It was our fifth year together when Ian and I had another explosive fight. He grabbed his keys, stormed out the door, and chose the cold shoulder once again. I sat quietly on the sofa. After stewing for half the day, I started scrolling through TikTok, giggling at the videos. At 2:00 AM, my phone ringing woke me up. Ian’s voice on the other end was cold enough to freeze water. "I've been outside until now, and you couldn't even bother to call me once?" I awkwardly remembered he was still wandering out there in the freezing snow. Feeling a bit embarrassed, I said, "Uh, well... how about you just don't come back? Let's just call it quits?" 1 After I said that, a brief silence fell over the phone. Then, with a sharp click, he hung up. My eyes were so heavy I could barely keep them open. I rolled over in my warm bed and fell comfortably back to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I heard a rustling noise in the living room. I went out to look. It was Ian, packing his bags. He acted like I was invisible, keeping his head down and blindly shoving his stuff into a suitcase. I frowned and stood there watching him for a while, just to make sure he didn’t accidentally take any of my things. He finally finished packing, zipped up the suitcase, and said flatly: "You need to cool off. Let's not talk for a while." Those words sounded familiar. Something similar had happened last year. After a massive fight, he grabbed his keys to leave. I had broken down, grabbing onto him. "Why does it have to be like this again? Why do you always leave me alone? Can't we just talk it out face-to-face? Why do you always run away!" He stopped trying to leave the apartment but turned back and locked himself in the bedroom. Just as my emotions started to settle down, I saw him walking out with a suitcase. His voice was detached and calm, a complete contrast to my hysteria. "You need a few days to cool off. We’ll talk in a while." After that, he really didn't contact me for over two weeks. Every message I sent, every call I made, sank like a stone in the ocean. Zero response. I was losing my mind back then. I cried myself to sleep every night, and eventually, I was the one who broke down and sent texts begging for his forgiveness. Once it happens, it happens again. Ian realized the silent treatment worked like a charm on me. He didn't even have to put in effort to fix things—I would fix myself. So, he started using it constantly. From my initial desperate need for a response, I slowly learned to digest it all on my own. Only I knew how agonizing that transition was. Now, he was standing in front of me with his suitcase again. His expression was blank, completely devoid of emotion. He even offered some generous advice: "Don't overthink this. Eat well, focus on work. You do have a life outside of clinging to me, right?" I rubbed my sleepy eyes and casually replied, "Yeah. Drive safe." Ian’s aloof expression stiffened slightly. He clearly hadn't expected me to not even try to stop him. I took two steps toward the bathroom, remembered something, and turned back to remind him: "Did you pack your summer clothes too? If you can fit them, you should take them all today. Save yourself a trip later." His face turned dark. He didn't say a word, just slammed the door shut and left. My chest suddenly felt incredibly light. It was finally over. 2 Today was Saturday. I used to always beg Ian to spend the weekends with me. Later, Ian figured out the perfect way to deal with me. The second we argued, he’d grab his bags and leave. And he'd be gone for at least half a month. I was forced to get used to spending weekend after weekend alone. It only took a year for me to transition from writing paragraphs of hysterical texts, to feeling numb and detached, and finally, back to enjoying my weekends like I did when I was single. I made myself a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. After eating, I curled up on the couch with my cat and put on a horror movie. Outside, the sky was gloomy, and a cold winter rain was falling. I had the heater on, enjoying the cozy solitude. After the movie ended, I made a hot cup of tea and casually scrolled through Instagram. The very first post was from Ian. [Traveling for business with Ms. Sterling.] The photo was a selfie of him and Sarah at the airport, her arm slung casually over his shoulder. Sarah was his college classmate and business partner. They were very close. Every time Ian and I had a "Cold War," they always ended up going on a long business trip together, just the two of them. The first time I found out, it ate me alive for a long time. I wasn't sure if their relationship was purely professional, or if there was something more. Until the second Cold War, and