Our Love Was Split 50/50, Until His "Sister" Came Back

During our three years together, Carter took going Dutch to a pathological level.

Even when we ordered pizza, he would look at the receipt and deduct the price of the mushrooms I didn't eat from the total.

Chloe, Im a professional, he would say. Feelings are feelings, but keeping money crystal clear is the only way a relationship lasts.

I used to think he was just naturally rigid. That was until Clara, the girl he grew up with and always called his "little sister," returned from abroad.

On that pouring, stormy night, I was running a 103-degree fever, trying to patch up a leaking window in our apartment by myself.

Carter, on the other hand, spent $85,000 on a down payment for a brand-new Porsche just because Clara said she "didn't want to take an Uber." He then drove 120 miles through the storm just to grab late-night tacos with her.

He didn't crawl back until noon the next day, looking exhausted. He completely ignored me, even though I had just walked in the door from the ER.

Without a word, he tossed the coffee mug I had used for three years straight into the trash can.

"Clara is staying with us for a few days," he said casually. "Shes a germaphobe, and your old mug looks like an eyesore."

"Shes never had a hard day in her life. As the older one here, just let her have her way. Ill add another 0-000 to our shared grocery budget this month."

The sound of the ceramic shattering in the trash was deafening.

For years, I thought if I just played the role of the perfect, low-maintenance girlfriend, I could finally melt his icy heart.

It turned out his heart wasn't made of ice.

It was just that his fire was never meant to burn for me.

"Chloe, do you mind if I sleep in the master bedroom?"

Clara stood at the doorway. She hadn't even stepped inside, but her eyes were already scanning every corner of the room.

"Oh, did I come at a bad time? Maybe I should just check into a hotel instead."

Carter pushed her suitcase into the hallway.

"What hotel? Its not safe for a girl like you to stay alone in the city."

He finished speaking, then looked up at me.

"Change the sheets in the master bedroom, Chloe. Clara has sensitive skin; she cant sleep on old linens."

I was still clutching a piece of the shattered ceramic mug in my hand.

The sharp edge dug into my palm, making my fingertips go numb.

Clara immediately grabbed Carters sleeve.

"Carter, please don't make Chloe mad because of me. I can honestly just sleep on the couch."

"You are not sleeping on the couch," Carter's voice softened. "Be good. Go take a shower."

I turned around and walked into the master bedroom. The sheets on the bed were pastel blue.

When we first moved in years ago, Carter had said this color looked clean. He said it felt like home.

As I yanked the sheets off, the picture frame on the nightstand fell to the floor.

In the photo, Carter and I were standing on the beach.

The wind was howling, and he was blocking the sun for me with his hand. I was laughing so hard my eyes were closed.

That was our first year of dating.

Back then, if I worked late, he would drive half an hour in the freezing cold just to pick me up.

If my stomach hurt, he would stand at the pharmacy counter for an hour, carefully reading the back of every medicine bottle.

He would even push the last bite of his warm sandwich to me.

"You eat it. I'm not that hungry."

But later, he started talking about how "adults need to be independent."

And eventually, he turned that "independence" into a very dull, slow-cutting knife.

I placed the photo face down.

Just as I finished tucking in the new sheets, Clara pushed the door open and walked in.

"Chloe, please don't be mad at Carter. Hes just always taken care of me. I was a sickly kid, so its just a habit for him."

I said nothing.

She walked over to my vanity and picked up my perfume, taking a sniff.

"Wow, this scent is so... mature."

I reached out and took it back from her hand. Instantly, Claras eyes welled up with tears.

Carter happened to walk in at that exact moment.

"What's going on?"

Clara shook her head.

"Nothing! I think I just accidentally touched Chloe's things and upset her."

Carter glared at me.

"She literally just got here. Is it really necessary to target her like this?"

"It's just a bottle of perfume."

Carter snatched the bottle from my hand and carelessly tossed it into Claras hands.

"If you like it, keep it."

I had bought that perfume for myself on my birthday last year.

When Carter saw the receipt back then, he had lectured me, saying 0-020 for a bottle of perfume was too luxurious, and made me pay him back my half of the rent early to "balance my budget."

Yet now, he gave it away to Clara without a second thought.

The cut in my palm was still oozing blood, staining the glass shard in my hand.

I threw the fragment into the trash.

Carter glanced down. "What happened to your hand?"

"Got cut by some old trash," I replied flatly.

He paused for a second.

But in the next second, Clara let out a tiny, delicate cough.

Carter immediately turned his back on me.

"Is the AC too cold?"

He rushed over to adjust the thermostat for her.

I looked down at my hand.

It turned out that some pain can truly only be felt by yourself.

