My Boyfriend Didn't Know I'd be Married

Leon had promised we would marry after seven years together. But the day I went to try on wedding dresses, I overheard him on a livestream call, saying, "My girlfriend keeps bugging me to get married. It's so annoying. What should I do?"

Furious, I confronted him. Instead of talking it out, Leon grabbed his suitcase, booked a flight and left. Before he walked out, he even posted on Twitter: "Never spoil a woman too much!"

A month passed and then Leon called me, his voice oddly eager to please. "Emily, weren't we supposed to get married? Why haven't you made any arrangements?"

I glanced down at the handsome man kneeling in front of me, a ring in his hand and answered coolly, "Oh, I am making arrangements. Just not with you."

***

Leon and I had been together for seven years. I'd thought he'd be just as excited as I was about getting married, but that illusion shattered that day we went together to the wedding boutique.

I was in the middle of trying on my dream dress—a gown with delicate lace sleeves and a gentle, flowing skirt that made me feel weightless. The boutique was bustling with chatter and laughter as brides-to-be admired themselves in the mirror. My stylist had just adjusted the veil when I heard Leon's voice, louder than the rest of the sounds, carrying from a livestream I'd tuned in while waiting for my turn.

"My girlfriend won't stop nagging me about marriage. It's driving me nuts—what should I do?"

The stylist froze, her hands hovering mid-air as she adjusted my gown's train. The lively hum in the fitting room instantly went still. I caught my reflection in the mirror, all dressed up in bridal makeup and a gown I'd dreamed of and suddenly, I felt like a tragic parody of a bride. My throat tightened and I could feel the burn of humiliation and heartbreak rising in my chest. Tears blurred my vision as I gasped for breath. Ignoring the stylist's worried calls, I ran out of the boutique, still in the dress.

Greenwoods in October had a sharp chill that bit through the thin fabric of my gown, the wind prickling my bare shoulders. My feet were bare, the cold pavement stinging my skin and I barely noticed the sharp pebble that cut into my heel as I stumbled down the boutique's stone steps. I heard a few gasps from people nearby as I passed, their concerned glances doing little to break the ache inside me. Every footfall seemed to echo with the thoughts that Leon didn't care, he never did.

"Emily! What are you doing? Stop running!" Leon's voice cut through the noise of the street, his tone a mixture of exasperation and frustration.

For a second, I froze, heart pounding, a foolish hope rising that he might wrap me in his arms and assure me this was all a mistake. I turned to face him, only to see that annoyed scowl—the one he wore every time I'd asked for a little more attention, a little more of his time. And then he spoke, in the same tone he'd use when his favorite sports team lost a match.

"Emily, why are you always so reckless? Do you know how expensive that dress is? It cost me a month's salary. What if you ruin it?"

I felt the world around me fall silent. My foot throbbed, my shoulders trembled in the cold, but Leon didn't even notice. He hadn't cared about me running out into the street or the fact that I was barefoot and bleeding. No, all he saw was a dress that he'd paid for.

The crowd around us whispered, their comments reaching my ears in fragments.

"That poor girl... look at her, running after a man who doesn't deserve her."

"I bet he's the reason she looks so devastated."

Leon reached for my hand, gripping it tightly as he tried to steer me back toward the boutique, his expression one of irritation mixed with impatience. "Emily, what more do you want? You wanted to get married—I agreed. You wanted to take wedding photos—I agreed to that too. What more could you possibly want?"

Large teardrops rolled down my cheeks, falling onto the wedding dress like tiny, silent cries. The lace absorbed some of them, but a few slipped down, landing on Leon's hand where he gripped mine. Each droplet seemed to drain what little strength I had left, until every second standing there felt unbearable. My whole body trembled and a wave of nausea twisted my stomach. I used every ounce of strength to wrench my hand free from his grasp, backing away as he stared, bewildered.

With my heart pounding, I stumbled to the roadside, lifting the hem of my gown to keep from tripping. I waved desperately at passing taxis, my arm shaking as I signaled for one to stop. Finally, a cab pulled up and I slipped inside, collapsing onto the seat as I slammed the door shut behind me.

The driver glanced back at me through the rearview mirror, his face a mix of surprise and sympathy. He didn't say much at first, but after a few minutes of watching me decline call after call from Leon, he sighed softly and murmured, "If that were my daughter, I'd be devastated."

I tried to focus on the passing cityscape through the rain-streaked window, but the memories flooded in relentlessly. Every corner we passed seemed to hold remnants of our relationship—our favorite café, the park where we'd had our first date, the little bookstore where he'd once pretended to be interested in my favorite novels just to impress me. It felt as if the entire city was conspiring to remind me of what we'd once been.

