It didn’t matter anymore. Caleb had not returned in over two weeks. In his absence, I buried myself in work. Designing gowns for high-profile clients and preparing for the upcoming bond ceremony kept my hands busy and my mind partially distracted. But at night, I returned to the apartment and the task of erasing our history, every item I packed drawing me deeper into heartbreak until I cried myself into numbness.
Over time, the sharp edges of grief dulled into quiet, hollow acceptance. I stripped the apartment of everything that had made it feel alive and warm. Even the furniture I had personally selected was replaced with stark, modern pieces—black, white, minimalist, emotionless—the way the space had first appeared when I had moved in, untouched and pristine.
The night before my departure, I considered calling Caleb one last time. Perhaps I needed closure, or maybe I simply wanted him to fight for me, to offer a reason to stay, to remind me that I mattered. But every time I dialed his number, I hesitated, heart pounding with uncertainty—and then I never pressed “call.”
Finally, a message arrived from him:
"If you haven’t admitted your mistake and apologized to Marina, there’s nothing left for us to discuss."
I stared at the screen, lips twisting into a bitter, hollow smile. Seven years together. Seven years I had trusted him, loved him, and stood by him—and he still blamed me. He hadn’t once asked for my side of the story. Not once had he considered how his actions might have affected me. All those years, dismissed with a single, cold message.
If that was how he felt, then there was nothing left to say.
At first light, I packed my suitcase and walked out of the apartment for the last time. For the first time in weeks, a strange relief coursed through me, stronger than the sorrow I still carried in my chest. I was free.
While waiting to board my flight, my phone buzzed with birthday notifications. I had forgotten it was my birthday entirely. In years past, Caleb would have been the first—an extravagant surprise planned down to the last detail, a gift or gesture that reminded me I was cherished.
This year, his silence spoke louder than any words could.
The other messages were warm and sincere—friends wishing me happiness, success, and good fortune with my upcoming marriage. I replied to each carefully, one by one, then set my phone aside.