Sorry, I’m Done. You Broke Me.

After that, I knew I had to leave. There was nothing for me here anymore. No relatives, no family. Only this city that had turned so cold. I had to sell everything before I went.

My parents’ apartment, and the wedding house Wilmer had given me. Both our names were on it, and that meant I couldn’t just walk away. I had to face him one last time.

I sent him a message. No reply. I waited, but time wasn’t something I had. I didn’t want to come back to New York again just to handle this. So I opened his profile, looking for where he’d been. But the moment I clicked, I saw it. I had been blocked.

The air punched out of me. I thought of calling his mother, but she only told me Wilmer hadn’t gone home since that night.

So I swallowed my pride and messaged Madonna. “I need to talk to Wilmer. Please tell him and let me know.”

Her reply came instantly, like she had been waiting. An address.

It was a villa. The holiday home that was ours. Our secret place, where no one else was allowed. Where I had kissed him for the first time. Where he promised me this place would always belong only to us.

But Madonna had gone there too.

I told myself not to think, not to feel, and I drove. The road curved through the quiet trees, but when I arrived, the quiet was gone. Laughter spilled everywhere, strangers filling the house that used to be ours.

I walked along the path, my chest aching. Then I saw them.

Madonna, half-kneeling, her lips brushing Wilmer’s cheek. “Thank you for inviting my friends here,” she said sweetly.

He started to pull away, but his eyes lifted and found me.

The kiss still burned on his face. And all I could think of was that night, when I kissed him first. My clumsy little thank-you kiss, right here in this villa. He’d smiled so warmly, and after that, he always asked for kisses whenever he made me happy.

Every tree, every wall here had seen our love.

And now they were about to witness the end.

I waited until Madonna finally pulled back from him before I stepped closer. My hands trembled a little as I held out the papers.

“You bought our wedding house,” I said quietly. “Since we’re done, I should return it to you. Take a look. If you don’t want it, I can buy it back at market price.”

Wilmer’s eyes turned sharp and cold. His knuckles cracked as he gripped the document like it was something filthy. He stared at me for a long time before speaking.

“Anything else?”

I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. “I still have some things there. I’d like to take them this time.”

His face darkened, like I had said something unforgivable.

Madonna covered her mouth and let out a fake little gasp. “Oh no. I thought everything in that room was just useless junk. I already moved it all to the storage room. Want me to take you there?”

I nodded politely. “Thank you.”

She smiled sweetly and touched Wilmer’s shoulder as if he belonged to her. She tried to stand, but the moment she moved, Wilmer caught her wrist.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

Her cheeks flushed. She pouted. “Why are you so clingy?”

I lowered my eyes and walked ahead, pretending I hadn’t seen a thing. The storage room was the smallest one in the house. Cramped, airless, barely enough space for two people.

Wilmer leaned against the doorframe, watching me with cold eyes as I picked through my things. His silence pressed down like a weight.

Madonna bent down beside me, pretending to help. Her perfume suffocated me in the narrow space. Her voice came out soft, but sharp enough to cut.

“You’ve found so many excuses just to see him again. You really haven’t given up, have you? Fine. I’ll help you.”

Before I could even react, she brushed against the shelf, and a box tumbled from the top.

I barely had time to move.

Wilmer’s pupils shrank, and he rushed in. But not for me. He grabbed Madonna, pulling her tightly into his arms.

The box missed her by an inch. Instead, it slammed into my shoulder, hard enough to knock me off my feet. Pain shot through me, white and blinding.

I collapsed on the floor.

Wilmer frowned, just frowned, then turned back to Madonna. He lifted her as if she were made of glass, her arm only scratched, and hurried her outside. I heard him call for a car, his voice sharp with worry but none of it for me.

The pain spread until I couldn’t move. My breathing grew shallow, my vision fading. Before the darkness took me, one thought brought me a strange kind of peace.

It’s good I don’t love him anymore.

If I don’t love him, I won’t cry because he chose her when I needed him most.

If I don’t love him, I can finally stop waiting for him to save me.

When Madonna’s friends saw her tiny scratch, they all rushed with Wilmer to the hospital. No one looked back.

I don’t know how long I lay there. It wasn’t until the next morning that the maid found me. Her eyes went wide with shock as she called for an ambulance. She must have panicked, because she also called Wilmer.

“Mr. Wilmer,” I heard her say faintly on the phone. “Miss Lucille was badly hurt and collapsed in the storage room. The ambulance is on the way. Do you want to come see her?”

There was a pause. Then his cold voice, flat and final. “Why should I go? The ambulance is coming. It has nothing to do with me anymore.”

The maid tried again, but he only snapped, “Make sure she and her things are cleared out properly. I don’t want her dirtying my place.”

The line went dead.