the third. Without fail, Ian would drag Sarah out of state for "work," leaving me alone in the apartment. I started obsessively calling and texting Ian, demanding to know what the hell he was doing. Why did he always go on a business trip the second we fought, and why was Sarah always with him? He usually took an assistant on business trips, but when he went with Sarah, they didn't even bring one. Three days later, Ian sent a cold, brief reply: [Think whatever you want.] Then he went radio silent again. Not a single word after that. I knew right then that there was no point in continuing the relationship. Wiping my tears, my hands shaking, I typed out a few words: [Then let's break up.] I locked my phone immediately to stop myself from going crazy and making a fool of myself. I buried myself in work to distract myself. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. I couldn't even last three minutes before picking it up to check. It was a message in my work group chat. It was a push notification from an app. It was an automated birthday text from my bank. It wasn't until 9:00 PM that a message with Ian's name finally popped up. Two short, cold words. [Suit yourself.] I completely broke down, burying my face in my pillow and sobbing. While crying, I sent him a barrage of messages accusing him of never loving me. I listed out every single disappointment and instance of neglect I felt in our relationship, hoping to trigger even an ounce of guilt, hoping to make him realize he was a terrible boyfriend. But everything sank like a stone in the ocean, just like always. It was as if no one was on the other side. Or rather, he couldn't even be bothered to read a single sentence. Looking at his Instagram stories, there were pictures of him and Sarah out to dinner with clients. It was a joyful scene, everyone laughing happily. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over my head. I clearly saw myself as a clown—jumping up and down, making a fool of myself, trying so hard. My rational mind told me very clearly that he was a piece of trash. I finally stopped sending messages. But my life became a blur. I forced myself to act normal around other people, but everything felt mechanical and numb. It was only when I dragged my exhausted body back to my empty apartment that I couldn't stop myself from crouching on the floor and crying. I knew he was probably a horrible person. But I missed him so much. I knew I was useless and fragile, but just pretending to be a normal person exhausted all my energy. I let myself suffer in the dark, agonizing over him. I didn't know when it would ever end. Until thirty-six days later, when he finally contacted me again. [Have you cooled down?] [Do you still want to break up?] I stared numbly at the message. It was a message that came too late. It couldn't spark any anticipation or excitement in me anymore. I slowly typed out three words: [Whatever you want.] He sent a voice memo. "I got you a birthday present. I'm heading back now." His voice was upbeat, carrying a smile, and I could hear a woman laughing next to him. That laugh was distinct. It was Sarah's laugh. Even through the phone screen, I could picture the two of them stepping off the plane, looking tired from the travel but full of life and confidence. Not like me. Like a dirty, trapped animal pacing in a cage. All my pain and torment hadn't affected Ian in the slightest. Everything I felt in this relationship was supposedly just me being overly sensitive, paranoid, and dramatic. While Ian was the magnanimous, stable one who put up with me. 3 My thoughts snapped back to the Instagram post in front of me. There were already several comments underneath. A: [You guys look great together, Mr. CEO.] B: [Nonsense, Sarah's got both brains and beauty!] Ian: [Good eye.] C: [Out of town for a month? Leaving the missus home alone again, how are you gonna sweet-talk your way out of that one? #DogDoge] Ian: [We're adults. Does she expect me to babysit her 24/7?] C: [True that, can't spoil women too much.] Amidst all the nonsense, a glaring comment suddenly appeared. Chloe: [Girlfriends don't need company, but female partners definitely need to tag along on every trip~] The "~" was practically dripping with sarcasm. Chloe was the girlfriend of Josh, the other male partner at Ian's firm. I heard they were supposed to get married this year, but it was almost the end of the year and there was still no news. Her boyfriend, Josh, went on solo business trips with Sarah just as often as Ian did. Rumor had it that when Chloe's mom was hospitalized and she was running herself ragged taking care of her alone, Sarah posted a cheek-to-cheek selfie with Josh under the Eiffel Tower. They said it was a business