Climbing the Mountain for His Love

“Ethan’s wife is way too uptight. Total buzzkill.”

“Rachel’s the real deal—she fits right in! Ethan, maybe you should just go with Rachel instead?”

Rachel quickly replied in the thread, half-joking:

“Shut up! Careful, Zoe finds out and smears cake on your face!”

The same people who pretended polite to me in person were this shameless in their own world.

My chest burned with fury and disgust.

Then Rachel sent me a private message:

“This Rainier trip? I’m going to scare the hell out of your woman.”

“Give her a memory she’ll never forget—don’t you dare pity her.”

I didn’t open the thread, but those words—scare her—made cold sweat break out all over me.

Her past “jokes” flooded back to me.

And this time, on a perilous mountain circuit?

Her “joke” wouldn’t just be a prank.

The shower stopped.

I quickly locked his phone and put it back.

Before Ethan came out of the bathroom, I slipped into the guest room and locked the door.

That night, he snored peacefully in the master bedroom, unbothered.

I lay awake in the dark, eyes wide open till dawn.

The next morning, Ethan left early.

He’d scribbled a cheerful note on the table:

“Off to work, babe. Start picking out that wedding dress~”

What was that?

A slap followed by a candy?

Ethan never changed his tricks.

I crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash.

Ten minutes later, Rachel posted on her Facebook feed:

“Someone’s got the adventure itch again! But with a jealous wife around, no more rescue-breath for you!”

Nine glossy photos followed—

all of her kissing Ethan in various places, poses intimate and practiced, not some spur-of-the-moment game.

Ironically, not a single mutual friend liked or commented.

The post was set only visible to me.

Apparently last night’s proposal had set her off.

Every day she flaunted their so-called brotherly bond, hammering it in—I’m the real one.

Expressionless, I scrolled past, burying myself in trekking guides.

By Friday, the day before departure, she finally posted something public:

“Heading out on another adventure with my men!”

The photo was an old group shot, carefully cropped.

She smiled boldly, arms slung around the bros.

In the middle, where I should’ve been—she’d cut me clean out, leaving a glaring gap.

Ethan’s name appeared almost instantly in the comments:

“My boy, this time I’ve gotta take care of my wife. You’re on your own!”

Rachel replied with a bawling emoji:

“Biggest regret ever! Who’ll give me piggyback rides now?”

“How about telling your woman not to come?”

Ethan’s comeback was quick, playful as always:

“If you’re scared, then don’t come this time.”

That single, careless line seemed to pierce her facade.

Moments later, my private messages lit up:

“Hiking is dangerous. If someone’s not careful, even the body might never be found.”

The text flashed for just two seconds before she deleted it.

A cold smile spread inside me, though my face stayed calm.