Part 1: The Test
Skyla once left a note on my refrigerator reminding me that coffee wasn’t breakfast. It was all I had left of my broke girlfriend after she vanished for five days, never knowing that the serious illness I’d confessed to was a lie meant to test her loyalty. When she finally came back and set something down in front of me, I buried my face in my hands and cried like a child.
The first time Skyla saw me toss out a coffee machine, she was sure I’d gone crazy.
“It stopped working,” I explained.
“Did you try cleaning it?”
“I bought another one.”
She looked over at the replacement on my counter.
“Archie, the old one probably just needed descaling.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Clearly.”
She took the discarded machine home with her.
Two days later, she sent me a photo of it running perfectly.
FIXED. COST: $4.
I cracked up laughing.
That was Skyla all over.
At twenty-four, she was wrapping up college while waiting tables on evening shifts at a restaurant.
Her car made a terrible noise every time she turned left. Her laptop took several minutes to boot, and she bought used textbooks and planned her grocery spending carefully once rent was paid.
Meanwhile, I ran a thriving business and came from a rich family where nobody ever checked a price tag.
We’d been together for almost two years.
Whenever I offered to pay her tuition, Skyla turned me down.
“I need to know I can do this myself,” she’d say.
My parents saw it differently.
One Sunday, Mom wondered aloud whether Skyla truly grasped how wealthy our family was.
“She’s met you, Mom,” I said. “She knows you’re comfortable.”
“That’s not what I asked, Archie.”
Dad was more blunt about his worries.
“Be careful. Some people know how to wait until you’ve let your guard down.”
My friends felt the same way.
One of them had just come out of a nasty breakup and was convinced his ex had only stuck around for his lifestyle.
“Your girlfriend’s broke, Archie. You’re telling me she doesn’t see an opportunity?”
At first, I stood up for Skyla.
But gradually, their warnings crept into my own thinking.
She had never asked me for money.
Was that because she honestly didn’t want any?
Or had she worked out that asking would make me suspicious?
Once the doubts took hold, I began second-guessing ordinary kindnesses.
When she cooked dinner at my apartment, I wondered if she was trying to impress me.
When she remembered an important meeting of mine, I questioned whether she was just keeping me happy on purpose.
One evening, she showed up carrying her unreliable laptop, its screen flickering whenever she moved it.
“Let me buy you a new one,” I said.
“No, thanks. I’ve got a repair appointment.”
“Skyla, I can afford it.”
“It’s okay, baby.”
“Then why won’t you let me?”
She lifted her eyes to mine.
“Because I can handle this.”
I should have accepted that answer.
Instead, my father’s warning kept ringing in my head.
A week later, I came up with the worst plan of my life.
I decided to test her.
I talked myself into believing I had to find out whether she’d stay if I had nothing left to give.
Before she arrived, I rehearsed my lie in my car.
The second Skyla walked into my kitchen, she noticed the look on my face.
“Archie? Baby, what happened?”
I sank into a chair.
“I got some medical results.”
She let her bag fall.
“What kind of results?”
“I have a serious illness.”
She froze.
“What?”
“The doctors say I need treatment. Soon. Or else…”
She dragged a chair next to mine.
“Which doctor? What exactly did they find?”
“I don’t have all the answers yet. I need another appointment before they’ll explain the treatment plan.”
“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.” She reached for my hand. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
Then I delivered the next piece of my story.
“The treatment is expensive. More than I can afford.”
She frowned.
“But you have insurance.”
“It won’t cover enough.”
“What about your parents?”
“They can’t help this time.”
I named an enormous sum, knowing she could never raise it.
She echoed the number back.
“That much?”
I nodded.
After several seconds of quiet, she asked, “How much time do we have to find it?”
I’d been bracing for questions about whether I still had money.
What she wanted to know was our deadline.
“I don’t know,” I said.
She took out her phone.
“Then we need to find out.”
For the next two days, Skyla barely stopped working.
She looked into treatment centers, financial assistance programs, payment plans, and second opinions.
Between classes, she’d phone me.
“Can you send me the doctor’s name?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“I’m overwhelmed, Skyla.”
“Then let me help with the calls.”
I told her I’d already tried every option.
She wouldn’t accept that nothing could be done.
“There’s always someone else we can ask,” she insisted.
Still, I kept shooting down every suggestion.
On the second evening, she turned up with a notebook full of questions.
“Archie, I need you to be straight with me.”
My heart sped up.
“About what?”
“Have you actually spoken to anyone about financial assistance?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t remember every name.”
She searched my face.
“You’re scaring me.”
I turned away.
“Fine. I’ll find another way.”
She closed her notebook and stood up.
“But if you’re not going to let me help you make calls, I need a little time to see what I can find on my own.”
The next morning, a message came in that began her five-day disappearance.
SKYLA: I’m leaving for five days. Don’t call me.
