, but he wasn't a bad man. Isla was loyal, she wasn't that kind of person. They were the two most important people in my life. What reason did I have not to trust them? But I recognized that scarf. It was a pale green silk wrap. I had bought it for Isla’s birthday. She had told me it was too expensive to wear and kept it safely locked in her closet. Now, it was sitting in my husband’s passenger seat. When Ethan came home that night, I placed the scarf on the coffee table. He didn't stop kick off his shoes. He glanced at it. "Where did you find that?" "In your car. It’s Isla’s." "Oh." He walked over, picked it up, and casually draped it over the back of a chair. "I drove her to the doctor last week. She got carsick, took it off, and forgot it." His explanation matched Isla’s word-for-word. "Ethan." "Yeah?" "How many times have you driven her to the hospital?" He finally stopped loosening his tie. He turned to look at me, his eyes filled with exhaustion and impatience. "Chloe, can you stop doing this? Do I have to undergo an interrogation for every single thing I do? If you’re really that paranoid, I won't help her with anything ever again, okay?" "You asked me to take care of her, so I did. You told me not to speak ill of her, so I didn't. Now you're implying something is going on between us. Chloe, do you hear how unreasonable you sound?" His voice wasn't loud, but every word felt like a needle pricking my deepest insecurities. Because everything he said was technically true. I was the one who brought Isla into our lives. I was the one who begged him to help her. I was the one who chose to fly to London for three months despite his objections. What right did I have to accuse him? "I'm sorry," I managed to choke out. Ethan threw his tie onto the couch, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut before turning on the shower. I sat in the living room and picked up the silk scarf. It was folded neatly. And it smelled of a strange, sweet detergent—not the brand we used. Someone had washed it, folded it, and placed it on the passenger seat. It wasn't forgotten there. It was placed there on purpose. The next day, I went to Isla's apartment without warning. I rang the doorbell three times, but nobody answered. I pulled out the spare key—the one she had given me the day she moved in, telling me to keep it "just in case." The moment the door swung open, my eyes fell on a pair of men's slippers sitting on the shoe rack. They were dark gray, size 10. The wear on the soles showed they had been worn more than just a few times. I recognized those slippers. I had bought them online as a matching couple's set for Ethan’s birthday last year. He had complained that the color was ugly and barely wore them. Eventually, they disappeared, and I assumed they had been thrown out with the donations. The living room looked normal, but out on the balcony, two shirts were hanging on the drying rack. They were crisp white button-downs. On the cuffs, there were dark silver engraved cufflinks—Ethan’s signature style. He insisted on those specific cufflinks for all his formal shirts. As I stood on the balcony, my phone rang. It was Isla. "Chloe! Where are you? I just got back from the grocery store. I bought those cherries you love—" "I’m at your apartment." The phone went dead silent. Three seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds. "Chloe... why did you go over without telling me? The place is such a mess—" "Isla, whose white shirts are hanging on your balcony?" The silence stretched so long it felt suffocating. Finally, she let out a tight, nervous laugh. "Oh... those belong to a guy from work. We had a team dinner last week, and he spilled wine all over himself. I offered to wash them for him—" "Isla." "Are those slippers on your rack his, too?" Over the phone, I heard the sound of cherries spilling and rolling across the floor. Isla's breathing became frantic. "Chloe, let me explain—" I hung up the phone.