Chapter 3The Echo of a Cold

The night before the breakup, at 3:00 AM, his phone buzzed.

For the first time in three years, I felt a strange impulse. I checked it.

“Hey Big Bear, I’m staring at the ceiling. What was the name of that painfully long movie you mentioned? I need something to put me to sleep.”

The chat history had been wiped clean.

The contact photo was a white kitten. Half of the matching pair was a black cat being tugged by the ear. Classic couple’s avatars.

A woman’s intuition is a terrifying thing.

I clicked on her profile. It was a diary of her life with her "boyfriend."

[“The best part of travel: He carries both massive suitcases, I just carry the aesthetics.”]

[“Ugh, he was worried I’d be cold so he made me wait in the car while he ran out to buy me hot roasted nuts.”]

There were no faces. No names. No interactions on their public feeds.

I scrolled desperately.

Finally, I found a photo of a car. I zoomed in until the pixels blurred. In the corner of the frame, the edge of the window revealed the car’s color.

White.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Bennett drove a black SUV.

I laughed at myself. I was being paranoid. It was probably a wrong number, or an old friend reaching out on a whim.

Bennett never hid his phone. If they had been in contact all this time, how would I have missed it?

But as I went to exit the app, a watermark on the photo caught my eye. It was a handle for a private Instagram account.

I searched it.

The handle was: @Is_The_Big_Bear_Groveling_Yet?

It was a private account with exactly one follower.

My fingers trembled as I requested to follow, then realized I didn't need to. Her "Threads" were public.

It was a record of their daily trivia.

Even when Bennett was drowning in work before the IPO, he would reply to the songs she shared.

[“A bit loud, but I guess it’s what girls your age like.”]

During the week of our longest cold war, Bennett had told her:

[“Not in a great headspace lately. Might go off the grid for a few days.”]

[“Cold war again?”] she asked.

Bennett didn't reply.

She posted a photo of Bennett napping at a desk. A female finger was poking his nose, squishing it into a "pig snout."

The sleeve in the photo belonged to a volunteer shirt for a local animal shelter. I remembered that weekend. Bennett had declined my movie date, saying he had to do volunteer work. He was actually with her.

The latest post was from today. She was complaining about a difficult boss.

Bennett had replied with paragraphs of advice, comforting her, even criticizing the boss’s behavior. She replied with a string of “LMAOs.”

I remembered the time I lost a massive file at work. My boss had screamed at me for twenty minutes, only to realize later that he had taken the file himself and forgotten.

He didn't apologize. He told me it was a “learning experience” and that I should always have a backup.

I had called Bennett from the stairwell, sobbing.

He was silent for a long time before saying in his most 'gentle' voice:

“Harper, objectively speaking, he’s right. Everything in life needs a Plan B. Everything needs a backup.”

The tears had blurred my vision then.

I realized now that Bennett knew exactly how to comfort someone. He knew how to provide emotional value. He just chose not to provide it to me.

I didn't sleep that night.

The next day, I calmly asked for a breakup.

He leaned against the doorframe. The spring air was crisp, the snow was melting, but nothing was as cold as the look in his eyes.

“Why?”

I showed him the text from my colleague.

[“Tough luck having to work late this weekend. Your voice sounded like you were coming down with a cold.”]

He curled his lip in a mock smile.

“You’re leaving me because of a trivial bit of concern from a stranger?

“Harper, does three years of my devotion mean nothing compared to a random text?”

I nodded.

“Yes. Exactly.”

Bennett would never understand. He didn't hear the sickness in my voice that night. A stranger did.