When Love Fades as Fast as Fireworks Brief Flame and Get Cold Easily

My freshman year of college, I made the impulsive decision to marry my professor.

For four years, I was the one chasing him, clinging to the fragile hope that he might one day see me as more than just an obligation. Recently, though, something had changed. Brian had started calling me his wife and even kissed me of his own accord. Still, as graduation loomed, a nagging suspicion grew in my heart—he wouldn’t acknowledge me in public.

Happiness, as fleeting as fireworks, dissipated on the night of the graduation party. Kate returned.

Brian poured her three glasses of wine and wrapped his arm protectively around her waist. I was right there in the room, watching. My hands trembled as I texted him.

“Brian, I’m going home.”

In my mind, I whispered a silent plea: This is the last time. If you come after me now, I’ll forgive you. I’ll listen to your excuses. After all, I am your wife.

But the minutes stretched into hours and the coldness in my chest deepened. When the party ended, I saw him walk out with Kate in his arms. She leaned against him, her face flushed and they laughed as if they were the only two people in the world.

I stood hidden in the shadows, my heart aching with every second that passed.

Brian, who once took a year to let me share a bed with him and two years to consummate our marriage, now cradled another woman like it was the easiest thing in the world. He even carried her coat and held her so close. Tears blurred my vision as a question screamed in my mind: If you never cared for me, why did you marry me in the first place?

Kate’s soft voice broke through the silence.

“Brian, don’t we have a chance?” she asked, her words laced with a delicate, flirtatious tone.

I waited for his answer, not daring to blink, but the cold night air was my only companion. As the wind whipped around me, my body faltered and I fell to the ground, my fevered state finally taking its toll.

When I came to, the harsh lights of a hospital room greeted me. My party dress had been replaced with a sterile gown. Brian sat on the sofa nearby, his suit jacket draped loosely over his shoulders as he rested, his expression unreadable.

For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to admire him—the gentle curve of his jawline, the quiet strength in his posture. But that love, as deep and consuming as it was, had only ever brought me misery. He had been forced to marry me and perhaps that was the root of it all.

A sob bubbled up from my chest as I whispered, “Brian, let’s divorce.”

Even in his sleep, his brows furrowed as if my words had reached him. But I couldn’t stay any longer. I needed to reclaim whatever dignity I had left. Carefully, I slipped out of bed and walked away.

***

Three days passed in silence. I ignored every call from Brian and focused solely on my plan. I stayed in a hotel, waiting for the divorce papers to arrive, drowning my thoughts in the anonymity of the quiet room. Eventually, I turned off my phone, unwilling to face anything that reminded me of him.

Then, the unexpected happened. The police knocked on my door and behind them stood Brian—disheveled, unshaven and desperate. Before I could speak, he pulled me into his arms, holding me as if letting go would shatter him.

For a brief moment, it felt like old times.

I had once dreamed of being held this tightly, cradled against his chest, where his scent—now mixed with alcohol and regret—wrapped around me. But dreams and reality are cruelly different.

The heart longs for what the mind cannot accept. And in that moment, even though his touch brought comfort, it couldn’t erase the truth.

Our love was broken beyond repair.