Backup Girl No More: Adios to my V-card and My First Love (Brooklyn) novel Chapter 82

* 

Chapter 7 

Cooking was never my forte. My culinary repertoire consisted of exactly one dish: carbonara. Simple enough to be foolproof or so I’d always thought. 

Yet today, each attempt was an abject failure. Overcooked pasta, curdled sauce – as if the kitchen itself was rejecting my efforts. 

I ate each failed attempt myself. 

The clock ticked mercilessly as I mentally counted down. 

I imagined Luke would arrive, we’d have his birthday dinner, and then I’d vanish from his life. Like waiting for an execution. 

But he never showed. 

Instead, came a phone call dripping with transparent deceit. “Mandy cut her finger while cooking,” he said with exaggerated concern, “had to take her to the ER. Don’t wait up.” 

The casual cruelty of his lies was almost comical in its absurdity. 

Though he’d blocked me on his main social media, my alternate account revealed the truth: a fresh post showing them celebrating, wrapped around each other before an elaborate birthday cake, their staged laughter captured perfectly amid scattered streamers. 

“Hello? Are you there?” Luke’s impatient voice cut through my thoughts. 

I forced evenness into my tone. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Another lie to add to our collection. 

I liked his post from my burner account, then dumped the carbonara into the trash – a fitting metaphor for our relationship. 

That was it. I was just another completed chapter in Luke’s story. Fine. I’d release him from his obligation. He’d probably celebrate his newfound freedom. 

My suitcase wheels echoed through the hallway, marking the rhythm of my departure. 

– 

Before leaving, I compiled everything – the late–night messages, intimate photos, blatant lies – all the evidence of their affair. Then posted it where our mutual friends would see. 

If I was leaving, they wouldn’t get to rewrite this story. 

18:37 

Backup Girl No More: Adios To My V–Card and My First Love 

63.3% 

Chapter 7 

Just before takeoff, I sent one final text: “Happy birthday. Goodbye forever.” 

I didn’t formally end things. 

Because in seven years, I’d never truly been his girlfriend – just a convenient stand–in until he could 

have Mandy. 

Those abortions? Mere inconveniences he’d brushed aside without a second thought. 

As I moved to power down my phone, it exploded with notifications, his name flashing like an angry