I couldn't bear it, so I put my phone on silent, leaned back and closed my eyes, letting the darkness take over. By the time we reached my apartment, my phone showed over a hundred missed calls. But it wasn't just the missed calls; Leon had left a string of messages too, each one colder and more demanding than the last.

[Are we still doing the wedding photos or not? I'm only waiting here for twenty minutes. After that, forget it!]

[Emily, the bridal shop is making me pay for the dress. What do you want me to do?]

[Transfer me the money to pay for the dress! Emily, you've embarrassed me!]

As I scrolled through, my hands began to shake again. Before I could even finish reading, Leon called once more. Against my better judgment, I answered, his voice hitting me like a slap.

"Emily, transfer me the money! Five thousand! Do you know that dress you walked out with costs five thousand? Hurry up and send it!"

His words were sharp, relentless, as if the only thing on his mind was the price tag on the dress I'd left in. He didn't ask if I was okay or where I was and I felt my heart sink further. Looking down at the now-dirty hem of the gown, I bit my lip, forcing myself to remain calm. With a bitter laugh, I transferred six thousand—enough to cover any extra damage in case the boutique charged him more. The phone chimed as the transaction went through and almost immediately, Leon stopped calling. My phone fell silent.

In the sudden quiet, I glanced around the room. The walls were filled with photos of us—moments I'd once cherished, each now like a thorn piercing deeper into my heart. Slowly, the adrenaline drained from my body and a throbbing pain radiated from the cut on my foot, now fully registering for the first time.

As the reality set in, I broke down, my sobs echoing through the room. I couldn't understand how we'd come to this—after everything I'd sacrificed, all the love I'd poured into this relationship. I'd bent over backwards for Leon, trying to make his life easier. I'd rented an apartment just five minutes from his office, waking up at dawn to commute two hours to my own job so he could get a little extra sleep each morning. I'd saved every penny to support his passions, even wearing clothes from thrift stores so I could buy him the latest sneakers. I'd let go of my family's support, just to ease the insecurity he felt about my background. And still, none of it was enough. He wanted everything—everything but a life with me.

With a heavy heart, I reached for my phone again and found Leon's number. I called, hoping, desperately, that maybe this time he would answer, that he would care enough to say something more than demands for money. But the line rang until it cut off and I was left with the empty dial tone. My chest felt hollow, but I forced myself to open our chat window and typed a message, each word burning as I wrote.

[Leon, let's break up.]

After sending the message, tears welled up in my eyes. The words of the taxi driver echoed in my mind and a sudden wave of longing for my parents washed over me. I opened my chat with my mom; the last message from her was just a few days ago. She'd brought up, once again, the childhood engagement my grandfather had arranged:

[Emily, why not give it a try? You and Leon have been together for seven years with no progress. I just feel he lacks a sense of responsibility. Go meet Ollie. He's grown up to be quite the young man…]

I switched back to my chat with Leon, the message I'd sent to him still unanswered. A hollow feeling crept in—I knew he likely wouldn't respond. With a sigh, I returned to my mom's chat and finally replied:

[Okay, Mom, I'll meet him.]

Almost instantly, my phone lit up with an incoming call from her.

"Emily! You've finally come around! But, there's a small hitch—Ollie just left the country to help his family with business. You'll have to wait…"

When I didn't answer, her tone softened. "Emily… did you and Leon break up?"

I took a deep breath, wiped my tears and steadied my voice. "Yes."

The silence on her end felt like a held breath, then came her sigh of relief.

"Oh, Emily. I've watched you put your all into that relationship. Seven years and he still hasn't proposed. Sweetheart, don't be sad. If you're tired, come home for a few days…"

We talked for a while, her gentle words offering a comfort I hadn't realized I needed. And oddly, hearing about Ollie's unavailability felt like an added weight lifted from my shoulders. After ending the call, I realized how hungry I was; the day's turmoil had left me drained. I headed to the kitchen, boiled some noodles and sat at the dining table, picking at them absently.

My mind drifted to Leon and the way he used to scold me playfully, "Emily, you're always terrible at taking care of yourself when I'm not around." Back then, those words had felt warm, caring. He'd prepare meals for me to eat while he was away and I'd believed in that small act as proof of his love. But sitting there alone, the memory seemed distant and blurred, like something that happened in a different lifetime.

As I scrolled through my phone, my fingers paused over Leon's contact. The unanswered message stared back at me. Maybe I needed closure—maybe, just this once, I needed to call him and hear his voice.

With a shaky hand, I dialed Leon's number. The phone rang twice before a woman answered.

