The Prankster's Fitting End

I called my father and told him I wanted to move to Fronville, Frontania to live with him.

After my mother passed away five years ago, he moved there—to the place where they first fell in love—and stayed to keep her company in a sense for the rest of his life.

I, on the other hand, stayed behind for Marvin. I had turned down the chance to study abroad, clung to him, and spent the entire year away from my father.

I thought if I held on long enough, I could thaw Marvin's icy heart and finally win him over. Instead, when his icy heart melted, all that was left was a bitter cold.

What I believed was true love was nothing more than a cruel game of pranks. I was just a clown in his twisted act to impress Shirley, his first love.

When my father heard what I said, he was overjoyed. "I'm so glad you've finally come to your senses!"

I held back my tears and gave a soft hum.

"When I leave, help me stage a fake plane crash."

He didn't understand why, but he still agreed.

The plane crash would be my final gift to Marvin.

I'd make sure he drowned in regret for the rest of his life.

I deleted every photo of us from my phone. But when I got home to pack, a leather-bound notebook slid out from Marvin's safe.

The dark green cover was embossed with the phoenix crest from "Ashen Mythos", a game I had stayed up late 36 nights in a row to design. That was my very first logo draft.

Marvin had it printed on the cover. Inside were all my design sketches from over the years. He'd kept them, carefully organized, like he truly believed in my dreams.

I flipped to page seven and froze. Next to a photo of me coding at my desk with my glasses on was a sticky note.

[Today, she snapped at the computer screen, looking like a puffed-up kitten. The revised version was ten times better. How can anyone be this smart and cute at the same time?]

Every time I pulled an all-nighter sketching, Marvin was right there, massaging my shoulders and cooking for me.

Just because I mentioned it once, he went out in the middle of the night to get me cake. He remembered my period and always made sure I was comfortable.

He got into a relationship with me as a prank, but the truth was, he was just as caught up in it as I was.

Tucked into the back of the notebook was a stub from a flight on Valentine's Day last year. The blank space beside it was filled with his familiar handwriting.

[If I had to do it all over again, I'd still pretend to lose the ticket and trick her into staying up all night at the airport to revise the proposal with me… because that was the 72nd prank I pulled for Shirley.]

Rain slammed against the window.

All that love had been built on lies. Maybe Marvin loved me, in some twisted way.

But he loved Shirley more.

I was just someone he used to entertain her.

With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and booked a surgery to end the pregnancy.

That night, I lay in bed as Marvin came home, the chill of the night clinging to him. I stayed still, pretending to be asleep.

There was no sound for a long time. It felt like he had paused mid-move.

I hadn't followed through with the prank this time. He must've looked bad in front of Shirley and the others.

But I couldn't figure it out. Was he really just going to let it go?

Then the mattress dipped behind me, and two strong arms wrapped around my waist.

Marvin rested his head against my neck like a tired bird finally returning home. His breath was warm, full of joy. "We're having a baby, Selene."

Selene stands for "moon". That was the nickname he gave me. He once said I was like the moon in the sky, shining only for him. It also sounded like my real name.

But I knew the truth.

Behind my back, he told Shirley and the others that I was just overthinking. He said Selene was just a name he made up for fun to trick me and make me fall so deeply I couldn't see the truth.

All that so he could laugh at how love turned me into a fool.

I said nothing. He had no idea I'd already made my choice to end the pregnancy.

Marvin didn't notice anything strange. He pulled out my test results and drew three tiny hearts on the paper.

He used the fountain pen I'd bought him with my first paycheck. He'd carried it with him for years.

I didn't say a word. He just held me tighter, whispering sweet nothings like any other day.

But my heart felt like it was trapped in the dead of winter—frozen solid, impossible to thaw.

"I'm tired. Let's sleep," I whispered.

He went quiet right away. Then he murmured, "Remember we're going to Shirley's birthday party tomorrow," before quickly falling asleep.

But I stayed awake all night.

He had faked memory loss, and I had given him my heart for three years.

Now, I would fake my own death and let him live with regret for the rest of his life.