Quiet Goodbyes, A Love Without Tomorrow

It hit me that, with my decision to leave so close, none of this really mattered anymore.

After I turned him down that night, Vincent froze for a moment, his body stiff with tension. Perhaps his pride wouldn’t allow him to ask why I had rejected him. He just muttered a quiet “Okay” and turned his back to me.

That night, the space between us felt as far as the Milky Way.

The following day, Vincent was gone before I woke up. I don’t know if he was afraid I would be jealous of Zoe’s circle of friends.

But a surprise was waiting on the dining table—a plate of slightly burnt toast, a fried egg and a glass of milk—a rare gesture from someone who had never made breakfast.

Beside the plate was a sticky note: “For my wife—enjoy.”

My phone buzzed with a message from him,

Vincent: [Honey, I’ve put the wedding dress in the study. Try it on and send me a photo—I know you’ll look the most beautiful.]

I finished the toast (a bit charred but edible) and headed to a stationery store, where I bought a countdown calendar. Back home, I tore off the first page. There were six days left.

Then I got to work packing.

I started in the den, clearing away framed photos, books we’d shared and all the papers and trinkets we’d accumulated together. As I placed the last item in a box, something fell out—a diary.

Flipping through it, I saw pages filled with our happy memories—dates, anniversaries and little notes about the silly things we’d done.

The paper had yellowed slightly, but the memories were still vivid. I hesitated, then decided to leave it behind.

But that wedding dress? It mocked me, hanging there as if nothing had changed. I couldn’t resist grabbing a pair of scissors. I slashed the dress to shreds in a few swift, emotionless motions.

It felt oddly satisfying.

I took it a step further, listing all the expensive gifts Vincent had ever given me online—for free, as long as the recipients paid for shipping. By the time I’d finished packing, almost everything had been sold. I scheduled a courier to take it all away the next day.

That evening, my phone buzzed, reminding me that I had tickets at seven o’clock immersive play tonight. A popular one sold out for weeks. I’d booked the tickets long ago when I thought Vincent and I would go together.

I didn’t plan to ask Vincent if he was still going because he had long forgotten about it. Just before the show started, he texted that he was busy with work and asked me not to wait for him for dinner.

I rolled my eyes and went alone. Since I couldn’t get front-row tickets, my seat was in the right aisle, not too close to the stage. The play was incredible—a heart-wrenching love story about life and death. By the end, I was moved to tears.

When the play was about to end, the actors went to the stage to interact with the audience. A giant screen lit up, announcing a random audience member selected for interaction. The big screen showed that Vincent had been chosen and sat next to Zoe.

Oh, it turned out that work was busy accompanying Zoe. They also got the privilege to buy the front row. The spotlight shone on them and they looked perfect together—Vincent, sharp and handsome; Zoe, radiant and elegant.

The actors asked if they were a couple. Zoe giggled and leaned into Vincent’s arm, not even waiting for his response. The crowd roared with cheers and teasing.

The actor asked if they were touched. To cherish the people around them and, more importantly, their fate as a couple, they asked if they would like to kiss deeply, as in the play’s last scene.

Only frozen for a moment, Zoe smiled, tilted her head and kissed him with a smile, her lips brushing his in full view of everyone.

Not knowing what came to mind, Vincent flinched and pushed her away abruptly. He stood up, his expression unreadable and turned his head slightly.

Our eyes met across the theatre.

I felt... nothing. No anger, no sadness, just a faint sense of relief. I broke the gaze, grabbed my bag and left the theatre.

As I reached the exit, I heard hurried footsteps behind me. Vincent chased after me, his hair dishevelled from running. Perhaps it was because he saw that I was calm since the beginning.

Different from the past, he began to explain, “Claire—seriously,” he panted, trying to catch his breath. “Listen, it’s not what it looked like. There were so many people watching. I couldn’t embarrass her—or myself.”

I nodded, smiling lightly. “Uh-huh, I understand.”

He stared at me, confused. “Wait... Are you saying that, or are you just being sarcastic because you’re jealous?”

I laughed softly. “Vincent, what’s there to be jealous about?”

At this moment, Zoe also ran out, but because she was wearing high heels, she suddenly broke her foot when she was almost in front of us.