When I Died on Love Anniversary

Mason stood there, staring at me as he walked into the room. The silence felt thick, so I broke it with a casual, “I didn’t think you’d come back tonight.”

He reflexively answered, “No, I’m just working overtime.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, we both froze. The smell of disinfectant clung to him—clearly, he’d just come back from the hospital. And besides, he had taken leave today for our date, so there was no “overtime.”

I couldn’t help but think about all the times he’d used that excuse before. The nights he didn’t come home, the forgotten anniversaries, the time he left me at the hospital with a fever. Always “busy,” always “working late.” At some point, his words turned from reasons into excuses, each one a flimsy shield hiding something deeper. But honestly, I didn’t care anymore.

He looked like he wanted to explain, but his gaze shifted to the calendar on the wall. The date, exactly seven days from now, was marked with a big star I had drawn.

“What’s happening on that day? Someone’s birthday? An anniversary? What do you need me to do?”

It was almost funny—Mason, the guy who hated celebrating anything, was suddenly asking about a special date. In the past, I would have to remind him of important days, practically beg for some kind of effort. Now, he was throwing questions at me like he was trying to change the subject.

I mirrored his old tone, vague and dismissive. “Oh, nothing big. I’ve got a gift for you. You’ll find out soon enough.”

He smiled, relieved. “Funny, I’ve got a surprise for you that day too!”

I couldn’t help but laugh inside. Seven days from now, he had no idea what was coming.

Mason’s eyes drifted to my hand wrapped in gauze and he asked, almost hesitantly, “Does it still hurt?”

I shook my head. “Not really. I was anesthetized during the surgery and the painkillers are still working.”

He grabbed my arm to check, a little too roughly and I winced as the pain shot through my wound again.

“Baby, it was just a few falls. You needed surgery? Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice softened, guilt creeping in.

I pulled my hand back, trying to keep the irritation from showing. “It’s fine. Anyway, you should get some sleep. My tutor gave me some last-minute work and I have to stay up late.”

Before he could argue, I pushed him out of the study and shut the door behind him. The slam echoed in the quiet room. I stood there for a moment, staring out at the dark night, feeling the weight of everything. Sleep wasn’t coming tonight.

On day six of my breakup countdown, Mason left early. He sent a short message, as if it were routine, [I’m heading to Alderhaven for a six-day business trip. Wait for me to come home.]

Perfect timing. We were both exhausted with each other anyway. Leaving without a goodbye seemed fitting.

On day five, I posted a guide about going abroad on Instagram, feeling a strange sense of finality. Then, a notification popped up—people you may know. Among the suggestions was an account named “Naomi.” Her latest post from the night before was captioned, [Teenage dreams come true.]

I didn’t even need to think twice to know what she meant.

The Instagram post was tagged in Alderhaven and it hit me—Alderhaven was Mason’s hometown.

On the fourth day of my breakup countdown, I stared at the clutter I had accumulated over five years. Exhausted, I called a moving company to help pack everything.

On the third day, I shipped my luggage off and confirmed my arrival date with my foreign tutor. During that time, Mason texted, "[What are you doing? I miss you.]" It felt like an eyesore, so I blocked him.

By the second day, everything in the apartment that belonged to me was gone. I left the keys, turned off the lights and walked out. Since my city didn’t have an airport, I had to head to the next city a day early.

On the train, I got a call from Peyton, Mason’s childhood friend. He mentioned Mason was planning a surprise for me, recording a video and asked if I could "dress up a little." He even threw in a casual "happy marriage" wish. Clearly, he was mistaken. I hung up, confused.

Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, I checked in for my flight. The countdown was over. As I sat waiting to take off, Mason blew up my phone with calls and texts, begging me to meet him at the town hall. I replied with just one sentence, "[As you wish, let’s break up.]"