Chapter 6: The Outsider

Rachel slipped into her silent treatment—her signature move. Any time we fought, she’d freeze me out, knowing I’d eventually cave.

Two years ago, on her birthday, I had a buddy help me snag her a designer handbag from a pop-up in the city.

But when she opened it, her face fell. She just stared, silent, lower lip trembling. I stood there, lost, until she finally muttered that she hated the color.

I offered to exchange it, but she accused me of not caring, not listening—if I really loved her, how could I screw up the color?

She stormed out, slamming the door, ignoring my calls and texts all night.

I drove all over town looking for her, stopping by all her favorite haunts, feeling like a stalker. Hours later, my phone buzzed with her Instagram story—her smile wide, Jake’s arm around her, my gift in her hand. I felt like a punchline nobody else got. She was at a rooftop bar with Jake and their whole group, blowing out candles, cake smeared across her cheeks. Her caption read: “The best guy is the one who pays attention.”

She ignored me for days—silent, like I’d vanished. I bought flowers, wrote notes, apologized endlessly until she finally forgave me.

But this time, I refused to play that game.

A few days later, her parents invited us for dinner. On the drive over, she stared out the window, lips pressed into a thin line.

Mothers always know. As soon as we walked in, Rachel’s mom gave her a look. “Rachel, are you giving Sam a hard time again? He stayed here for you—got a job, bought you a house. Don’t be so stubborn.”

I’m not from this town. After college, I had a solid offer in Chicago, but I stayed here for Rachel—bought a home, put down roots I never meant to grow.

Hearing her mom, Rachel finally softened, eyes flicking up to meet mine.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Her mom called out, “It’s Jake—have you eaten?”

“I have. Heard Rachel was coming by, thought I’d invite her out.”

He strolled in like he belonged, sliding into a chair at the table.

Rachel shot me a look, then shook her head. “No, we have plans after dinner.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t all hung out in ages. Mark and the crew are here too—they all wanna see you.”

Rachel hesitated, clearly tempted, glancing at me.

I kept my eyes on my plate, refusing to say a word.

Jake pivoted. “Sam, come with us! We’re all Rachel’s old friends.”

His tone was all friendly, but I knew he didn’t want me there—just had to play nice.

Rachel’s dad offered me another helping of casserole, oblivious to the cold war happening under his roof. My in-laws, all smiles, chimed in, “You young folks should get together more.”

Jake wrapped his arms around Rachel’s parents, cracking a joke. “Mr. and Mrs. Carter, you two are still young—come hang with us!”

They all laughed, the perfect picture of a happy family.

And I was the outsider, the guest who never quite fit in.

I stood. “You all go ahead and have fun. I’m beat—heading home early.”

“Honey…” Rachel called after me.

I turned. She bit her lip, then said quietly, “Drive safe. I’ll come home early.”

Just as I expected.

I smiled, turned, and left, my footsteps echoing down the porch steps.