The Third Wheel Who Ruined Us

After I took a tumble down the stairs, Eleanor finally agreed to leave work to take care of me.
But just as we were pulling up to the hospital, she got a call from a client and had to turn back.
Later, as I was dragging my fractured leg downstairs to pay the bill, I saw her childhood best friend, Rupert, post a picture of her tending to his knee. The caption read:
Who knew a grown man could be so clumsy? Good thing I have my Ellie to patch me up.
That’s when I knew. There was no client.
Our mutual friends didn’t dare comment.
Only I did. I left a single like, and a reply:
An idiot needs a babysitter. You two should just get together.

1
Eleanor was a workaholic.
So when she said a client needed her, I understood. I even told her to prioritize her work, to go back and not worry about me.
But then, as I hauled my broken leg down to the billing office, I saw it. The picture Rupert had posted. Eleanor, kneeling at his feet, dabbing antiseptic on his scraped knee. And that caption: Who knew a grown man could be so clumsy? Good thing I have my Ellie to patch me up.
Something thick and hard lodged itself in my throat.
I blew up at her over the phone. Her voice was frayed with impatience.
“You get angry over everything,” she said. “If I’d told you the truth, do you really think you could’ve rested and recovered peacefully?”
After that, my messages went unanswered. Radio silence.
That night, my body rejected the anesthetic. I woke up multiple times during the surgery, drowning in waves of agony.
When they wheeled me out of the operating room, there was no one there for me. A kind nurse saw me struggling and helped me downstairs.
Still no word from Eleanor.
I was left to juggle work emails and calls on my phone while navigating the hospital on crutches, a dead weight chained to my leg, hobbling up and down floors to pay bills and pick up prescriptions.
The same sweet nurse took pity on me, running those errands for me when she could.
The day I was discharged, a message from Eleanor finally appeared.
I’m coming to get you.
I knew what that meant. It was her way of turning the page, of wiping the slate clean. It was always like this between us. She hated fighting. Whenever I confronted her about Rupert, she’d give me the silent treatment, letting me stew in my own anger. Then, when she was ready to move on, she’d reach out.
By then, my fury would have burned itself out, leaving nothing but embers. She could turn my emotions on and off like a switch.
This time, the silence lasted for nearly half a month.
In the past, a message like that would have sent a jolt of relief through me. I would have been thrilled that she was finally making time for me.
But now? Nothing. A flat, calm sea.
The days I’d spent fighting through this alone had cooled my head considerably.
I typed back a simple reply: Don’t bother. I’ve already checked out.
Her response was immediate.
Then I’ll pick you up from home.
No need, I’ll get a cab.
I’m already on my way. Wait for me. I’ll be there in thirty.

2
Thirty minutes bled into an hour. No sign of Eleanor’s car.
The sky had bruised from dusk to a deep, starless black. It was 9:30 PM. Not a single text from her.
I didn’t ask.
After another ten minutes, I gave up, opened the Uber app, and ordered a ride.
It was 10:30 PM by the time I got home.
The driver, a kind older man, saw me fumbling with my crutches and insisted on helping me up the five flights of stairs.
The hallway light was busted, and there were no security cameras, so I kept a video call going with a buddy as we climbed. The driver didn't seem to mind my caution. He got me to my door, gave a small nod, and left.
Still nothing from Eleanor.
I didn’t text her to demand an explanation. I just went inside, sent the driver a generous tip through the app, and collapsed onto the sofa.
A new notification lit up my phone.
It was Rupert’s Instagram.
He’d posted another picture. That familiar silhouette was there, dabbing at another scrape on his arm.
The caption was practically giddy:
Barely five minutes after Ellie leaves and I take another tumble. Seriously, what's wrong with me? LOL. The way she scolds me while wrapping my scrapes is just too cute!

