Ann Tenner
My best friend, Cassidy Lockhart, behaves like an entitled princess. She wants to visit a princess theme park, but insists that princesses don't wait in line.
Without a second thought, my boyfriend, Silas Culburn, spends our entire 6,000-dollar savings on VIP passes and the parade experience, treating her like royalty.
That 6,000 dollars is the money Silas and I have saved up over six months of part-time jobs. It's supposed to be our wedding fund.
The caption on Cassidy's latest social media post reads, "I've always known that every princess has their own knight in shining armor."
In the video, Silas gently places a tiara on her head. The two of them walk hand in hand, their eyes fixed only on each other.
I take a screenshot and send it to Silas.
He calls me back almost immediately. "Cady's your best friend, and her family just went bankrupt. I couldn't say no to one little wish."
My heart sinks. "So you went ahead and fulfilled her wish using our wedding fund?"
"We can always earn more money, but we're only ever going to a princess theme park this one time," Silas replies before hanging up.
I think back to the time Silas first meets Cassidy. He tells me, "She reeks of money, and she's so entitled."
A week later, he comments jokingly, "You look like an ugly duckling standing next to a swan when you're with Cady."
I wipe away my tears, open my planner, and cross out the line that says "Save for our wedding fund."
Now that the money is gone, there's no point in saving up for the wedding anymore.