My Boyfriend Didn't Know I'd be Married

[Leon, let's break up.]

After sending the message, tears welled up in my eyes. The words of the taxi driver echoed in my mind and a sudden wave of longing for my parents washed over me. I opened my chat with my mom; the last message from her was just a few days ago. She'd brought up, once again, the childhood engagement my grandfather had arranged:

[Emily, why not give it a try? You and Leon have been together for seven years with no progress. I just feel he lacks a sense of responsibility. Go meet Ollie. He's grown up to be quite the young man…]

I switched back to my chat with Leon, the message I'd sent to him still unanswered. A hollow feeling crept in—I knew he likely wouldn't respond. With a sigh, I returned to my mom's chat and finally replied:

[Okay, Mom, I'll meet him.]

Almost instantly, my phone lit up with an incoming call from her.

"Emily! You've finally come around! But, there's a small hitch—Ollie just left the country to help his family with business. You'll have to wait…"

When I didn't answer, her tone softened. "Emily… did you and Leon break up?"

I took a deep breath, wiped my tears and steadied my voice. "Yes."

The silence on her end felt like a held breath, then came her sigh of relief.

"Oh, Emily. I've watched you put your all into that relationship. Seven years and he still hasn't proposed. Sweetheart, don't be sad. If you're tired, come home for a few days…"

We talked for a while, her gentle words offering a comfort I hadn't realized I needed. And oddly, hearing about Ollie's unavailability felt like an added weight lifted from my shoulders. After ending the call, I realized how hungry I was; the day's turmoil had left me drained. I headed to the kitchen, boiled some noodles and sat at the dining table, picking at them absently.

My mind drifted to Leon and the way he used to scold me playfully, "Emily, you're always terrible at taking care of yourself when I'm not around." Back then, those words had felt warm, caring. He'd prepare meals for me to eat while he was away and I'd believed in that small act as proof of his love. But sitting there alone, the memory seemed distant and blurred, like something that happened in a different lifetime.

As I scrolled through my phone, my fingers paused over Leon's contact. The unanswered message stared back at me. Maybe I needed closure—maybe, just this once, I needed to call him and hear his voice.

With a shaky hand, I dialed Leon's number. The phone rang twice before a woman answered.

"Hello?" Her voice was soft but unfamiliar, tinged with casual warmth. "Are you looking for Leon? He's in the shower right now. You can tell me if you need something…"

In the background, I heard Leon's voice, distant but clear enough, "Babe, no phones at this hour…"

I froze, feeling as though the world had stopped spinning. My hand trembled, my breath caught in my throat. I didn't wait to hear anything more. I hung up, my hand clenching the phone so hard it hurt. The sadness I'd been holding back burst forth, mingling with raw disbelief and anger.

For a few moments, I stood there in a daze, my mind struggling to process what I'd just heard. Then, almost without thinking, I began tearing through the apartment. Every photo, every reminder of our years together, I smashed or threw across the room. The picture frames shattered against the walls, glass scattering around me, but I didn't care. I was done being careful, done holding onto memories that now felt meaningless.

Finally, I stopped, breathing hard, standing amid the remnants of our past. It was like the pieces on the floor matched what I felt inside—broken, scattered, irreparable. I looked around the apartment, realizing that staying here, surrounded by these reminders, would only suffocate me.

With a newfound sense of purpose, I went to the closet, pulled out the dusty suitcase I hadn't used in years and began packing.