Our Anniversary Ends with an End

I remember that day—the day that marked the sixth year since I had said yes to my boyfriend. I had hoped for something special, something meaningful, a quiet dinner or a thoughtful gift. But I was wrong; it seems my boyfriend had planned something different.

My boyfriend, Yohann, the ever-the thrill-seeker, decided that bungee jumping with his childhood friend was the way to celebrate. It wasn't just any jump, though; it was from a towering cliff. But I have a fear of heights.

While I was thinking and was distracted, he gave me a sudden push. I free-fell, gasping for air. And for a moment, I thought I wouldn't make it.

After being rushed to the hospital, I woke up groggy and disoriented. As I reached for my phone, I accidentally came across my boyfriend's latest social media post. There he was, sitting with his childhood friend at a fancy restaurant, enjoying what looked like a romantic dinner.

The caption read: "I always like brave girls. I hope you ride the waves and bravely move forward for the rest of your life."

In that moment, everything clicked. The timid version of myself, afraid of heights and hesitant to take risks, was no longer enough for him.

So, I decided to leave him. Completely. No explanations, no goodbyes. I knew I deserved more than being someone else's afterthought.

What I didn't expect was what happened next. After I left Yohann, the man who always seemed calm and in control, panicked. He searched for me everywhere, losing his usual composure when he realized I was gone.

---

During my two days in the hospital, sleep brought no peace. Every night, I had the same nightmare—falling into an endless abyss, unable to breathe as the panic and suffocation consumed me.

But the worst part wasn't the dream when I opened my eyes. It was the emptiness beside me. I am all alone. No one's with me.

I lay staring at the ceiling. After a long while, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and reached for my phone, trying to shake off anything inside my mind.

The last message between Yohann and me was still from the day we went bungee jumping. I couldn't shake the memory of how easily he had pushed me off that ledge despite my fear. The thought of it felt like needles piercing my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Without thinking, I opened his social media timeline, and there it was—his latest post. His childhood friend, Zandria, smiled brightly in the photo while coyly covering half her face with a bouquet of bright red roses. She looked so happy.

Then it hit me. Yohann had promised that if I could conquer my fear and make that jump, he would be waiting at the bottom with flowers to celebrate my bravery. He had said, "Brave girls are the most commendable, Ysha. I believe in you."

But I was terrified of heights. I didn't want to jump at all. Even thinking about that moment now filled me with anxiety.

Back then, Yohann had stared at me for an eternity. Eventually, he softened his tone, almost as if he understood. "It's okay," he said. "I'll jump with Zandria; you can watch from the side. How does that sound?"

I believed him. But as we approached the edge, everything changed. He took the instructor's ropes and began fastening them to me without warning. My heart raced as I begged him to stop, but he ignored my desperate pleas and pushed me off the ledge.

The sensation of falling made me scream uncontrollably. I felt helpless like the air had been stolen from my lungs. As I fell, I heard Zandria's faint and distant voice, pretending to sound worried. "Yohann, what if Ysha gets mad at you for this?"

Yohann, with his cold confidence, brushed it off like it was nothing. "She won't. She loves me too much ever to be mad."

Now, staring at the photo on my phone, I felt a wave of self-mockery wash over me. I had compromised so many times for him, constantly bending, always giving in. And what had he done? He treated my feelings like they didn't matter, knowing I was too afraid to leave.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from my brother.

[Have you made up your mind? Are you coming back with me or staying there?]

A part of me had always clung to the idea of staying, hoping things would change. But not anymore; I was done with being foolish.

I'll come home. Pick me up after you finish your work.]

Almost instantly, he responded. [Alright, I'll finish this project in about ten days. Then I'll get you.]

For the first time in a long while, I finally made the right choice.

Yohann and I have been together since our second year of university. When we graduated, while many of our friends were pursuing stable careers, Yohann had a different plan—he wanted to start his own business.

I could have followed my parents' wishes and returned home to take the civil service exam, but I didn't. Instead, I chose to stay by his side, determined to build a future together. It felt like the right thing to do.

The early days were rough. We lived in a cramped basement, eating expired instant noodles that cost less than one dollar. Money was tight, and every day felt like a new challenge.

Yohann would push himself beyond his limits, attending endless business meetings and drinking so much that he ended up with stomach bleeding. Seeing him suffer like that broke my heart.

I couldn't stand by and watch him struggle any longer, so I used the savings I had built up over the years to help with our living expenses. I didn't want to see him wear himself out.

When Yohann found out, he was overwhelmed. His hands trembled as he embraced me tightly, whispering, "One day, I'll give you a good life, I promise."

But while I was focused on supporting Yohann, my mom couldn't stand the thought of me living this way. She called often, urging me to come back home. "If you marry and live far away, what will happen if you're mistreated?" she asked. "How can your father and I come to your side in time?"

At that time, I believed in the future Yohann and I were building, no matter how tough the present felt.

Not long after, Zandria returned from her time abroad, and everything changed.

Yohann's attention shifted away from me. He started signing up for all sorts of extreme activities, spending more and more time with her. They would go on adventures I could never even dream of trying.

