1 Every fight triggers my boyfriend’s social media countdown—a relic of our dumb "three-day silence equals breakup" rule. For ten years, he’s weaponized it. When he skipped our 67th courthouse wedding date to help his "just-divorced" childhood friend—then posted their marriage certificate—I finally snapped. I liked the post and wished them well. His rage exploded: "Mandy accidentally clicked ‘share’! Must you be so petty? She’s fragile right now!" "It’s just paperwork. I’ll marry you when she’s stable. Apologize now." This time, I hung up. The countdown began again. But no desperate texts. No begging outside his door. Just my resignation submitted. Done. After I hung up on a dozen of his follow-up calls, he finally sent a text, his patience worn thin: "Merrin, you've got some nerve. Hanging up on me? You think you’re in the right here?" "You have five minutes to post an apology, or we're through." Ten years together, and I’d heard threats like this a hundred times. Every single time, I was the one to cave, to plead for forgiveness. This was the first time I’d ever just hung up. When I didn't respond, Steve started the countdown on his social media feed. He knew how much I loved him, and he used it. Every fight, he’d start the clock, piling on the pressure. For ten years, that stupid rule was his leash, and I was always the one to come crawling back just before time ran out. But now, I’m tired. I’m so tired of being played. Not long after Steve’s post, Mandy, the childhood friend, posted one of her own, tagging me specifically. "Just a little joke with Steve that I accidentally made public. I didn't realize Merrin would get so upset. I guess I shouldn’t even talk to her anymore, I’m so afraid of setting her off." Steve, who rarely even looks at his feed, was the first to like it. "It's someone's own issue, Mandy, don't blame yourself. And why should you hide it? If you want to post something, post it." "Someone," of course, meant me. Our mutual friends, whose businesses relied on Steve’s law firm, quickly followed suit. "Merrin is so petty. Don't let someone like her get you down, Mandy." "No wonder Steve won't marry her. I wouldn't marry a woman that insecure either." I let out a bitter laugh. He would bend over backwards to defend Mandy, terrified of her feeling even a sliver of discomfort. But me, his girlfriend of ten years? I was always met with cold indifference. Mandy could sneeze, and he would ditch our appointment at the courthouse. I’d complain, and he’d get angrier than I was, accusing me of being controlling and petty. But now that I’d finally let go and congratulated them, he was back to his threats and countdowns, demanding I apologize. It was never about right or wrong. The scales of his affection had tipped long ago. "Ma'am, the man whose ID you provided is already married. Would you like to change the applicant?" The clerk looked at me with pity. I took the ID back and smiled. "That's something to consider." The young couple behind me cheered as I stepped out of line. It was Valentine's Day, and appointments at the clerk's office were a hot commodity. I had waited for hours just to get this spot. But now, looking at the registration form in my hand, I ripped it to shreds without a second thought and tossed it in the trash. I had filled out that form 67 times. I had given him 67 chances. Every time, I would show up early, full of hope, watching the happy couples while I waited for him to arrive. And every time, just before our appointment, he would call with an excuse. The firm was busy. A client was in crisis. "Merrin, these are people's lives on the line," he would say, his voice dripping with self-importance. "You want me to abandon them for a piece of paper? How can you be so selfish?" He never knew that after he ditched me for Mandy, she would send me texts, gloating. "Steve’s cooking is amazing. I bet you’ve never had it, have you?" "I walked a little too far today, and Steve was so worried he bought me a luxury car. You're still using a bike share, right?" And now, he’d even gotten a marriage license with her. It was time for our story to end. 2 The moment I stepped out of the municipal building, I got a notification. My resignation request had been rejected. HR told me Steve hadn't been in the office for days and couldn't approve it. They gave me an address and told me to find him myself. Gritting my teeth, I went. The address was a pool hall. Mandy had posted that she wanted to learn to play pool, and Steve, the workaholic, had apparently skipped work for days to teach her. When I found him, he was leaning over Mandy, guiding her shot, their bodies pressed close. The moment she saw me, a contemptuous smirk played on her lips. A few of his office sycophants saw me and swarmed over. "Well, well, look who's here for Mr. Big Shot." "Told you. The three-day countdown wouldn't even last one. She came crawling back." "Our boss really has her whipped. One word and she's on her knees." "Alright, alright, pay up. A bet's a bet." I frowned. I’d heard their taunts a million times before, but it never stung like it did now. "I'm not here to make up." My words sent them into a fit of laughter. "Don't pretend, Merrin. Everyone knows you're Steve's number one groupie. You wouldn't leave if he set you on fire." I ignored them and slapped my resignation papers on the table. "Steve, sign it." He was about to look at the papers when Mandy whined, "Steve, honey, how do I make this shot?" He immediately dropped the papers, pulled his personal seal out of Mandy’s pocket, and tossed it to me. "Sign it yourself. And don't bother me while I'm teaching Mandy to play." Steve was obsessed with his privacy. He never let me near his safe. He’d shield his phone like it held state secrets when he typed in a password. And his personal seal? He never let it out of his sight. But now, he had just given it to Mandy. He was so wrapped up in their "date" that he couldn't even be bothered with official company documents. I clutched the stamped resignation letter, my heart feeling like a cavern with the wind