3
I’d never been comfortable with the fact that Eleanor had a childhood best friend like Rupert.
Every interaction felt like a small jab to the ribs, but I couldn’t stop myself from watching their every move.
The weirdest part was when he added me on social media out of the blue.
It turned out Eleanor had given him my contact.
“I’m busy with work,” she’d explained. “Rupert’s all alone in New York. If he needs anything, maybe you can help keep an eye on him.”
I, a person who rarely checked my feed, became a chronic scroller, my blood boiling with every flirty post he made featuring my girlfriend. It always ended in a massive fight.
In the past, a post like this would have sent me into a rage. I would have called Eleanor, demanding she explain herself.
But this time, I just tapped the ‘like’ button and left a comment.
An idiot needs a babysitter. You two should just get together.
My phone rang. It was my boss, Ms. Vance. I picked up.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice crisp and direct. “I’ve spoken with corporate. We can raise your salary to one-point-three million. What do you say?”
Our company was expanding its market presence.
The London office was desperately looking for a new director.
They had specifically requested me, but I’d turned it down every time, using the distance as an excuse.
“And listen,” she continued, “I got approval for fifteen days of leave every five months. You can still fly back and see… your girl. How does that sound?”
So, she’d known all along. It was never about the distance.
It was about how far I’d be from Eleanor.
I let out a short, sharp laugh. “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Vance. I don’t need the vacation days. When do I leave?”
There was a stunned silence on the other end, then her voice bloomed with excitement.
“End of the month! You got it, Ethan! No backing out now!”
“I’ll start the transfer paperwork tomorrow.”

4
I was buried in a mountain of backlogged work on my laptop, so completely absorbed that I didn’t hear the front door open.
When I finally looked up, Eleanor was standing there, her brow furrowed in a slight frown.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
I glanced at my mobile. Sure enough, a few missed calls from around midnight.
“I went to the hospital to pick you up. You weren’t there,” she said, a clear note of irritation in her voice.
“Oh, really?” My tone was light, almost surprised. “My bad. I figured you weren’t coming tonight, so I just grabbed an Uber.”
She looked at me as if she’d misheard.
In the past, if she was even a minute late, I would have been on the phone, demanding to know where she was. That would have inevitably led to her accusing me of being suspicious, triggering another one of her cold spells. I would never have just carried on with my own plans without a word.
She sighed, a long, weary sound. “Look… Rupert fell again. He has a congenital bone condition; even a small fall could mean a fracture. I couldn’t just leave him.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I didn’t even let her finish, just offered a placid, noncommittal hum.
“Ethan?” She seemed taken aback.
“Yeah?” I glanced up from my screen, feigning confusion.
Her frown deepened. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad about what?” I offered a small smile. “You two are childhood friends. I get it. It’s fine.”
She took a deep breath and sat down beside me on the sofa. “You’re still angry, aren’t you?”
“Nope,” I said, my smile unwavering. “I stopped caring about that stuff a long time ago.”
She let out another soft sigh, her fingers finding mine and lacing through them. “I know I was wrong. I’m admitting it first this time. Can we just… let it go?”
I chuckled lightly. “Seriously, it’s fine. You don’t have to do this. You’re making it into a bigger deal than it is.”
A flash of pure shock crossed her features.
This was the first time she had ever conceded first.
And I had just refused her olive branch.
The truth is, when someone no longer lives in your heart, it’s impossible to get angry at them.
I checked the time and closed my laptop. “It’s getting late, Ellie. I’m going to bed.”
I pushed myself up, but a searing pain shot through my leg, and I crumpled to the floor.

5
“Ethan!”
Eleanor lunged, grabbing my arm. I gently pushed her hand away, my voice devoid of any anger.
“I’m okay. Just forgot my crutches.”
She frowned. “Why do you need crutches?”
I answered with an airy calm. “It’s fractured.”
In that instant, she froze.
Perhaps she was remembering the excuse she’d just given me—that she was afraid Rupert might have a fracture.
Her expression became a tangled mess of emotions.
“I’m so sorry…”
It was the first time she had ever truly apologized. She bent down to help me up. “Let me help you to bed.”
To my own surprise, I shook my head and pushed her away again. “It’s okay. Could you just grab my crutches for me? They’re by the door. I can make it myself.”
She didn’t move. “Wouldn’t it be better if I helped you?”
In the past, if she’d offered any physical closeness, I would have melted into her arms.
But now, the offer held no appeal.
I smiled faintly. “No, thanks. I can manage on my own.”
Her gaze was sharp, probing. “You’re still angry, aren’t you?”
I paused. “No, really.”
It was strange. She couldn't stand it when I was angry, but now that I wasn't, she seemed just as unhappy.
She took a step closer. “If you’re angry, just say it. It’s not like I won’t listen. Why are you being like this?”

