Ten Years of Wrong Love, I Begged Him to Leave

Back home, as I put down my bag, the gift box fell out.

It was a DVD.

Inside was a video of Cole promising to marry me in ten years.

Today was also our ten-year anniversary.

I tossed the DVD into the trash.

An ungiven gift holds no meaning.

Looking around, this so-called “home” barely had any trace of me.

We bought this apartment the year before last.

Back then, Cole’s studio was still small, strapped for cash.

The decor was as minimal as possible.

But Cole, ever the designer, still handed me a bunch of blueprints, demanding design flair.

But he was already exhausted from work.

I had no choice but to take over the decorating.

Following his designs, while trying not to go over budget, I ran around to save money.

I visited several furniture stores to find a sofa discounted by 2,000 bucks.

Wherever possible, I bought furniture and decorations online, or did it myself.

After half a year, the apartment was finally ready.

On the day we moved in, Cole invited Nadia over for dinner.

I was happy because it meant inviting Nadia over for dinner at the home Cole and I shared.

I was the host; she was the guest.

But what I didn’t expect was Nadia’s first comment upon entering:

“Cole, this cabinet’s design is all wrong. I’ve seen the original designer’s work. The height of your cabinet is clearly incorrect. Why would you use such a cabinet? It’s so tacky.”

I was flustered, looking at the storage cabinet that took me two days to assemble.

Indeed, it was bought online.

Many were of the same design; I didn’t realize it was a knockoff.

Cole took Nadia’s bag and said, “Her taste is lacking; it’s normal for her decorations to be tacky.”

Yes, my aesthetic sense was no match for Nadia, who had won design awards.

All I knew was that this taller cabinet made it easier for Cole, who often suffered from back pain, to store things.

Later, that cabinet was moved to a corner. Covered in dust.

Like me, staying in Cole’s house, forever relegated to a corner, dusty and forgotten.