Looking back now, I see how naive I was.

I closed Facebook, feeling drained, and decided to discharge myself from the hospital. When I finally got home, tired from it all, I slipped off my shoes just as Yohann walked out of the room. His eyes widened in surprise, but his expression quickly returned to indifference.

"You're back," he said, his tone flat.

I nodded, keeping my response short. "Mm."

Silence settled between us, heavy and uncomfortable. After a moment, his frown deepened as he broke the quiet. "Ysha, don't you have anything to say to me?"

I was exhausted. I hadn't slept well in the hospital, and now, standing in the comfort of my own home, all I wanted was to rest. I frowned, my patience wearing thin. "I'm exhausted right now. I want to lie down. Can we talk later?"

At my words, Yohann's face darkened with frustration. "What kind of attitude is that?" he snapped. "This trip was ruined because of your cowardice. We missed out on so many activities because of you. Don't you think you owe us an apology?"

His words struck a nerve, and anger flared inside me.

"I never agreed to do those extreme activities," I shot back. "You wanted to do them, so go ahead. I didn't stop you!"

He opened his mouth to argue but then paused, his expression softening slightly. "I just wanted to help you build some courage," he said, his tone resigned. "You're scared of thunderstorms, Ysha. What will you do when I'm not around?"

Before, I might have taken those words as a sign that he cared for me. Now, they felt different.

It all felt ironic now.

The truth was, he never really thought about me—he was always thinking of himself. Not once did he ask me what kind of person I wanted to become. Instead, he was too busy trying to shape me into the person he envisioned.

I was a humanities major in college, studying education. Yet, Yohann expected me to handle things like fixing the plumbing or electrical issues around the house. He even had me install new ceiling lights. He would guide me through my struggle, one step at a time.

Whenever something broke in the house, I was expected to fix it. He always said that women should learn to be independent and not rely on men for everything. So, most of the time, I just ended up figuring things out on my own.

For a while, I thought that's what relationships were about—learning from each other and growing together. But now, when I looked back, I felt a deep sense of absurdity.

I turned to him, trying to stay calm, and asked, "If something goes wrong, I can call the police, the fire department, or my parents. Why should I only rely on you?"

"Or do you think you're more capable than any?"

Yohann's face flushed with anger. "That's just ridiculous! Do you really think someone will always be there to help you when something happens? Your family spoils you, and that's why you've developed such naive ideas!"

He breathed, then continued, "Have you forgotten the struggles I went through when I started my business? I'm teaching you how to deal with the real world!"

I was utterly exhausted; every bit of my energy drained from my body. I didn't have it in me to keep arguing with Yohann, so I pretended not to hear a word and headed toward my room. Even though Yohann and I had lived together for three years, we each had separate rooms and usually stayed out of each other's way. What was supposed to be cohabitation that brought us closer, as a couple somehow turned into something more like two roommates sharing the same rented apartment.

As I reached for my door handle, Yohann suddenly grabbed my wrist. His expression shifted, and there was a strange awkwardness as he said, "Your room hasn't been cleaned in days. Why don't you stay in my room tonight?"

Confused, I froze for a second. Yohann had always been strict about keeping our spaces separate. No matter what happened between us in the past, he firmly believed that even couples should

maintain personal privacy. So, what's with the sudden change? His suggestion felt off like there was something he wasn't telling me.

Suspicious, I pulled my wrist away and insisted on opening my door. As soon as I did, what I saw made my heart sink. Standing in my room and wearing my nightgown, a woman was rubbing her sleepy eyes.

"Yohann, what's with all the noise in the living room? What's going on?" she asked.

The voice was unmistakable—it was Zandria, Yohann's childhood friend.

She stopped mid-sentence when she saw me standing there. She seemed caught off guard for a brief moment, but then, as if nothing were wrong, she put on a friendly face and said, "Ysha, you're back from the hospital! How's your recovery going?"

I just stood there, speechless, staring at her in my nightgown. Had she been here the whole time I was away?

Yohann's face briefly showed a flicker of discomfort before he stiffly said, "Zandria, go change your clothes first. We'll talk later."

He pulled me into the living room, his voice edged with anxiety as he tried to explain, "Last night, after dinner, we drank too much. I didn't want her driving home alone—I was worried something might happen on the way. So, I let her stay the night here. She slept in your room, but nothing happened between us. Please, don't misunderstand."

Oddly enough, I felt calm. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. There had been other nights when they went out, and he stayed over at her place. Back then, I confronted him, and we had a huge argument about it.

He must've remembered that fight, which probably explained why he was so eager to clarify everything this time. But now that we were breaking up, did any of it even matter?

I nodded, my expression neutral. "It's fine. I understand."

At my response, Yohann's anxious expression softened, though he still frowned as if trying to figure out why I wasn't upset. He studied me closely, clearly puzzled by my calmness.

I let him observe me without resistance.

A little while later, Zandria came out of my room, now dressed in different clothes. But instead of her own, she was wearing one of my dresses.

