We Broke Up

During an argument with my fiancé, he lost his temper and slapped me across the face in front of the entire family and guests. That same day, I called off the engagement and blocked him on every last platform so that he could not reach me. No one could believe it. After all, we grew up together. Everyone knew I had been in love with him since we were kids, and we were supposed to get married right after college. He just stood there, looking lost. "Why, Gia? Over a slap?" I held his gaze. "Sì. Over a slap."

After taking our graduation photo, I break up with Philip Lutz. "You're doing this just because I stood behind Mandy and not you while we were taking our graduation photos?" he asks. "Yes," I merely reply. "Sure," he says with a smile. "You'd better not come crying to me or begging for us to get back together later." Having known each other for ten years and dated for four, Philip is certain that I'll never leave him. However, he's unaware that the graduation photos are just an excuse. If I'm capable of taking my graduation photos alone, I can walk my future path alone. Once I've gone abroad, the sky's the limit for me. I no longer need him to stand behind me either.

Thor and I grew up together—we were the definition of childhood sweethearts. We'd promised to attend the same university, graduate, and marry right after senior year. Everyone envied us. They said we were a perfect match, destined for a lifetime together. And I believed that too. I truly thought I'd spend the rest of my life with him. Until the final semester of our senior year in high school, when a new transfer student named Lina joined our class. At first, the two barely spoke. But as they grew familiar, their bond deepened in ways I could no longer ignore. He started staying after school to tutor her, bringing her breakfast every morning. When she was upset, he'd take her for a drive along the coast. If she craved Italian steak, he'd have fresh cuts flown in. Even during her period, he'd quietly prepare everything she needed. I was furious. I confronted him, argued with him, and even threatened to break up. The first time I said it, he thought I was joking and coaxed me out of my anger. The second time, he dismissed it as another tantrum and tried different ways to please me. The third time, he broke down—standing outside my house in the pouring rain all night, half kneeling before me, begging for forgiveness. Again and again, I tried to leave, and every time, he refused to let me go. Yet with each reconciliation, something in him shifted. He started taking me for granted, assuming I would always come back. His patience wore thin. His apologies turned perfunctory. Even when he came to make peace, there was no sincerity left in his voice. So I said it for the hundredth time, and that was the last. That was the moment I finally gave up on him.

For eight long years, Bryan Millan and I were married, but you’d never have known it by looking at his life. He never once acknowledged our relationship in public. Not a single post, not a single mention of me on his social media. Then came our anniversary. The day that was supposed to be about us. Instead, Bryan made an announcement on his Instagram account—just not the one I expected. There he was, hand in hand with his assistant, her draped in a wedding dress. The caption read: [When you're in love, you want the whole world to know.] The comments flooded in. [Bryan finally got married!] [Congrats! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness together!] In that moment, I could no longer lie to myself. Bryan wasn't reserved. He just never loved me. So, I decided to let go. But he wasn't ready for that. He clung to me, desperate now. But I pried his hands off and laughed—a real, genuine laugh, the kind that comes from somewhere deep inside when you realize you're finally free. Then, I looked him straight in the eye and said the words I'd been holding in, "Don't beg me to come back. Because now that I don't love you, I've never felt better."

When my wife's childhood friend's depression flared up again, she handed me divorce papers. I signed them without a fuss and told her I was leaving the country. She looked surprised, then seemed to figure it out. "So you're finally behaving? Realized your little tantrums won't work, so now you're trying something new to get me back? Fine. Go abroad. Stay out of Asher's sight so you don't trigger him. When he gets better, I'll come get you." I slipped off my wedding ring and handed it to her. My gaze fell to the jagged scar on my wrist. "No need," I said. "Let's just let each other go. Stop holding on."

I built my wife’s family business from the ground up, sacrificing everything so that her world could thrive. The night I collapsed from stomach bleeding after too many business drinks, she was out laughing with her childhood sweetheart. She even had the nerve to call me dull and uptight. I smiled when I finally handed her the divorce papers. “I wish you both a happy life together.” But instead of signing it, she tore it to pieces, tears in her eyes. “I’m not letting you go,” she said.