trip, but anyone else would have thought they were on a honeymoon. Chloe threw a massive fit over it. Even though they made up, their relationship was never the same, and marriage hasn't been brought up since. When her comment popped up, the previously lively comment section seemed to hit pause. There were no new comments for a while. Just as I was about to scroll past, a new reply appeared. Sarah: [Little girls shouldn't be so dramatic. Is business more important, or your petty little romance?] Sarah: [If you want to marry rich and get a free ride, just be a good little trophy wife. Don't make a fool of yourself.] Chloe replied instantly. [Compared to certain people who can't even take an assistant on a business trip and absolutely need a male partner to chaperone them every single time, I'm plenty independent at my own job. Who exactly is the trophy wife here?] It took ten minutes for Sarah to reply with three words. [You have no idea.] Ever since Chloe found out Josh was constantly traveling alone with Sarah, she and Sarah hadn't gotten along. She took shots at her whenever she could, and even I was used to it. I closed Instagram and was about to make dinner when my landlord called. "Hey Avery, your lease is up next month. Are you planning on renewing?" I looked around the apartment. A spacious, bright penthouse. Out the window was the most bustling night view in the city. Back then, Ian kept telling me to move into his place. But I was always worried about living in someone else's house and the risk of being kicked out, so I stubbornly insisted on living alone. He was very clingy back then. The next day, he stood outside my door with his suitcase, looking like a lost puppy. I had just entered the workforce and didn't have much money. I was living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny 300-square-foot studio, way out in the suburbs. I knew Ian was used to a nice lifestyle. Making him live with me in that tiny apartment felt like I was wronging him. So, the moment I passed my probation period and got a raise, I bit the bullet and moved here. It ate up almost half my paycheck every month. "No, I won't be staying," I told the landlord. "I'm planning to move to the East Side." It was closer to my office. And I wouldn't have to leave the house at 6 AM every day to catch the subway. The landlord was surprised. "What's wrong? Didn't you say you liked this area because it was close to your boyfriend's office?" "Yeah," I replied softly, kicking at my slippers with my head down, and smiled. "We broke up." The landlord was very sympathetic. After comforting me for a bit, she kindly recommended a moving company before hanging up. 4 My company was preparing to host a live-stream event at a mall recently. I took my new junior colleagues to coordinate at the mall. The juniors were two recent college grads, bursting with energy and enthusiasm. They even made us office veterans feel a bit more energetic. After wrapping up the setup that day, the two of them insisted on dragging me to a Korean BBQ spot, saying we needed to relax after working so hard. At the outdoor BBQ stand, I took a picture of the table packed with skewers under the warm, dim streetlights. The two guys leaned their heads into the frame, smiling brightly. I snapped the photo and happily posted it on Instagram: [Setup complete! I can finally have a real weekend tomorrow!] By the time I got home, it was past midnight. A message from Ian, which I hadn't seen in a long time, popped up on my phone. He had sent a picture of himself having dinner with a client, almost like he was reporting in: [Heading back in a week.] [Got you a present.] I pretended I didn't see it, sanitized my phone, plugged it in, and put it on the nightstand. Back when I first started getting the silent treatment, I would panic and send him messages like crazy, begging for even the slightest response. Later, I forced myself to try and get used to single life every time he left. I slowly stopped sending him messages. He, in turn, softened his Cold War strategy. He wasn't as completely silent anymore. He went from sending one message a month, to calling every half a month, to once a week, to once every three days. What a blessing. A blessing anyone else could gladly take. After taking a shower and getting into bed, I saw Ian had sent a few more messages. [What did you do today?] [Tired from work?] [Asleep?] I muted his notifications. I didn't delete him, didn't block him, and didn't reply. I was doing just fine without him. 5 There were still over twenty days left on my lease. I started packing my things early. Packing a little bit every day made it pretty easy. When Ian's mother came over, she saw my apartment filled with cardboard boxes