Over the next week, Avery texted me constantly about her “vision” for the shower. I played along while working with my mom and sister to complete our real celebration — a warm, private gathering at a café downtown.
The day arrived. Avery spent the morning decorating my house, fussing over every detail. Through my security camera, I watched her moving around as if she owned the place. Pastel streamers, floral arrangements, a sugar-free cake — she’d gone all out. But no one was coming.
Across town, I was surrounded by my loved ones at the café. The air was filled with laughter, warmth, and the smell of real food. My mom had tears in her eyes. My sister snapped photos. I even printed one Polaroid and placed it in a box with a single cupcake. We sent it to Avery.
Back at my house, the camera showed her opening the package. She stared at the photo of me smiling with family, then at the cupcake. The note inside read: “We thought you’d prefer something gluten-free.” Her face flushed red as she tossed the cupcake into the trash and grabbed her phone. When it rang a few minutes later, I didn’t answer.
Later that night, Scott and I returned home. The untouched decorations still hung, the air faintly sweet with frosting. Then came a loud knock.
Avery stood on the porch, shaking with anger. “How could you do this to me?” she yelled.
“You weren’t invited to host it,” I said calmly. “You ignored my boundaries and took control of something that wasn’t yours.”
Scott stepped forward, his voice steady. “Avery, you’ve crossed the line. The constant texts, the advice — it stops now.”
Her eyes filled with panic. “You told her about the messages?”
“Of course,” he said. “We don’t keep secrets.”
Avery’s voice broke. “I thought… I thought it would work. I thought if Scott followed my advice, you’d fight. Maybe then he’d realize I was the one who really cared about him.”
The air went heavy. “Avery,” Scott said firmly, “I care about you as a friend — that’s all. I’m married. We’re starting a family. This ends now.”
She tried to speak but couldn’t. Tears streaming, she turned and left, the door closing sharply behind her.
I sank onto the couch, exhausted. Scott’s hand found mine. “You okay?” he asked softly.
“I just can’t believe she thought she could come between us,” I murmured.
“She never could,” he said. “You and the baby are my whole world.”
Months later, our daughter was born — healthy, perfect, and surrounded by love. Avery faded from our lives, leaving only a lesson behind: sometimes obsession disguises itself as care, and control as kindness. The difference becomes clear only when you stand up for yourself — and when you do, real peace begins.