"My clothes got dirty yesterday, so I put them in the wash," she explained with a casual tone. Yet, as she spoke, she kept glancing at Yohann, her eyes filled with a subtle affection that didn't escape my notice.

Yohann, looking uncomfortable, quickly averted his gaze, pretending not to see her.

However, Zandria didn't seem bothered at all. She smiled sweetly and asked, "Ysha, you don't mind me borrowing your clothes, do you?"

There was an unmistakable edge to her words, a subtle hint of provocation.

I stayed calm, met her gaze without flinching, and replied evenly, "I don't mind. Yohann bought those clothes anyway, so feel free to wear them."

After all, I didn't intend to keep them.

For a moment, both of their faces froze. Yohann looked particularly displeased with my response, but since Zandria was still standing there, he said nothing.

Zandria, though she tried to maintain her smile. She couldn't quite hide the tension creeping into her expression.

After they left, I stripped my bed of all the sheets and replaced them. Exhausted, I collapsed into bed and slept deeply.

By the time I woke up, the sky outside was already dark, and Yohann had returned home from somewhere. I heard him moving around in the kitchen, and moments later, he said, "Come eat. I brought back some takeout."

I didn't hesitate. I was hungry, so I made my way to the dining table. As I sat down and looked at the food before me, I couldn't help but pause.

Back when Yohann had first started his business, all the long nights and constant drinking had really messed with his stomach. The doctor had insisted he stick to a light diet, and I had taken cooking classes to make sure he stayed on track.

It seemed like another lifetime ago now, but there was still a faint scar on the back of my hand from when I'd accidentally burned myself cooking for him.

Absentmindedly, I traced the mark while Yohann, unaware of my thoughts, picked up a piece of fatty braised pork and placed it on my plate.

"This is from that restaurant Zandria loves. It's really good; you should try it," he said casually; his tone softened when he mentioned her name as if offering a small olive branch.

But I felt nothing as I stared at the food in front of me, just an empty indifference. Yohann didn't seem to notice. As he continued eating, he added, "Zandria has been looking forward to this trip for a long time. Since you couldn't join in on a lot of the activities, we're taking her out to dinner tomorrow. You should apologize to her."

I blinked, taken aback. So this was what it was about. He wasn't trying to mend things with me; he just wanted me to apologize to her.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. "Why should I apologize?"

His expression darkened, and he set down his chopsticks. "Ysha, there's no shame in admitting when you're wrong. But pretending you don't know what you did? That's another thing entirely."

I stared at him. My voice was cold but steady. "There were surveillance cameras there, Yohann. Everything that happened is recorded. If your memory's so foggy, feel free to check the footage."

"You—!" He started, clearly angry, but I was already done with the conversation.

Yohann stood there, clearly infuriated but at a complete loss for words. He just glared at me.

However, I remained calm and indifferent.

He finally snorted angrily and snapped, "You're being completely unreasonable! Stay home and think about what you've done. When you've reflected on your mistakes, come and find me."

With that, he grabbed his jacket and walked out, slamming the door so hard the sound echoed through the large living room.

For a moment, the space felt eerily quiet, leaving me alone, standing in silence.

I bit my lip, exhaling slowly, before pulling out my phone to contact a courier. I had already planned to move out, and it was time to start arranging for a pickup.

I'd accumulated a lot of belongings over the three years I'd lived here, and moving everything at once wasn't possible. So, I decided to take things step by step.

The next afternoon, as I handed the first set of packages to the delivery person at the door, Yohann unexpectedly returned. His face was stern, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the boxes.

He looked at me stiffly, his voice tight. "Are you sending something?"

I signed the receipt and answered dismissively, "Yes."

If he had paid closer attention, he would've noticed that some of the furniture in the living room was already missing. But he didn't notice. He simply grabbed some documents from the desk and left again without another word.

For the next few days, Yohann didn't come back. There were no calls, no messages. Just silence.

But I saw updates on his social media.

Apparently, he and Zandria had gone on a trip together. They visited places I had never been to, and they took photos I had never had the chance to take. In every picture, they looked so carefree, so happy—like nothing else in the world mattered.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly to myself as I scrolled through their posts. After a brief pause, I clicked the "like" button on one of them. That small gesture was my silent blessing, a way of saying goodbye without uttering a word.

After that, I went back to what I had been doing—packing the last of my belongings into my suitcase. The time had come for me to move on, to leave this chapter behind for good.

As I finished up and reached for my phone again, I noticed a new message from Yohann, sent just three minutes ago.

[Once you've thought about apologizing to Zandria, come find me] He wrote, followed by a location in a nearby city.

I stared at the screen for a moment before replying calmly. [I won't bother you two. Have a good trip]

After a brief pause, I typed again. [Oh, and I've transferred my portion of the rent to you. Please accept it.]

I sent him the money for the time I'd lived here, cutting the last financial tie between us.

A minute later, my phone buzzed again. It was Yohann, responding with confusion. "?"

I didn't reply.

Another message came shortly after: [Ysha, what's the meaning of this?]

He sent yet another one, more impatient this time: [Reply! Explain yourself!]