6
Eleanor hated conflict.
She had a mind like a steel trap, capable of dismantling any argument, yet she’d repeatedly turned down invitations to join the university debate team. In her professional life, she was a woman of few words.
When I was angry, her first instinct was to flee.
“I’m exhausted from work every day,” she used to say. “I don’t have the energy for your baseless accusations! The reason I listen to Rupert is because he’s fragile. We grew up together; what’s wrong with me being a shoulder for him to lean on? If I actually liked him that way, where would that leave you? Besides, he never criticizes me! Can you just stop comparing yourself to him for once?”
Those words used to pierce me like shards of glass.
Now, remembering them, I felt nothing.
Instead, I was just curious why she suddenly wanted to hear me out.
I sighed. “I’m not angry. I’m really not.”
Her breathing was uneven. “Then why won’t you let me help you?”
“Because…” I kept the gentle smile fixed on my face, as if the memory of waking up in agony was a distant dream. “When I came out of surgery… I was alone then, too.”
She stared, unblinking. “You had surgery?”
I nodded. “You seemed busy. I didn’t want to bother you.”
The corners of Eleanor’s eyes reddened. When she looked at me again, there was something new in her gaze… a flicker of pain.
“You should have told me.”
I shook my head. “It’s over now. If I could get through it alone then, I can certainly manage now that I’m recovering.”
She looked down, her breath deepening. When her eyes met mine again, they were swimming with guilt.
“So you’re blaming me for not being there.”
I was done explaining. “I’m really not. Can you please just get my crutches? I want to go to sleep.”
“If you’re not angry, why won’t you let me take care of you?” she pressed, stepping even closer.
I was too tired to argue. I gave up, hopping on one foot, stumbling toward the door where I’d left the crutches. “Just drop it. Let’s go to bed.”
Her fists were clenched at her sides.
I ignored her, grabbed my crutches, and made my way to the bedroom.
As I lay down, I heard her voice, sharp with fury.
“Fine. Be that way. I’m going to go take care of Rupert!”
The front door slammed shut.
I glanced at the bedroom door, flicked off the lamp, and rolled over, closing my eyes.
Within minutes, I was sound asleep.

7
I met Eleanor in the student union back in college.
I was captivated by her sharp intellect and a profound, quiet confidence I’d never seen in anyone else. It took me ages to work up the nerve to ask her out.
We’ve been together for six years—three in college, three after. And for almost all of it, my world has revolved around hers.
My classmates from our graduating year are pulling in millions now, while I’m still hovering around six figures. Thinking back to when I was top of my class, I realize just how much I’ve let slip by.
I didn’t text Eleanor again.
My days were a simple loop: finish my work, then study for my certifications. Ms. Vance had hinted at another salary bump if I passed.
Eleanor, for her part, hadn’t contacted me since she stormed out. That wasn’t unusual. She was never one for texting what could be said in person. Our typical dynamic was me sending her a barrage of updates about my day, to which she might reply with a perfunctory “Ok” or “Got it.”
It never used to bother me.
Not until I saw her chat logs with Rupert, the easy back-and-forth, the inside jokes. That’s when my composure finally cracked. That fight, like all the others, ended with her giving me the silent treatment.
Thinking about it used to twist my stomach in knots, prompting me to find some new excuse to start another argument.
Now, the memory just floats by, weightless.
The prospect of a pay raise was infinitely more compelling.
I had been planning to ask Eleanor out for a meal, to finally have the talk about our relationship.
But she beat me to it.
She sent me a picture of a reservation number for a private dining room.
Let’s have dinner.
I glanced at the restaurant I was about to order takeout from and realized, with a jolt, that it was the same place.
Old habits die hard.
This was Eleanor’s favorite spot. I had once secretly learned how to cook all of their signature dishes, hoping to surprise her. But she always said eating at home was a hassle; it was quicker to just go out. My culinary efforts were left to languish.
Another habit I needed to break.
Okay, I replied.