Later that evening, I was moving some of Carters work samples out to the balcony when he walked over.

"Clara wants that premium truffle pasta from downtown. Come with me to grab it."

I looked up. "Now?"

"She has jet lag and can't sleep."

Carter pointed to some cardboard boxes on the floor.

"While we're out, make sure to carry up that case of spring water from the garage. Clara only drinks that brand."

I let out a cold laugh. "If it's so easy, why don't you carry it up yourself?"

His face darkened.

"What is wrong with you today? Clara is a guest."

I pushed the last box into the corner.

"Carter, my fever just broke this morning."

He froze for a fraction of a second, as if he finally remembered my call from the ER last night.

But it was only a fraction of a second.

"Then stay home and rest. Ill calculate the venmo request when I get back. Were getting three portions of pasta, so you'll pay for yours."

I sat on the floor of the guest room and opened my phone.

An email from HR was sitting in my inbox.

It was an offer for a transfer to our LA branch. A permanent position, starting next week at the latest.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Then, I clicked *Accept*.

"You're transferring to LA?"

Carter had spotted the open email on my laptop.

Clara was sitting at the dining table, picking at her truffle pasta.

She complained it was too rich, eating only the truffles on top and leaving the rest of the expensive dish to go waste.

Carter didn't say a word about her wasting food.

I closed my laptop. "It's a company directive."

"Since when?" Carter frowned. "Something this big, and you didn't even consult me?"

I looked at him. "You were busy getting pasta."

Clara took a sip from her straw and asked in a small, innocent voice, "Is it because of me, Chloe? Are you leaving because I'm here?"

Carter immediately snapped at me.

"Stop taking your issues out on Clara."

I hadn't said a word. She was the one who brought it up.

But Carter had already decided that I was just being dramatic.

"Go tell your manager tomorrow that you're declining the transfer," he ordered.

"I can't."

"Then quit." He said it so easily. "It's not like your salary is that high anyway. Just find another basic job here."

Clara tilted her head. "But Chloe is so independent. I doubt she'd want to live off your money, Carter."

As if reminded of my "independence," Carter's tone softened slightly.

"I didn't mean it like that. I just don't feel comfortable with you living in a different city alone."

I kept my head down. "I don't need your permission."

Clara quickly tried to play peacemaker.

"Carter, I think Chloe is just sad about leaving you. She's just saying the opposite of what she actually feels."

Carter's expression relaxed.

He preferred that narrative anyway.

The narrative that I was obsessed with him, that I was throwing a tantrum, and that I was just waiting for him to comfort me.

For three years, I had indeed been that girl.

Every time he gave me the silent treatment, I was the first to apologize.

Every time he chose Clara over me, I told myself they were just childhood friends.

But "childhood friends" don't wear my silk slip dress and stand on the balcony, asking him:

"Carter, do I look like your girlfriend in this?"

That afternoon, I ran back to the apartment to grab some documents.

When I pushed the door open, Clara was wearing my white silk slip dress.

That was the only gift Carter had ever brought back for me from a business trip last year.

Clara hastily covered her chest.

"Chloe! Oh my god, I'm so sorry! My clothes were in the wash and weren't dry yet. Carter said I could borrow something of yours."

"I really didn't mean anything by it. I can take it off and give it back to you right now!"

She reached for the shoulder strap, but Carter immediately caught her hand to stop her.

"Don't do that," he said.

Then, he turned to me.

"Chloe, apologize."

I thought my ears were playing tricks on me.

"You want *me* to apologize?"

He looked dead serious. "You scared her."

"Clara was sheltered growing up. She's not used to being barked at."

I looked at that white silk dress.

I suddenly remembered the day I first got it. I had tried it on for Carter, excited.

He had barely spared me a glance.

"It's too revealing. Don't wear it out."

Since then, that dress had sat at the very bottom of my closet.

It turned out the dress wasn't the problem.

The person wearing it was.

I slid my documents into my bag.

"Keep the dress."

Clara blinked, stunned. "Really?"

I looked her dead in the eye. "I don't like keeping things that other people have already ruined."

Carter's face went completely cold. He grabbed my wrist.

"Step outside. We need to talk."

Carter dragged me down to the parking garage.

The brand-new Porsche was parked in the most prominent spot. Its glossy paint reflected the overhead lights, making my eyes ache.

"You're acting less and less like yourself lately," Carter sighed, looking exhausted.

"You used to be so mature. So cool."

He thought for a second. "You never used to sweat the small stuff with Clara."

Small stuff.

My mug was small stuff.

My bed was small stuff.

My perfume and my dress were all "small stuff."

The moment Clara laid her hands on them, they became insignificant details I was supposed to ignore.

