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E ve’s car wasn’t parked in the designated spot in front of her townhouse. I was currently parked there, staring at her front door. It was painted pale yellow with a wide glass arch at the top. Orchids were on either side of her small porch, wind chimes hanging from above.

I sat for a moment, annoyed by the fact that I had to, once again, check on Eve to make sure she was okay. There was a reason I hadn’t spoken to her in three months. Well, actually there were many. But the primary one being that Eve was horribly irresponsible.

She was also obnoxious.

Reckless.

Attention-seeking.

For the longest time, I wanted to chalk her behavior up to her terrible childhood. Abuse from a parent is not okay. She required love.

Attention.

Affection.

She never received that from her parents. Now she was out in this cruel world, seeking love in all the wrong ways and places. For years I tried being by her side, protecting her, loving her as a true friend should. But every single time, she pushed my buttons until I’d simply had enough.

There are friends you keep for life who feel similar to your heart—an organ you carry with you at all times.

One you take care of and listen to. One who means so much to you.

Then there are the friends who are like dead limbs.

Sure, it’ll hurt cutting the limb off and yes, amputation will suck, but you’ll find so much relief when you realize you don’t have to carry such a heavy burden anymore.

Eve was my dead limb.

I dug through my purse and plucked out my keys.

On one of the rings was a key to Eve’s front door.

She’d never asked for it back, which I found surprising because I’d asked for mine back immediately.

Granted, I was no longer living in the house she had a key to by the time I asked, but it was the principle of the matter.

As I killed the engine of my car, my phone buzzed in the cupholder. It was Cole calling.

“Mmm.” I ignored it, grabbing the door handle and climbing out.

I knocked first, just in case Eve’s car was in a shop getting repaired or something. I waited, noticing up close the dead plants on the porch, the empty hummingbird feeder.

Strange.

Eve always kept the feeder full. She loved the birds, the rapid flaps of their wings, their tiny chirps. She’d watch them from her living room window sometimes. When there was no answer, I stuck my key into the lock, twisted it, and walked in.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. Eve’s townhouse had two floors. On the first floor were the living room, kitchen, a bathroom, and laundry room. Upstairs you’d find a landing and two bedrooms, one of which Zoey slept in when she was away from college.

I walked along the hardwood floors, checking the dining table.

A few pieces of mail were there as well as a Victoria’s Secret catalogue.

The living room was spotless. The kitchen too.

I checked upstairs in her bedroom. Her bed was neatly made, corners tucked, pillows fluffed.

The desk in the corner had a laptop on top of it as well as an old camera and a tripod.

I stood next to the desk, searching for a planner of some sort. Eve was the type to buy planners, use them for two weeks max, then never use them again. There was one planner, but it was blank. Not even the dates were written in.

I shifted my gaze to the laptop and flipped it open.

A picture of Eve and Zoey was on the screen.

The sisters looked very much alike. Deep, naturally tanned skin, voluminous curly auburn hair, pink lips that carried big smiles.

Their heart-shaped faces, cat-like brown eyes, and button noses.

The only thing that truly set their faces apart was Zoey’s splatter of freckles on the apples of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

I needed her fingerprint or password to log into the laptop. I had no clue what the password could be and didn’t bother trying. Instead, I closed the laptop and left the room. I checked her back patio just in case. It was vacant.

I left the condo altogether, mildly annoyed that I went there at all. Zoey said Eve was in the car the last time she’d spoken to her. I must’ve been right then. She was away somewhere, probably snorting her life away.

Once I was in my car, I gave Eve’s phone one more try.

When it went to voicemail, I left one. “Hey, Eve. Um . . . Zoey called me earlier and said she’s really worried about you.

I just dropped by your place to see if you were around.

I, uh . . . I told her I’d check. Anyway, if you get this, call me back. ”

I hesitated on the last part. “And if you need help or something, just . . . call me, okay? Don’t keep ignoring Zoey. You know how she gets.”

I hung up, dropping the phone in the cupholder again.

The last thing I wanted was for Eve to call me, worming her way back into my life just because I gave her an in.

She’d done it before, and I hadn’t stood my ground.

This time I swore I would. If she called and was okay, I’d let Zoey know and that would be the end of that.

No friendly text messages.

No calls.

No FaceTime chats.

Nothing.

Why? Because best friends don’t sleep with their best friend’s husband.

Eve Castillo journal entry

Rose never should’ve married Cole.

He had secrets. We both did. Rose didn’t know that Cole and I had met before—that we’d hooked up on a dating app almost half a year before she’d met him. We linked up at a bar, had a couple of drinks, and slept together that same night.

She married him so fast. I mean, I just blinked and boom. She was asking me to be her maid of honor ten months after meeting him. She’s so in love. I don’t know how to break it to her that Cole and I have slept together.

And not just once, several times.

I got tired of Cole and sort of ghosted him, so meeting Rose’s new boy toy for dinner for the first time was a shocker. He glanced at me all night with this hungry look in his eyes. I don’t know how Rose didn’t notice.

But like I said . . . something is changing.

The good side of me wants to tell her. But the other part of me . . . it whispers for me to never tell her a damn thing. The last thing I want is to ruin her happiness.