Goodbye, Our Unforgettable Seven Years

I’d never once posted about him on social media, not a single photo or mention that would show he already had someone in his life. Apart from a few close friends who knew about us, most people probably thought I was just his sister or some vague acquaintance.

Darrel used to tell me that he was devoted to his work, that his life revolved around his career. He called it “building a foundation before building a family.”

And I accepted it. I didn’t question him. I didn’t push for more. But now, as I looked around, the reality of his actions was beginning to chip away at me, wearing down my resolve.

After exchanging a few polite words with his former colleague, I finally returned to our home—or what was supposed to be ours. The place felt hollow, the warmth gone, leaving nothing but shadows of memories in every corner. Everywhere I looked, I saw traces of the love we once shared, like ghosts of the past. Even the smallest trinket seemed to carry the weight of a forgotten promise.

In one of those corners sat a memento from a time when he once whispered, “Fionna, I may have nothing now, but I’ll work hard to build a future for us—a life that’ll make you want to be my wife.”

I had believed him. Days, months, even years had slipped by with me holding on to that promise. He never mentioned marriage again, but I thought I could wait. I thought he just needed time.

But now, those promises felt as empty as the rooms around me.

Suddenly, a wave of anger surged through me, stronger than the sorrow. I began tearing things off shelves, ripping up every remnant of his so-called surprises, throwing them into the trash one by one. Every token, every keepsake, every little piece of sentiment that used to mean so much to me was now nothing but a reminder of his betrayal.

I didn’t stop until the place looked like a storm had ripped through it. When Darrel finally walked through the door, he froze, staring in shock at the mess around him, his face pale as he took in the piles of things I’d thrown away.

He rushed over, grabbing my shoulders, his voice shaking with disbelief. “Fionna, what are you doing? Did you throw away all of this? Do you realize what you’ve done?”

I barely raised my eyelids, meeting his desperate gaze with a look of cold indifference. I shrugged, pushing his hands off my shoulders. “Oh, all that stuff? I noticed it was dusty, outdated, a bit… tacky. Thought I’d save you the trouble and take care of it myself.”

I turned away from him, refusing to let him see the sadness lurking beneath my anger. My heart ached as I looked around at the empty space, feeling as though something inside me had shattered.

Yet, I couldn’t say I missed any of it.

Darrel stared at me, his expression slowly shifting from anger to confusion. His voice softened, as though trying to coax me back from the edge. He tugged at my sleeve like a child pleading with his mother. “Fionna, I know I’ve been busy with work lately, but those things—those were for us, for when we finally got married. Why did you throw it all away?”

His words would have sounded touching if I hadn’t known where he’d been that afternoon. The irony was staggering. He could be standing here, begging me to understand, acting like he cared so deeply—while I knew he’d been with her just hours ago.

“You could have dusted them off, you know,” he said, sounding almost heartbroken. “You’ve taken care of them so many times before. I could’ve helped you. You didn’t have to throw it all away.”

I laughed bitterly, looking him dead in the eyes. “Yes, I’ve cleaned them many times, Darrel. But I don’t want to do it anymore.”

I turned and walked to the bedroom, closing the door behind me. The very sight of him, standing there with that look of hurt betrayal in his eyes, made me feel sick. He’d been at another woman’s place, playing the role of devoted “Mr. Darrel,” then came back here pretending to be the man who cared about me.

Shortly after, he knocked on the door, his voice soft, pleading. “Fionna… look, I know something’s been bothering you lately. Let me make it up to you, okay? Once things calm down at work, I’ll redo everything you threw away. I’ll plan something special for us, something even better.”

“Let me keep making it up to you until you’re satisfied, all right?”