howling through it. I turned to leave, but Steve called out to me. "Mandy's busy for the next few days. Can you handle her caseload?" He tossed a thick stack of case files at me, each one with nothing but a title. I’d lost count of how many times he’d asked me to do Mandy’s work. Every time, she would take the credit. But if I made a single mistake under the crushing workload, the blame was all mine. Sometimes I’d refuse, but then he’d accuse me of not caring about him or the firm, of letting him down. He’d say if I didn’t do it, he’d have to do it himself. And I, worried about him overworking himself, would always give in. All my sacrifices just earned me his contempt and the right to be ordered around. But I was an ex-employee now. The firm’s problems weren’t mine anymore. "No, I already qui—" My words were cut off by Mandy’s pathetic whimper. "Steve, it's okay if Merrin doesn't want to. I can do it myself." "You just got divorced," Steve cooed, full of sympathy. "You're in no state to work. Go have fun. Don't worry about it." He turned back to me, his tone glacial. "You know, you've already upset Mandy enough with that stunt on your feed. I'm giving you a chance to make it up to her, and you're refusing? If you keep this up, in three days, you could be on your knees begging, and I still wouldn't take you back." I laughed bitterly. When my mother died unexpectedly, I had collapsed from grief multiple times. All Steve had said was, "Pull yourself together and get to work on time. The firm needs you." But Mandy, who had been divorced for two years, could still use "not feeling up to it" as an excuse to skip work. "Fine by me. I don't care." I turned to leave. Steve's face was a mask of shock. The colleagues were stunned too. "Is she really leaving?" Mandy just chuckled. "Oh, Merrin, if you don't want to do the work, just say so. No need to play hard to get." At her words, Steve's brow smoothed, his confidence returning. His tone softened. "Alright, Merrin, I know I've been neglecting you. Be a good girl and finish Mandy's work, and in three days, we'll go get our license, okay?" Another empty promise. But this time, I had no appetite for it. I didn't answer. I just walked away. The colleagues started their snide remarks again. "Look at her, pretending to be tough. Just wait. By tomorrow, she'll be back, begging for forgiveness." A wicked thought crossed my mind. I wanted to see them lose. I smirked and looked back at them. "Fine. Then you just wait and see." 3 Once my resignation was finalized, I went straight to my best friend's company. In the legal world, clients follow the lawyer, not the firm. My friend was so thrilled to have a top-tier lawyer like me join her team that she practically bowed at my feet. She offered me ten times my previous salary and a villa. I finally moved out of my shabby little apartment. Many of my old clients had been shocked to learn that a "gold-medal lawyer" lived in such a rundown place. I'd always just brushed it off, saying I wasn't materialistic. The truth was, I’d willingly taken a junior-level salary for years to help Steve’s firm grow. At first, he was grateful. Then, he started to take it for granted. When the heat broke in my apartment one winter, and I asked for money to replace it, he called me extravagant, accused me of being a gold-digger. But for Mandy? He’d buy her a mansion without a second thought. Even Mandy's dog had a heated doghouse. On the day I moved, I ran into Steve and Mandy. His parents were with them. The four of them were having a happy family dinner at a high-end restaurant. I froze. I remembered the first time I went to Steve's house. I came bearing gifts, but his parents served me a table full of leftovers. When I awkwardly suggested we all go out to eat, they accused me of being a leech, a spendthrift living off their son. In the end, I cooked for the whole family. After I’d prepared a feast, Steve’s mother slammed her chopsticks down and declared my food too salty. "Only peasants who do manual labor eat like this," she sneered. "Just what I'd expect from someone with your background." The gifts I brought them ended up with the building's cleaning staff. The contrast made me feel like a clown. Steve’s parents were eagerly piling food onto Mandy’s plate. “Mandy and our Steve are just perfect for each other,” his mother gushed. “If only you hadn’t been tricked by that other man, you two would have been together years ago. I think the time is right. You should be together.” His father chimed in, “Yes! Mandy landed several big clients for Steve as soon as she joined the firm. Her future is limitless. Not like that useless Merrin, who can only cook and clean.” Hearing this, I trembled with rage. I was the one who landed those clients. Steve just credited them to Mandy. The money I earned practically supported the entire firm, but Steve never once praised me. Instead, he constantly belittled me, saying I only got cases because of the platform his firm provided. Now, listening to his parents’ slander, he didn’t even try to correct them. He just sighed. “Well, we’ve been together for so long. It’s comfortable.” My heart plummeted. All these years, to him, I was just… comfortable. His mother was not satisfied. “Steve, I’m telling you, that Merrin girl is bad luck. Just look at how her parents died so young. Marrying her will bring you nothing but trouble.” Steve didn’t respond, but I was already in tears. My parents had died giving blood to save his. After a car accident, Steve's parents were in critical condition. My parents, who had a matching blood type, donated without a second thought. But it wasn’t enough. Steve was a mess. My parents, knowing how much I loved him, secretly donated more blood than their bodies could handle. Steve’s parents were saved. Mine were gone. At first, his family felt guilty. They promised to compensate me, to take care of me. But the compensation never came. Instead, I became the “bad luck” they talked about. I couldn’t listen anymore. I turned to leave.
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