Don't Cherish My Love, I Decided To Leave

It was late at night when Tommy finally returned home. The door creaked open and he slipped in, carrying a small, neatly packaged box. He walked over to where I sat on the couch, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a table lamp. His face was marked with annoyance, but he forced a smile as he handed me the box.

“I brought you a piece of cake,” he said, his voice tinged with impatience. “Lolly asked me to give it to you. Look at how generous she is, Laura. Why can’t you be more sensible, like her?”

I glanced at the cake. It was a mango sandwich cake. My stomach tightened in anger and sadness. This entire cold war between us had started over mangoes. I was allergic to them. Despite reminding Tommy countless times, he had brought home a fruit salad filled with mangoes a few weeks ago. It was a small thing, but it signified something so much bigger. His indifference. I got angry because it felt like he didn’t care about me and he got angry because he thought I was overreacting.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the swelling tide of grievance. “Tommy, grandma’s getting worse,” I said softly, my voice cracking with the weight of my suppressed tears. “I want to see her, maybe for the last time. Could you come with me tomorrow at noon?”

I hadn’t told grandma the truth about our relationship. I couldn’t bear to shatter her illusions. She was the one person who had always believed in my happiness and I was afraid that telling her about Tommy’s betrayal would break her heart. Deep down, I wanted to give Tommy one last chance. For the sake of our eight years together and for my grandma’s sake.

Tommy’s response was automatic, like a reflex. “No time, I have to accompany—” he began, but then he paused, his eyes flickering to the calendar hanging on the wall. For a brief moment, guilt flashed across his face. “I’ve just been really busy lately,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I’ll try to squeeze out some time tomorrow. And Laura,” he added, his tone becoming defensive, “you don’t need to be suspicious. I told you, I don’t care that you’re not a virgin. There’s no need to be so hostile to Lolly.”

His words cut through me, as they always did, sharp as glass. I didn’t respond. I turned and limped back to the bedroom, my injured ankle still sore from my fall.

As I entered the room, my eyes fell on the small transparent jar on the nightstand. It was filled with gold beans. Every time Tommy used cold violence against me after an argument—his silent treatment, his harsh words—I would use his credit card to buy myself a gold bean. A tiny symbol of self-worth in a relationship that had long ceased to be loving. Over eight years, I had collected 521 gold beans. The jar was now full, unable to hold any more.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Just as I was about to drift off, I heard Tommy’s phone ring in the other room. A few seconds later, the front door opened and then shut softly. He was leaving. Again. I didn’t follow him. I didn’t need to know where he was going or who he was meeting. The familiar ache of betrayal was something I had grown used to, like a dull, constant pain. I sent him a text message as dawn broke, a reminder to visit grandma. I hoped this time, he would listen.

The next day, I sat by my grandmother’s side in the small, sterile hospital room. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale against the white sheets. She took my hand in hers, her grip weak but determined. From under her pillow, she pulled out a pair of intricately embroidered marriage certificates.

“In our family, the man usually prepares these,” grandma whispered, her voice a fragile thread. “But Tommy is busy, with his career and all. So, I did it for you. To make things easier.”

I stared at the certificates, my heart breaking. Grandma had never been good with her hands and her health had been declining rapidly. How long had she spent, struggling with needle and thread, to create these? Her eyes were misty with unshed tears as she began to give me advice, her words filled with love and hope. She handed me a small pouch, filled with her life savings. Money she had put aside to help decorate the wedding, to give us a good start.

We waited, the hours stretching long and silent. But Tommy never came.

As the day faded into night, grandma’s grip on my hand loosened, her eyes fluttering closed. She left the world holding onto the belief that I was going to be happy, that my wedding day would be everything she had dreamed of for me. She never got to see Tommy walk through the door.

I arranged her funeral alone, each step taken without Tommy by my side. My phone rang after everything was over. It was Tommy.

“Sorry, the company had an emergency,” he said casually. “I’ll cook something nice tomorrow to make it up to you.”

Before I could say anything, I heard a familiar giggle in the background. Lolly’s voice rang out, clear and carefree. “Tommy, come on! Help me catch the biggest stuffed doll!”

The call ended abruptly. My chest tightened, not with the familiar pain of betrayal, but with a new resolve. I opened my email and sent a message to my supervisor.

[I would like to take on the overseas project responsibility.] I sent text to him.

It was time to leave. To leave Tommy, the pain and the life I had outgrown. Grandma had always wanted me to be happy and I realized now that staying with Tommy would never bring me the happiness she had wished for me. It was time to create a new beginning. One where I didn’t have to beg for love or be compared to someone else’s past. One where I could learn to love myself.