I looked at him. "Then tell me, Carter. What *is* big stuff?"

Carter fell silent for a moment. "Our future."

When he said those words, his expression was genuinely earnest.

If this were a few months ago, my heart would have softened.

He always did thisgiving me a crumb of false hope right when I was at my breaking point.

"We were planning to get engaged by the end of the year. Ive already been looking at townhouses."

Carter's voice softened. "If you transfer to LA now, you're throwing our future away just to throw a tantrum."

I looked at the luxury car behind him. "Whose name will be on the house deed?"

His brow twitched. "I'm paying the down payment, so obviously itll be in my name first."

"And the renovations?"

"We'll split that 50/50," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Didn't you always want to design our home?"

"And who gets the final say on the design?"

Carter was growing impatient. "Clara took some interior design classes. She has great taste. We can just have her help us out."

I laughed out loud.

In his "future," there was his house, my 50% contribution to the renovation bills, and Clara's taste.

There was absolutely no room for me.

Carter stared at me, then suddenly spoke up.

"I didn't buy this car *for* Clara."

I stopped in my tracks.

Carter seemed to be explaining it to me, but it felt more like he was trying to convince himself.

"She just got back to the States and her job situation isn't stable yet. I'm just letting her borrow it. The title is under my name. It's not a gift."

"Stop looking at her Instagram and overthinking everything."

I nodded. He looked visibly taken aback.

He wasn't used to my silence. He expected me to argue, to scream, to demand answers.

My utter calmness made him uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Carters phone buzzed. It was Clara.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he answered.

He listened to the other end for a second. "I'll be right up."

After hanging up, he turned to me, back to his usual tone.

"Clara has a stomachache. I'm taking her to the urgent care."

He unlocked the Porsche, but stopped before getting in.

"Don't worry about the medical bill this time. Ill cover it myself. Clara is tight on cash since she just moved back."

I kept my eyes on the concrete floor of the garage.

A few months ago, my chronic gastritis flared up so badly I couldn't even stand up straight.

Carter had driven me to the clinic. But at the billing counter, he handed the invoice straight to me.

"Pay it first, and we'll split it on Venmo later."

The bill that day was $237.60.

He made me Venmo him exactly 0-018.80.

But now, because Clara had a simple stomachache, he told me "not to worry" because he would cover it himself.

I finally understood. He wasn't incapable of being generous.

He just only applied his strict calculations to me.

After Carter drove off, I walked out of the garage alone.

A light drizzle was falling. My phone buzzed.

It was a photo from Clara. Carter was kneeling on the floor in front of her, tying her sneaker laces.

*With my favorite guy here, I have nothing to fear,* her caption read.

I locked my phone.

The rain fell on the back of my hand, feeling icy cold.

When I got back to the apartment that evening, the living room was packed.

Several of Carters friends were over.

Zach saw me walk in and waved cheerfully.

"Hey, Chloe! You're back just in time. Clara wanted to celebrate her return, so Carter is personally cooking tonight!"

On the dining table sat a massive pot of Slow-cooked Beef Bourguignon.

It was my absolute favorite dish.

Whenever I had begged Carter to make it for us in the past, he always dismissed it, saying it took too much prep work.

Clara was sitting at the table, kicking her legs back and forth.

"Carter is literally the best cook ever. I used to eat this all the time when we were kids."

One of the guys teased, "Man, Carter, you really spoil your little sister, don't you?"

Carter smiled gently. "Shes a picky eater."

I paused while changing my shoes. Zach seemed to notice something was off.

"Hey, Chloe, you look a bit pale. You okay?"

Clara immediately chimed in. "Oh, does Chloe not like having people over? I can tell everyone to leave if you want."

Carter set down a fruit platter. "Don't ruin the mood."

I knew exactly who that comment was directed at.

During dinner, Clara took a bite of the beef and frowned slightly.

"Hmm, it's a bit too sour for me."

Carter immediately tasted it. "I'll add some sugar."

Zach laughed. "Wait, doesn't Chloe love it on the sour side?"

Carter's hand paused mid-air.

Clara lowered her eyes. "Oh... so this is how Chloe likes it? Then don't change it. I'll just eat less."

Carter picked up the pot and headed back to the kitchen.

"I'll make a fresh batch."

I stared at the piece of beef in my bowl.

It was steaming hot.

But suddenly, I couldn't swallow a single bite.

By the time the second batch of beef was served, it was so sweet it was nauseating.

Clara smiled and showed everyone her phone.

"Look, guys! This is the car Carter got me. Isn't it gorgeous?"

She swiped through her camera roll.