8
At 7 PM, I pushed open the restaurant door.
I was off the crutches by then, but my walk was still a clumsy, uneven limp.
A waiter kindly showed me to the private room.
As the door opened, the first thing I heard was a peal of laughter.
“No way! Your man really said that? If it were me, I wouldn’t be so petty!”
Rupert was sitting right next to Eleanor, leaving only the seat directly across from them for me.
I froze for a second, not expecting a third person.
Eleanor looked up, a small, practiced smile on her face. “Oh, you’re here. We were just talking about old times.” Her eyes darted over my face, searching for a reaction.
“Right. Carry on, then.”
I returned her smile with one of my own and calmly made my way to the empty seat.
Eleanor’s expression flickered.
I turned to the waiter. “Could we get a menu, please?”
The menu was in my hands for less than a second before it was snatched away.
Rupert leaned intimately toward Eleanor, his finger tapping the page. “Ellie, this one’s amazing. And this one, and this…”
She laughed softly. “Come on, you’re the one who wants it, aren’t you?”
His eyes were full of a playful, adoring light. “No, it’s really that good.”
Eleanor took the menu from him, checked off the items he’d pointed to, and handed it to the waiter. The waiter hesitated, looking at me. It was only then that she seemed to remember I was there.
“Oh, right,” she said, passing the menu to me. “See if there’s anything you want.”
I knew that look.
It was the same analytical gaze she used to give me back when we first started dating, whenever I was giving her the silent treatment. The same look she’d have in those rare debate tournaments, searching for the fatal flaw in her opponent’s argument.
She was watching me, waiting for me to crack.
But I just glanced at the menu and smiled. “Looks good. Rupert has great taste.”
Her hand, resting on the table, flinched. She looked at me as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.
I passed the menu back to the waiter. “That’ll be all, thank you.”

9
After the menus were gone, a shadow fell over Eleanor’s face.
Rupert, oblivious, draped an arm around her shoulder and grinned at me. “Heard you were mad at Ellie. Don’t worry, I gave her a piece of my mind for you!”
I was in the middle of replying to a client’s message. I looked up and smiled politely. “Oh, that? It was nothing. Just a small thing.”
Rupert clearly didn’t think so. He leaned in closer to Eleanor, pinching her cheek. “Hey, don’t take it personally, man. We’ve been like this since we were kids. I’m not interested in this block of wood, so you can relax!”
I smiled again and went back to my phone.
“Actually,” Rupert continued, his voice taking on a theatrical tone, “the reason Ellie takes such good care of me is because she kind of owes me her life.”
Eleanor playfully swatted his arm. “Oh, stop it.”
“No way! I can tell you never told him the story!” Rupert was practically glowing with self-importance. “You see, Ethan, when we were little, Ellie had a huge fight with her parents and ran out into a thunderstorm. I went looking for her and took a really bad fall. My leg never healed right. Turns out I have a congenital low bone density. That one fall almost crippled me for life!”
Eleanor laughed, but her eyes were fixed on me. “Ethan’s not the jealous type. You don’t have to explain.”
I looked up from my phone and echoed her smile. “She’s right. I stopped caring about that a long time ago.”
Eleanor’s face went dark.
The dishes began to arrive. I reached for a piece of the crispy-skin pork belly, but before I could get it, her chopsticks intercepted mine, snatching the piece and placing it in Rupert’s bowl.
“Here,” she said with a soft smile. “You love this dish, don’t you?” All the while, she was watching me from the corner of her eye.
I just smiled, picked up another piece for myself, and continued responding to a client’s voice message with my free hand.
Her expression soured instantly.
“You,” Eleanor said suddenly, her voice sharp. “Go sit on the other side.”

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