After Eight Years of Dating, I Ran Away From Marriage

Even though I had picked a wedding dress that was supposed to be easy to move in, walking in heels on a sports field was still nearly impossible. Every step felt like a struggle. After what seemed like forever, I finally reached Vito, who was standing with Lula, chatting away like they hadn’t seen each other in years. His face lit up as he spoke to her, but the moment his eyes landed on me, everything changed. His expression tightened, brows knitting together like I’d just walked in on something I shouldn’t have.

“Why’d you catch up?” he almost snapped, like he was annoyed by my presence. “We’re just talking. She’s my old classmate.”

I froze at his tone. A smile tugged at my lips, a forced smile.

“I just wanted to tell you I’ve got some work to finish, so I’ll be going to the office,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though my chest ached. “I didn’t bring my phone, so I had to come find you to let you know.”

He looked a little taken aback by that, but I didn’t wait for a response. In the past, I might’ve shown how hurt I was. I would’ve probably gotten upset, throwing a fit here and there, but now? I just didn’t care. Apart from the dead heart, I wasn’t interested in causing a scene. I didn’t want to be an inconvenience to him.

His features softened when he realized I wasn’t going to cause any drama. He nodded in response and turned back to Lula.

I turned away, limping just as I had when I arrived. My heels were digging into the ground with each step. As I left, I could still hear their voices distinct in the background, but I caught Vito’s words floating toward me: “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just doing some promotional thing for a bridal shop. She’s my co-model.”

I wasn’t lying when I said I had work to finish. I spent the rest of the day at the office, wrapping up loose ends and preparing for the handover. By the time I returned home that evening, I was exhausted and emotionally drained. To my surprise, when I opened the door, Vito was already there. He had the table set, dinner was laid out and waiting.

“You're back so late. What took you so long?” He looked up from his phone as I entered, his expression stiff and unnatural. “I made dinner. I noticed you looked... thinner in your wedding dress this morning. Don’t you feel it? You’ve lost some weight.”

I stopped in my tracks for a moment, caught off guard. I looked thinner? I hadn’t even noticed. Maybe it was because I’d barely eaten since seeing those photos of him and Lula. Now, looking at the greasy dishes on the table, my stomach turned.

“I’m not hungry,” I said quietly. “You can have it. I’ll head to the bedroom.”

As I turned to head toward the bedroom, I finally felt it. My ankle throbbed with pain. The blisters from my heels were raw, the skin broken. I had just reached the bedroom when he came in, carrying a first aid kit. He probably noticed it when I walked up the stairs.

It struck me then—it was the first time in eight years that he’d shown me any concern. It was pointless at this stage. The wounds had already started healing on their own, and I didn’t need him anymore.

“I’m fine.” I shook my head, declining his offer to help.

He frowned, clearly annoyed by my rejection, and walked out without a word. A few minutes later, he came back with a slice of cake and placed it on the nightstand.

“I’m sorry,” he began awkwardly. “I didn’t know she’d be at the school this morning. We’ve known each other for so long, and I couldn’t just ignore her. I was just acting out of politeness. You shouldn’t think too much about it, I—”

“I’ve been off sugar for weeks,” I cut in, my gaze shifting to the cake, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I only eat steamed vegetables. Maybe you forgot?”

For the past week, I’d been living like a monk, sticking to a strict diet so I’d be in perfect shape for our wedding. But he hadn’t noticed. He never seemed to care.

His expression darkened as I rejected him again. This time, he didn’t hide his irritation. His usual coldness returned to his face, and without another word, he left the room. He didn’t bother me again that night.

Later that night, my stomach grumbled loudly in protest. I got out of bed as quietly as I could to get a glass of water. That’s when I saw the faint glow of Vito’s phone lighting up the living room. He was still awake, typing furiously, his face lit with a smile—one I hadn’t seen him wear in a long time.

I remembered how he’d always told me he couldn’t stay up late—that he hated losing sleep, which was why he refused to stay up with me on New Year’s Eve. But here he was, smiling at his phone screen in the dead of night. The coldness in my chest deepened. I turned away without getting the water and went back to bed.

The next day was supposed to be the day we were going to get our marriage license. I stepped out of the bedroom in the morning, only to find that Vito was already gone. There was no explanation, no note, no message.

Out of habit, I opened Lula’s Instagram. And, of course, there it was—a post she made from the hospital.

[When will I ever learn to take care of myself? Even after ten years, I still need you by my side.]

A full-grown woman—how could she end up in the hospital knowing full well what she was allergic to? I had no idea, and frankly, I didn’t care anymore. I wasn’t going to waste my time figuring it out.

I spent the entire day packing my things. By the time evening rolled around, Vito still hadn’t come home. The only message he sent was a lame excuse. Working late.

I stared at the words on my screen, feeling a sharp, bitter anger bubble up inside me. I let out a dry laugh. He didn’t even bother to come up with a convincing lie. When I’d called his boss the other day, the team leader had gone out of his way to assure me that Vito wouldn’t have any work during his wedding leave. He was not working overtime. He must have been at the hospital.

At midnight, the countdown on my phone’s wallpaper finally hit zero. I spent the night on the couch, barely getting any sleep. The next morning, I woke up early, washed up, and headed straight for the airport.

As I sat in the back of the cab, a sense of relief washed over me. The wedding wasn’t real, and I was glad he made me promise not to tell our families; that way, I wouldn’t have to deal with the mess of explaining it to my parents.

Once I arrived at the airport, I decided to call Vito one last time to officially end things. The phone rang only once before he rejected the call. A second later, he sent me a voice message.

“I’m on my way, can’t you wait? Why are you in such a hurry? I told you I’m not going to run away from the wedding, didn’t I? Lula even checked out of the hospital early just to come, but she got into a car accident on the way. Can’t you be more understanding for once? Just keep my friends entertained until I get there. Figure something out. We have to talk about your behavior.”

I listened to his message with a blank face, then calmly typed out a response，I hit send: [Let’s break up. You can have the wedding with Lula.]