Photos of the car, designer bags, diamond necklaces, expensive dinners, and a shot of Carters back as he swiped his black card at a jewelry counter.

Someone let out a low whistle. "Damn, Carter. Generous much?"

Carter leaned back in his chair, his tone casual. "She just got back to the country. She needed a lot of essentials."

Zach instinctively looked at me. "Man, then Carter must treat you like a queen, Chloe."

Clara blinked innocently, acting like she didn't get the hint.

"Oh, what did Carter get you for your birthday, Chloe?"

Before I could say anything, Carter answered for me.

"Chloe doesn't like wasting money on useless things."

He said it so naturally.

As if I was born to not deserve nice things.

For my birthday last year, he gave me a free one-day gym pass.

It was a voucher he had won at his companys holiday raffle.

At the time, I had hugged him, thanked him sincerely, and felt happy for days.

Clara covered her mouth with a soft gasp.

"Wow, Chloe, you're so thrifty! Unlike me, I'm always spending Carter's money."

Carter gave her a playful look. "As long as you know. Stop buying useless junk from now on."

His tone sounded like a lecture, but his eyes were filled with warmth.

I got up to clear the dishes. Clara suddenly followed me into the kitchen.

"Chloe, do you absolutely hate me?"

I turned on the faucet. "You're overthinking."

"But Carter used to care about me the most," she smiled, her sweet demeanor vanishing instantly under the rush of the water.

"I was only gone for a few years. Did you honestly think he belonged to you?"

The sound of running water drowned out the laughter from the living room.

"You know that white silk dress? I wore it on purpose," Clara whispered. "And your perfume? I took it on purpose, too."

"I just wanted to see how much you actually matter to him."

I turned off the tap. "And what did you find out?"

She gave a light, mocking laugh. "Honestly? Not much."

In the next second, she grabbed a bowl of hot soup sitting on the counter and poured a splash of it directly onto the back of her own hand.

The bowl shattered on the floor, and she let out a piercing scream.

By the time Carter rushed into the kitchen, Clara was already shaking and sobbing violently.

"Chloe... I just wanted to help wash the dishes... why did you push me?"

Without a single moment of hesitation, Carter violently shoved me away from the kitchen door.

"Chloe! Are you out of your mind?!"

I looked at him. "I didn't push her."

Clara clung to his chest, the back of her hand turning bright red.

"Carter, it's okay... maybe Chloe didn't mean to do it."

"Shut up," Carter said coldly.

I thought he was talking to Clara.

But in the next second, his cold gaze locked onto me.

"Apologize."

Another apology.

I suddenly realized how familiar those words were.

For three years, I had been constantly apologizing.

Apologizing for buying shoes that were "too expensive."

Apologizing for getting sick and "distracting him from his work."

Apologizing for not being "cool" enough, "understanding" enough, or "independent" enough.

And now, I was expected to apologize for a bowl of soup she had poured on herself.

This time, I wasn't backing down.

"I won't apologize."

Carters face went completely dark. The guests in the living room had all stood up, feeling the tension.

Zach stepped in, trying to defuse the situation. "Hey, Carter, maybe we should check the camera first? Didn't you put a security cam in the kitchen?"

We had a camera in the kitchen because Carter was always paranoid Id forget to turn off the stove.

I looked at Carter. "Yes, check the footage."

Claras sobbing paused for a split second.

Carter knew the camera was there, but he didn't reach for his phone.

Instead, he avoided my eyes and said in a harsh, rigid voice, "Enough."

"We have guests over. Do you really have to make a scene and embarrass everyone?"

Zach frowned. "Carter, checking the app takes two seconds. Itll clear things up."

Carter dismissed him coldly. "Claras hand is already burned. Does it really matter whos right or wrong at this point?"

I stared at him.

So, whether the truth mattered or not depended entirely on *who* was hurt.

Clara sobbed, "I don't want to make things difficult for Chloe. We don't need to watch it."

Carter wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

At the door, he stopped and threw a cold look back at me.

"Chloe, if Clara ends up with a scar on her hand, we are not done."

The door slammed shut.

The apartment was left in a messy silence, under the awkward gazes of his friends.

Zach wanted to say something, but in the end, he just let out a heavy sigh.

"Chloe... don't take it to heart. Carter is just... really protective of Clara."

I bent down and picked up the shattered ceramic pieces from the floor.

This time, the glass didn't cut me.

Because I was wearing gloves.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was an email from the LA office.

*Hi Chloe, your transfer paperwork has been fast-tracked and approved. Your start date is tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM.*

I replied instantly.

Then, in a corner where no one was looking, I quietly packed my suitcase.

Go spend the rest of your life with your 50/50 calculations, Carter.

I am done.