The Day I Stopped Waiting for His Proposal

The taxi was halfway there when my phone buzzed.

“Hello, is this Ms. Millie Harding?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Wanderlust Travel. About the couples' aurora tour to Iceland you booked, departing next week. We need to do a final check on the visa paperwork, so I wanted to ask when Mr. Samuel Vance's employment verification letter will be sent over?”

“We're only two days out from the visa submission.”

Watching the streetlights slide backward past the window, I felt something stick in my throat.

The couples' aurora tour. Two weeks ago, I'd put it together as a surprise for our third anniversary.

To land that glass-dome aurora hotel with the perfect view, I'd stayed up three nights straight.

When I sent Samuel the itinerary,

all he wrote back was: “Whatever you set up is fine with me.”

I'd told myself he was just busy with work, so I handled all the little details myself.

The only thing missing was his employment verification letter.

I'd chased him for it three times, and every time he said, “I'll have my assistant deal with it tomorrow.”

And still, the paperwork wasn't there.

“Ms. Harding? Are you still there?” the agent asked gently.

“I'm here.” I closed my eyes. I was about to say I'd push him for it.

Then a message popped up.

It was Samuel.

*Oh, Millie, there's something I want to run by you.*

*That Iceland trip, give my spot to Patsy.*

*She's been going through a breakup lately and she's in a bad place. This is a good chance for her to clear her head.*

*You put together a really detailed plan, didn't you? Take her along and show her a good time. I'll take you myself another time.*

The words on the screen were like a dull blade, dragging back and forth across my chest.

I hung up with the agent, drew a deep breath, and called Samuel.

He picked up fast. The background was noisy, like a bar.

“What is it? Still angry?” There was a thread of impatience in his voice.

“The Iceland trip. I booked that glass hotel six months in advance. It only sleeps two.”

“I know that.”

“That's why I said I won't go, and Patsy can go with you instead. Two girls sharing one room, it works out perfectly.”

“Millie, be reasonable. Patsy can't sleep at all, night after night. The doctor says she's showing signs of mild depression.”

“The northern lights aren't going anywhere. You can see them anytime. Don't be so selfish.”

Selfish?

For this trip, I'd scrimped and saved for most of a year. I'd given up a training program that would have gotten me promoted.

And in the end, that was what he called selfish.

From beside him came Patsy's sugary voice: “Sam, does Millie not want to go with me? It's okay, I can just stay home by myself……”

“Don't be silly.” He covered the mouthpiece, but his voice still leaked through.

Then he came back to me: “All right, it's settled. Send Patsy's passport number to the travel agency tomorrow.”

He hung up before I could say anything.

The dial tone droned in my ear. I took the phone away.

Then I called the agent back.

“Ms. Harding, about Mr. Vance's paperwork……”

“No need to wait for it.” I cut her off.

“Change the couples' booking to a solo one.”

The agent paused. “Um, if you make that change, you'll lose the couples'-package discount, and the hotel may charge a cancellation fee.”

“That's fine.”

Watching the night beyond the window, my voice went calm too.

“All right, Ms. Harding, one moment please.”

“Your change to a solo booking is complete. Have a wonderful trip.”

I pushed open the apartment door, and a faint, familiar scent drifted toward me.

Patsy's.

By the shoe cabinet, a pair of high heels lay where they'd been kicked off.

Also Patsy's.

I stepped around them and walked into the living room.

A pink knit cardigan had been tossed on the couch.

On the coffee table sat two mugs.

One was the dark gray Samuel always used; the other was pink, printed with a cartoon cat.

At the bottom of it, the dregs of an unfinished iced latte.

I stood in the living room and looked at the place I'd lived in for three years.

When we first moved in together, Samuel's friends kept clamoring to come over for a housewarming.

He turned every one of them down.

With his arm around my shoulders, he said into the phone, "My girl's shy around strangers. No outsiders in the house from now on. This is where she feels safe."

Back then, I thought this was a home that belonged to just the two of us.

But somewhere along the way, Patsy had a key too.

"She just got back from abroad and has nowhere to stay. She'll crash here a few days."

"She's scared of the dark. Don't lock the bedroom door at night, so it's easy for her to find you."

"Her stomach's bad. Go easy on the spice when you cook."

Later, Patsy moved out, but the traces she left behind spread through the place like a vine, crawling into every corner of the home.

Samuel even gave her the spare key. His reason: if she ever had an emergency, she'd have somewhere to go.

When I objected, he just frowned and gave me that helpless look.

"Millie, don't be so petty."

I walked into the bedroom and pulled the gray suitcase out from under the bed.

I opened the closet and folded my clothes one by one, laying them into the case.

The skincare on the counter, the jewelry in the drawer.

I packed carefully, unwilling to leave behind so much as a single strand of hair.

Halfway through, my phone rang.

A video call from Samuel.

I answered and turned the camera toward the white wall.

"You're home?" Samuel's face appeared on the screen, KTV lights flashing behind him.

"Mm."

"Why didn't you make dinner? Patsy said she's been craving your seafood stew."

He tugged at his tie, that usual ordering tone in his voice.

"Go make a pot now. I'll bring her back in about half an hour to eat."

I looked at that entitled expression on the screen.

"There's no seafood in the house," I said flatly.

"Then go buy some at the supermarket downstairs." Samuel was getting impatient.

"Millie, what is with you today? You've had this attitude ever since we left the murder-mystery party. Patsy was just joking around. Are you really going to hold a grudge this long?"

At the edge of the screen, half of Patsy's face leaned into view.

"Millie, I'm sorry. If you really don't feel like cooking, forget it. Ordering takeout is just as good."

Samuel quickly held the phone farther away and turned to her. "What takeout? Takeout isn't clean. She's sitting at home doing nothing anyway."

Sitting at home doing nothing.

I'd worked late at the office all day, skipping lunch just so I could clock out on time for our third anniversary.

To him, I was nothing but a nanny on standby.

"I'm not making it," I said into the microphone.

Samuel froze, as if he hadn't expected me to refuse so flatly.

"Millie Harding, you really have to pick a fight with me right now, don't you?"

His voice went cold.

"Fine. You won't make it, I'll take Patsy out to eat. You'd better not regret this."

The call cut off.

I tossed the phone onto the bed and shoved the last few pieces of clothing into the case.

The moment I zipped it shut, the room looked empty.

I went to the entryway and pulled up the smart lock's settings.

I entered the admin password.

"Fingerprint number 02 deleted."

Behind me, the lock clicked shut on the keypad door.

I wheeled the suitcase toward the elevator.