Paris’s hands trembled as she pushed her half-eaten plate away. The weight of everything hung thick between them — guilt, grief, and something darker.


She finally broke. Tears streaked down her face. “Yes, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “There are no words to take this back. Please forgive me. I just wanted him. He was a great guy, and I know you said all that stuff, but he wasn’t like that with me. He said he was going to leave you anyway. I didn’t think it through.”


Ira folded her arms, her expression carved in disgust. “He wasn’t about to leave me. He was a liar, Paris. Are you not listening?”


Paris slammed her palm against the table, the sound cracking through the restaurant. “He loved me, okay? He wanted me!”


Ira’s laugh cut through the air — low, wicked, unrestrained. It turned a few heads nearby.


Paris reached for her drink, her throat raw and dry from shouting. The ice clinked as she sipped, trying to swallow the lump of guilt clawing up her chest.


“He loved you so much, huh?” Ira said, her voice smooth and venomous. “Just like me? And now, just like me, sis, you’ll have something to remember him by.” She leaned in, a cruel smile curling on her lips. “Herpes and AIDS, baby doll. You wanted him so bad — now there you go.”


Paris froze, the words slicing through her like glass. Her chest tightened, her heart hammering wildly. “What… what are you talking about?” she gasped.


Ira tilted her head, watching the panic bloom in Paris’s eyes. “You don’t feel so good, do you?” she murmured. “Maybe it’s your drink.”


Paris’s fingers clawed at the table as her vision blurred. Her breathing grew shallow; her lips parted, but no sound came out. She tried to keep her body upright but she was weak.


Ira calmly picked up her purse and slid out of the booth, eyes never leaving Paris. “Aww,” she said softly, voice laced with mock sympathy. “Guess you finally got what you wanted. You can both go rot in HELL!”


Paris’s body slumped forward onto the table, her hand still gripping the edge of her glass.


Ira turned and shouted, “Somebody call 911!” The restaurant erupted — people shouting, rushing over, the clatter of plates and chairs echoing in chaos.


But by the time they reached Paris, she was already gone.


Ira stepped through the door into the sunny afternoon light, her heels clicking against the pavement. She didn’t look back.


By the time the sirens wailed in the distance, she was already at the airport — boarding pass in hand, a calm smile tugging at her lips.


When the flight attendant stopped by to ask if she wanted lunch, Ira smirked faintly and said, "No, thanks. I have already had mine."