The moment Ethan saw me, he laughed and said, “Your mom told me you used to have a crush on me. Cute, right?” Then he winked.

My mom laughed too. “She was obsessed with you when she was little!”

I felt my face burn. I wanted to disappear into the floor. They weren’t just laughing—they were bonding over me. Over something I’d never given permission to share.

Watching him touch her arm after that made my skin crawl.

After dinner, I pulled my mom aside and finally said it out loud. “You knew I had a crush on him. That wasn’t funny. It was disturbing.”

She rolled her eyes and told me I was “too sensitive” and “jealous.” That’s when I realized she wasn’t listening—she didn’t want to.

So I stopped trying. I kept my distance. I let her live in her glowing romance while I quietly stepped back.

A few weeks ago, she called me in tears. Ethan had left. She’d found out he’d been messaging women his own age the entire time.

I do feel sorry for her. Breakups hurt at any age.

But if I’m honest? There’s also relief. And maybe even a small, guilty sense that this was inevitable.

Is it terrible that part of me thinks she crossed a line—and finally had to face the consequences?