When we were 17, Edgar, Madeline, and I met in the small town we all called home. It was a gray afternoon when I introduced Edgar to my sister for the first time. The three of us lived in the same place our entire lives, but it wasn’t until that day that our paths truly crossed. Madeline was always the center of attention, even in our quiet village. Edgar seemed captivated by her from the moment they met.
“You’re Madeline, right?” he asked with a smile.
She nodded, happily. “Yes, and you must be Edgar. My brother told me a lot about you.”
I appreciated Edgar’s company—his mind was sharp, and his presence brought some relief to the loneliness of the Usher house. But despite our growing friendship, I felt a sting of envy whenever I saw the way he looked at her.
Later, I tried to change the subject. “So, what did you think of Madeline?” I asked Edgar. I tried to sound casual.
“She was impressive,” he replied.
When I saw Madeline, I couldn’t help asking, “What did you think of Edgar?”
She laughed softly. “He seemed nice, maybe even a little mysterious.”
In the end, I realized that, even though I valued Edgar’s friendship, something felt wrong. The bond between him and Madeline was something I could never reach. Every time I saw them together, a knot tightened in my chest. No matter how much I cared for him, I knew there wouldn’t be room for all three of us. One of us had to disappear.