of all sizes. I had opened the door thinking it was my Uber Eats, completely off guard, and she barged right in. She was carrying a thermal lunchbox and kicked a cardboard box blocking the hallway with her pointed heels. Her voice was as overly familiar as ever. "Oh, Avery dear. Ian is out of town on a business trip. Did you two get into a fight about something? He's so distracted at work now. He asked me to come check on you." As she spoke, she walked straight into the apartment, sat down on the sofa, crossed her legs, and acted like she owned the place: "Ian specifically asked me to bring you food. I told him he's being ridiculous. You're twenty-six or twenty-seven, not a toddler. Do you really need someone to watch you eat?" I took a deep breath, turned around, and was about to speak when she suddenly looked around the room, frowning: "Ian always tells me how clean you are, but look at this place. How can a girl let her apartment get this messy? "Even though our Ian makes good money and won't have a problem hiring a maid in the future, you shouldn't be this sloppy, right?" My face darkened. Ian was a local, born and raised in the city. The exclusivity of the locals here was an open secret. Ian's mother was the stereotypical local matriarch. She always assumed that any girl from out of town was scheming for her son's money and a city residency. "Mrs. Sterling, Ian and I broke up," I said as calmly as I could. It was like she didn't even hear me. She even let out a soft scoff. But she quickly plastered a smile back on her face and looked up at me: "You just have too much of a temper. I always tell our Ian, he might not be able to handle the temper of an out-of-town girl. But he just won't listen. Young people, right? They don't know it hurts until they hit a brick wall." Seeing my face getting darker, she laughed: "Don't take it the wrong way, I'm not talking about you. Come, come, come, eat your food first." She opened the thermal lunchbox, laid everything out on the table, took pictures from every angle, and sent them to Ian. "I have to report back to him, tell him I delivered your food. "I'm not trying to lecture you, but you're not a kid anymore. When you throw a tantrum, you need to know when to stop. Ian is a businessman. If you keep ruining his mood, won't it affect his work? How does that benefit you? "You need to settle down. You two are getting married next year. Best if you have a kid before the end of the year. That job of yours doesn't pay much anyway, just quit early." I let out an exasperated laugh. "Mrs. Sterling, did you not hear me? Ian and I broke up. I am not marrying him." She pursed her lips: "Alright, alright, I'm too lazy to listen to this. You've just been brainwashed by too many TikTok videos. Thinking about staying single and childless, talking about 'female independence.' Independent this, independent that, you're still spending my son's money." This wasn't the first time she had said this. But every time she did, Ian never defended me, not even once. He would just calmly tell me afterward, "My mom is older, that's just how she thinks. Don't take it to heart." Thinking about it now, maybe he actually agreed with her. He was just using his mother as the bad cop, subtly trying to put me in my place. I packed the lunchbox back up, shoved it into her hands, and pushed her straight out the door. Mrs. Sterling looked shocked, cursing as she stumbled backward: "What is wrong with you, little girl?! Is this how you treat your elders? You think you can marry my son acting like—" SLAM! As the door slammed shut, the apartment finally returned to peace. 6 The weather was beautiful on moving day. A few friends volunteered to come over and help. Chloe was a mutual friend of mine and Ian. She glanced at my face and asked: "Avery, why isn't Ian here? His girlfriend is moving and he doesn't even show up. What is he so busy with?" Another friend nudged her arm, laughing to smooth things over: "Isn't Ian out of town? It's normal that he couldn't make it back." Chloe didn't say anything. A while later, she pulled me aside and showed me a post on Sarah's Instagram. The background of the photo looked like a hotel room. Ian looked drunk, his eyes hazy, his face pressed against Sarah's as they smiled. The caption: [Mr. CEO's alcohol tolerance is lacking!] Chloe was furious: "Avery, didn't you see Sarah's post? What kind of person is she? There are three male partners at their firm, and she's clinging to all of them. Look at this picture, what's the difference between this and..." She lowered her voice: "What's the difference between this and an intimate photo? "No matter how disciplined Ian is, he can't withstand a woman throwing herself at him like this. Why haven't you