"Hello?" Her voice was soft but unfamiliar, tinged with casual warmth. "Are you looking for Leon? He's in the shower right now. You can tell me if you need something…"

In the background, I heard Leon's voice, distant but clear enough, "Babe, no phones at this hour…"

I froze, feeling as though the world had stopped spinning. My hand trembled, my breath caught in my throat. I didn't wait to hear anything more. I hung up, my hand clenching the phone so hard it hurt. The sadness I'd been holding back burst forth, mingling with raw disbelief and anger.

For a few moments, I stood there in a daze, my mind struggling to process what I'd just heard. Then, almost without thinking, I began tearing through the apartment. Every photo, every reminder of our years together, I smashed or threw across the room. The picture frames shattered against the walls, glass scattering around me, but I didn't care. I was done being careful, done holding onto memories that now felt meaningless.

Finally, I stopped, breathing hard, standing amid the remnants of our past. It was like the pieces on the floor matched what I felt inside—broken, scattered, irreparable. I looked around the apartment, realizing that staying here, surrounded by these reminders, would only suffocate me.

With a newfound sense of purpose, I went to the closet, pulled out the dusty suitcase I hadn't used in years and began packing.

I had barely bought anything for myself over the years, so the few belongings I owned fit easily into my old, worn-out suitcase. As I reached into the closet for the last of my clothes, the apartment door swung open. A thick wave of alcohol hit me before I even saw him.

"Emily, did you just call me?" Leon's voice slurred, loud and intrusive. He stumbled in, his unsteady figure filling the doorway. His eyes were glassy and he reeked of booze and cheap perfume. He forced a grin, one that was both apologetic and taunting. "Don't get the wrong idea—she's just some girl from the bar. Nothing happened between us… well, you know, nothing serious, at least."

Leon's gaze drifted around the room before settling on me. His expression was muddled, a mix of confusion and amusement, as if he couldn't quite understand why I was packing. He took a step toward me, stumbling and the closer he came, the stronger that other woman's perfume clung to him. My stomach lurched, a wave of nausea hitting me at the sickening blend of scents.

I took a step back, the muscles in my body tensing. Leon noticed, his eyes narrowing, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, are you afraid, Emily?" he sneered. "Afraid I'll leave you? Don't worry, as long as you stop nagging me about marriage, we can keep things just fine. Why get married? It's such a hassle."

He reached out, his hand grabbing my shoulder, squeezing just a bit too tightly as he leaned in close, his breath hot against my cheek. "Come on," he whispered, his voice thick with condescension. "Admit it—you've come to your senses, haven't you?"

I could feel his grip tightening as he tried to pull me closer, his body pressing against mine. Panic surged through me and I twisted, managing to slip free. My hand swung up of its own accord, connecting with his cheek in a resounding slap.

The impact startled him, his head snapping to the side. He stumbled back, his eyes wide in shock, before anger replaced his surprise. He steadied himself, rubbing his cheek, then laughed bitterly. "Emily," he said, his voice a venomous whisper. "Don't you dare. I'm giving you a way out here—don't be ungrateful."

The word "ungrateful" hung in the air and in that instant, something snapped inside me. I raised my hand and slapped him again, this time across his other cheek. My palm stung, but the satisfaction was worth it. "No, Leon, you're the ungrateful one. Keep your so-called ‘way out' for yourself. We're over."

For a moment, Leon stared at me, bewildered, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to decipher if I was serious. But his smirk soon returned, twisting his features into something ugly, bitter. "Oh, so you're serious this time? Playing the same game again, huh, Emily?"

I didn't respond. My heart felt as if it were tearing apart, but I didn't let it show. I turned away, feeling a strange sense of release and walked out, leaving him standing in the mess of shattered memories and broken frames.

The night air outside was cold, sharp against my face and I inhaled deeply, savoring the bite of it. But sadness still lingered, a heavy ache in my chest that no amount of fresh air could ease.

I didn't want to hear Leon's voice calling after me or any more of his cruel words, so I hurried down the stairs with my suitcase in hand. My foot, still sore from the glass shard, made each step painful, but I kept going.

Halfway down, my balance faltered. I slipped, landing hard on the stairs and my suitcase tumbled out of my grasp, rolling down the steps and scattering my belongings everywhere.

The hall was dimly lit, the quiet pressing in around me as I sat there, pain radiating from my foot and elbow. My clothes and a few personal items were strewn along the stairwell. I looked around, feeling a prickling behind my eyes. This was rock bottom—I couldn't sink any lower. I braced myself against the railing, attempting to stand, wincing as pain shot through my ankle.

Just then, a gentle voice called from behind me, soft and unfamiliar.

"Emily, do you need help?"