Twins, My Two Husbands

The next morning, miracle—they were gone.

Apartment spotless.

Note on the fridge in marker:

Baby—got your favorites: oat-milk latte, Halo Top, spicy mango strips. Eat up.

I crumpled it to throw away… hesitated.

Flattened it. Folded. Pocketed.

Table had breakfast: breakfast burrito from my favorite 18th Street spot, iced matcha, sliced fruit.

Underneath another note:

Sorry I lied.

I never meant to trick you.

I just wanted to be close.

Talking to you, being with you—even as him—made me happier than anything.

Sometimes I wish I was Ethan so I could actually have you.

Do you only like smart guys? Is that why I lost?

I'd do anything.

—Your Caleb

Pining. Pathetic. Annoying.

And… kinda sweet?

I stuffed both notes in my hoodie pocket.

Grabbed a breakfast burrito and headed to campus.

Phone buzzed—a notification from “EthanCarter92”:

Message: Hey babe, family stuff. Stepping out for a bit. Back soon. Already missing you.

I didn't reply.

Pocketed the phone. Felt the notes crinkle.

Weird little pang in my chest.

I ignored it.