called him back? If you wait, something's really going to happen!" I let out a bitter laugh, feeling somewhat helpless. "Chloe, Ian and I broke up over half a month ago." Recently, Chloe wasn't the only one who had shown me Ian and Sarah's photos. I wasn't the type to air my private life in public, but feeling that those two were haunting me like ghosts, I decided to post a status: [A clean break. A new beginning.] I tossed my phone on the table and went back to moving boxes. The morning flew by after a few trips up and down the stairs. My phone suddenly vibrated. I was carrying a heavy box with Chloe. My younger colleague, Tyler, glanced at the phone and called out to me: "Avery, do you want me to answer this? There's no caller ID, it's probably spam." I casually replied: "Sure, answer it for me." Tyler picked it up, his voice suddenly mature and deep: "Hello, who is this?" I don't know what the person on the other end said, but he turned slightly away: "She's really tired right now. Call back later." I only heard that one sentence before walking out the door, feeling that something wasn't quite right. But I didn't think much of it. It wasn't until I had taken a load of boxes downstairs and came back up that I asked, "Who was it?" Tyler looked innocent: "I don't know. I asked, but they wouldn't say. Probably a telemarketer." I nodded and went back to moving boxes, but the phone rang again. Panting, I casually answered it. "Hello?" There was no voice on the other end, just the sound of someone breathing slightly heavily. I frowned at the screen. No caller ID. Annoyed, I raised my voice: "Hello? I'm hanging up if you don't speak!" Tyler walked over with some strawberries he just bought. "Avery, take a break if you're tired. I'll go wash these." Before I could say anything, Ian's furious voice exploded through the phone: "Avery, what the hell are you doing?! Who is that guy?!" His voice pierced through the speaker, so loud that almost everyone in the apartment heard it. Feeling awkward and mortified, I walked to the other side of the room and lowered my voice: "Ian, are you crazy? We're broken up. Stop calling me." Ian let out a cold laugh: "When did I ever agree to break up with you? These past few days, I've been checking in on you, I even had my mom bring you food and drinks. What more do you want? What exactly do you want from me?" I suddenly fell silent. What was the point of saying anything to him? Didn't I already know that this guy just didn't understand human language? —Oh, it wasn't that he didn't understand human language. He just didn't understand my language. I hung up the phone and blocked that number too. The move was successfully completed before 3:00 PM. After treating my friends to hotpot, we chatted and laughed before going our separate ways. Back in my newly rented apartment, my cat jumped onto the entryway cabinet and flicked her tail at me. I washed my hands, picked up the cat, and curled up on the balcony sofa. Outside the window, there were no more skyscrapers or neon lights. Just two patches of yellowish-green foliage wrapped around a dim, yellow streetlight. I remembered when I first graduated, living in that tiny 300-square-foot studio. I really enjoyed living alone back then. Because it was the first time I felt completely in control of my own life. Then I met Ian. The first two years with him flew by. I was so happy. Looking back now, it feels surreal, almost like a dream. By the third year, minor issues and small arguments started to crop up. But back then, all I had to do was shed a tear, and he would sigh, come over, and hold me. Sometimes he would slam the door in anger, but within half an hour, he would be back with cake, bubble tea, and flowers. By the fourth year, the arguments became frequent and intense. He became indifferent to my tears. There were no more apologies, no more listening. He just grabbed his keys and slammed the door. Until our first Cold War, which lasted over thirty days. He seemed to have discovered the "ultimate weapon" and used it flawlessly ever since. I was originally someone who enjoyed solitude. But after falling in love, I became clingy and lost myself. I couldn't bear him not texting me for a day, let alone leaving for dozens of days out of anger. Every day without a response, I spent agonizingly overthinking everything. But I was never supposed to be like that. A healthy relationship shouldn't be like that either. My cat meowed softly in my arms. The late March wind already carried a hint of spring warmth. I took a deep breath, feeling incredibly light. At this moment, I was no longer waiting for anyone's message. I was fully enjoying the peace of the present.
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