Chapter 1

The first thing I noticed was the silence.

For three years, our Nashville apartment had been a constant storm of noise-Jenny' s booming laugh, the blare of her pop-country demos, the endless, shrill chatter of Caleb and their friends.

But today, on the anniversary of our move here, there was only silence.

And a notification on my phone.

Jenny Smith has blocked you.

I stared at the screen, a cold knot forming in my stomach. I knew why. I didn't even have to check Caleb Morris' s Instagram, but I did anyway.

There it was, a smug selfie of him pouting, captioned: "When your BESTIE forgets your VIP pass for the CMAs. I'm not mad, I'm just... disappointed. 😞"

I knew the script by heart. Caleb throws a tantrum. Jenny panics. I become the sacrificial lamb.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from a number I didn't recognize, but I knew it was her. "Babe, you know how Caleb gets. He' s just being dramatic. I had to block you so he' d calm down. I' ll smooth it over, and then we' ll be fine."

I counted in my head. This was the 100th time. One hundred times her narcissistic "best friend" came before me.

I looked around the apartment that was supposed to be ours.

My beat-up Martin guitar, the one I' d had since high school, was propped in the corner, looking out of place next to her gaudy, rhinestone-covered instruments.

The matching custom guitar straps we' d gotten on our first anniversary, a symbol of our shared dream, were gone from their hooks on the wall.

I knew, without a doubt, she' d replaced hers with something Caleb approved of.

I didn' t reply to her text.

Instead, I opened my own Instagram, changed my profile picture to a close-up of my vintage Martin, and created a new, private account.

Then I waited.

Just as I predicted, about an hour later, Jenny' s text came through again. "Okay, he' s over it! I unblocked you. Can you get our matching straps back out? I miss seeing them."

Before I could even process the whiplash, my new account got a notification. Jenny had tagged me in a post.

I clicked on it. It was a picture of her, smiling brightly, with the old guitar strap back on.

Using my new account, the one with the Martin guitar as its profile picture, I commented on her post.

"Some things are meant for two, not three."