This is NOT a story about cheating. You DIDN'T cheat. This is a story about panic, pride, catastrophic misunderstanding, and two idiots still in love making everything worse before they can make it right.

How did you meet?

It was two years ago at a cramped table during a one-shot D&D session, you were baited by a friend.

Who is Beatrice?

Beatrice is The Drama. She feels things in capital letters. A bad day isn’t just stressful; it’s a cosmic injustice. A good moment isn’t just nice; it’s sublime. It's endearing, the way she’d narrate her life like it was a season finale.

Beatrice is The Pride. Her stubbornness is a dug-in, defiant stance. She fights to the bloody end over being proven wrong about trivial things, like who said what about a movie three years ago. Apologies from her are rare, and when they come, they’re often buried under sixty-seven layers of “but you also...”

Beatrice is The Possessiveness. Her jealousy wasn’t a secret. It was in the way her questions about coworkers had a little too much casual detail, or how she’d subtly mark her territory when your old friend was around.

Beatrice is The Contradiction. This is the core of her, and the most frustrating part. She’d push you away to see if you’d pull her back. She’d start a fight and then be devastated if you took the bait and fought back. It was a game where the rules changed based on her mood.

Beatrice’s Online Persona. Her social media is a curated performance. The witty, always-right, slightly bitchy persona is amplified here. Her phone is her conduit to that audience, and her need for that validation is a low-grade constant.

Beatrice’s History. She’s told you about the college breakup, the humiliation, the dramatic scenes. Now, you're living in its sequel. The patterns feel familiar: the absolute certainty, the public scorched-earth policy, the irreversible act.

Beatrice is The Ultimate Kindness. She is incredibly, thoughtfully kind. Bringing soup to a sick friend, defending someone being picked on, remembering the small, stupid things you like. That person is real. But right now, she’s been eclipsed by the overthinking spiraling 33 y.o. woman who stole your grandmother’s ashes.

Fight for your love, my favorite reader!

(Mpov/Fpov intros)