On the day Ethan proposed to me, I broke up with him. Our friends were baffled. He knelt on the ground, pleading that he had been planning this proposal for a month. Roses everywhere, the scent filling the garden—it was indeed thoughtful. But... what a coincidence. I had made up my mind to leave him exactly one month ago. 1 I said the words before Ethan could even pull the ring out of his pocket. The friends who were cheering us on suddenly went silent, as if someone had hit the pause button on the world. A gentle breeze carried the rich scent of roses to my nose. The proposal setup was truly beautiful. Back when we started dating, I told him that if he ever proposed, it had to be in Napa Valley, under an arch of white roses, and I wanted to be wearing a white vintage dress. He remembered everything. He even did more than I asked. "Why? Don't you love me anymore?" It took Ethan a long moment to react. His face turned beet red. I looked quietly at this face, the man I had loved for ten years. He was still handsome, still capable of making my heart skip a beat. But... I helped him up and gently patted his shoulder. "Ethan, it's you who doesn't love me anymore." 2 Ethan and I met in high school. He was the captain of the debate team; I was the editor of the school paper. Our main activity was competing over GPAs. During senior year, we often stayed late at the library. Sometimes, we'd quiz each other before AP exams. He would poke my shoulder with his pen. "Summer, how did you do? I only missed one question on the History mock exam." I wouldn't back down either. We competed like that all the way to graduation. On the night of our graduation party, things went late. Ethan drove me home. For some reason, we got stuck in traffic on the 405. Amidst the honking of cars, I heard his voice. "Summer, I really like you. Will you go out with me?" I heard him clearly, but I pretended I didn't, turning back to ask, "What did you say?" The night was dark, but I saw his ears turn bright red instantly. He stammered, "Nothing." He walked me to my front door. Just as I was about to go inside, he suddenly closed his eyes and shouted. "Summer, I like you!" "I heard you. Summer likes you too." I stood in front of him, grinning. He stepped back, startled. "I thought you went inside?" "Because I heard someone say he likes me, and since I like him too, I came back out." His face turned completely red. That night was the beginning. The summer wind was hot, his white dress shirt was thin, and his bright laughter echoed in my mind for the next ten years. Back then, even holding hands made us blush for hours. We held hands, and we didn't let go for ten years. In those ten years, we traveled everywhere. We went to New York, walking through Central Park, getting soaked by a sudden thunderstorm and failing to hail a cab; we went to San Francisco, haggling with a vendor at Fisherman's Wharf for fresh crab; we went to New Orleans, leaving a note in a crack of a jazz bar wall that read: Hope everyone finds happiness; we went to the Grand Canyon, taking silly photos of each other on the rim... The internet says if a relationship lasts more than five years without marriage, it likely never will. I scoffed at that. Marriage felt like a natural progression to me. When the time was right, it would happen. I believed that. Until this year, when we went to Chicago. While watching the lights on the riverwalk, I accidentally saw his phone. 3 The Chicago skyline was breathtaking. I took a picture and turned to show him. But I saw him smiling, his fingers flying across the screen. Even though he locked it quickly, I saw the contact name and the profile picture. The name was "Zoe," and the picture was Lotso the Bear from Toy Story. I couldn't convince myself that a guy would use Lotso as a profile pic. Nor could I convince myself they were just friends. I had never checked his phone before. But that night, after he fell asleep, a gut feeling urged me to look. My hands trembled as I unlocked his screen. Zoe was a pretty girl. Her Instagram was vibrant. Selfies with Lotso. Funny memes. She posted daily updates about her life, full of emojis. Much livelier than my feed, which was mostly reposts of financial news. I didn't want to scroll up their chat history, but I couldn't stop myself. I scrolled to the very top and found they had added each other back in college. Her first message was: "Hi Senior, I'm Zoe." Zoe. Ethan. Their names sounded good together. I read their chat logs like a masochist. When did it cross the line? It seemed to be this year. Zoe shared a playlist; he said it was great. Zoe said it was her birthday; he Venmoed her $100 and sent a plush toy. Zoe said, "I'm so tired today, Ethan." He said, "Get some rest, don't stay up late." Zoe said, "I miss seeing you." He replied with "..." and then, "Don't think about it." Zoe said, "Ethan, I'm lost." He said, "Stay there, I'll call a friend to pick you up, or I'll come myself." ... These countless messages screamed that boundaries had been crossed. If I hadn't been holding Ethan's phone, I would have thought I was reading a romance novel. It turned out that while he was baking me cakes, replying to my texts, and buying me gifts, he was also messaging someone else. Did I make Ethan too comfortable? So comfortable that he never deleted a single message. I couldn't even lie to myself if I wanted to. That night, I sat on the hotel sofa, looking out at the Chicago River. The water was beautiful under the moonlight, but in the reflection of the glass, I saw a pathetic, tear-streaked Summer. 4 I didn't know how to face Ethan. So I booked the earliest flight back to D.C. My thesis advisor sent me a pile of research papers, and I buried myself in work. I rejected Ethan's texts, calls, and requests to meet, using my thesis as an excuse. When he came to my campus, I lied and said I was on a research trip with my professor. I didn't know why I was being so difficult. It felt like there were two little people in my head. One said: Summer, it's ten years. Not ten days, not ten months. Ten years. The other said: Summer, he emotionally cheated. They tortured me day and night. Combined with the pressure of my PhD, I barely slept. During that time, I didn't contact Ethan, and he thought I was genuinely busy, so he didn't disturb me. One day, after a dinner with my cohort, we discussed research methods. Someone mentioned you could find data on Twitter by searching keywords. I don't know why, but I searched for Zoe's handle. One account popped up with the exact same profile picture. She had 1,323 tweets. I read every single one. She was full of energy. She donated to charity monthly, volunteered at animal shelters. She complained about her workload but finished it anyway, then tweeted a "Good job, me!" If she hadn't intruded into my life, I would have liked her. But she chose to intrude. She even started a thread: My journey chasing the dream guy. Did she not know Ethan had a girlfriend? Ethan's Facebook cover photo was of us. Or did she just think I wasn't a threat? I found the answer quickly. That day, while walking to the cafeteria after reading papers, I checked Twitter. She had a new update: Confessed to him after the movies and got rejected. But it's okay, he likes me. I just need to try harder. There was a screenshot attached. I clicked it. The person with Ethan's profile pic said: "I'm sorry, I have a girlfriend. She's been with me for ten years. I need to be responsible for her." I dropped my tray. Silverware clattered loudly on the floor. A student asked if I was okay. I waved them off calmly. I didn't cry this time. There was nothing to cry about. I was free. His reason for rejecting her wasn't that he didn't like her. It was because he had to be "responsible" for me. Not because he loved me, but because he felt guilty for wasting my years. In other words, Ethan gave her the confidence to compete with me. He made me—someone who was agonizing over whether to give him a chance to explain—look like a joke. I was the obstacle in the way of his true love. The villain in a soap opera. Funny. That girl had only been in the picture for a few months, yet she outweighed our ten years.
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