Right before I went under the knife, my best friend asked me: "You and Regina are practically married. Why the sudden breakup?" I handed him my phone. "Because of a text." The chat history ended around noon. I had sent Regina a photo of my sad-looking lunch, complaining about how terrible the DoorDash place was. Four hours later, she replied with a single word: "K." But on my Instagram feed, I saw she had liked a picture of the lunch Wayne posted. Her comment read: Eating takeout is so bad for you. I'll cook for you every day from now on, just like today. Underneath was a thread of their inside jokes, a lively, back-and-forth banter that seemed to go on forever. I stared at that post for a long time. Then, I deleted the unsent text in our chatbox: What did you have for lunch? I scrolled up through our message history. Over the last seven years, I loved sharing the tiniest details of my day with Regina. I’d send her pictures of weird flowers, overgrown lawns, the stray cat behind our apartment. In the beginning, Regina would match my excitement, typing out paragraphs. Lately, it had dwindled to dry, one-word replies. Because Wayne was back in town. Love is entirely about the desire to share. If she wasn't talking to me, she was talking to someone else. "Logan, they're ready for you in the OR." The nurse called my name. I glanced out the window at the sky, then stood up and walked toward the doors. Regina, the sunset is beautiful today. But I don't want to take a picture for you anymore. 1 I didn’t get back from the hospital until past eight in the evening. Standing in the entryway, before I could even kick off my shoes, I heard Regina’s laughter filtering down the hall. She was on the phone with Wayne, her voice bright and animated. "I know, right? That movie was incredible. We definitely have to see it in theaters again. That ending scene was just wild, especially when..." Regina looked up and saw me standing by the door, pale and exhausted. Her expression didn’t flicker. She simply covered the microphone with her hand and said over her shoulder: "I'm talking to Wayne right now. I'm going into the study. I was too tired to cook today, so just order yourself some UberEats." "Your stomach is a mess, and isn't your surgery in a couple of days? Make sure you order from a chain so it's clean." Before I could even answer, she put the phone back to her ear. "Anyway, Wayne, there's this other documentary you have to see. Have you heard of..." She turned on her heel and walked straight into the study, clicking the door shut behind her. I stared at the empty hallway, then looked down at the post-op discharge papers crumpled in my hand. A bitter, quiet laugh slipped past my lips. I shook my head. I had wanted to sit down and have a real conversation with her. To explain the breakup, to give our seven years the decent, respectful ending they deserved. I hadn't expected that she wouldn't even have five minutes to spare for me. Fresh out of surgery, my body felt hollow, aching and spent. I had absolutely no appetite. Instead of ordering food, I took a long, hot shower, hoping that once she finished her call, we could finally talk. But I waited. And waited. I had booked my flight out of the city before her voice in the study finally quieted down. She was still deep in her marathon catch-up with Wayne. It made me think of when we first started dating. We used to talk for hours about a single commercial we saw on TV. Now, I couldn't even remember the last time we’d spoken more than five sentences to each other. Actually, I could. It was last week, when we were choosing the menu for our wedding rehearsal dinner. It was a rare moment where we actually talked—until it devolved into a screaming match over the lobster tail. I had insisted on taking it off the menu. "Regina, I have a severe shellfish allergy. I can't even be around steam from lobster!" Regina had rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with irritation. "Then just don't eat it. Wayne loves lobster. Why do you have to be so selfish?" Her words left me stunned. I couldn't comprehend how wanting to remove a dish that could literally kill me from my own wedding menu made me selfish. Naturally, the night ended in cold silence. The menu was never finalized. Looking back, I should have walked away that very night. But I was holding on, stubborn and desperate, waiting until today—waiting until she completely forgot I was even having surgery—to finally let the hope die. At 1:30 in the morning, Regina finally crawled into bed. The heavy drowsiness that had been pulling at my eyelids instantly cleared. I sat up, leaning against the headboard, and looked at her in the dim light. "Regina, we need to talk." 2 Regina sat on the edge of the mattress, glancing at my solemn face. She let out a long, exhausted sigh. "Logan, I've had a brutal day at work. I really don't have the energy for your endless daily dramas right now." "Let's just sleep. Whatever it is, we can talk tomorrow." She pulled the blanket over her shoulders, turned her back to me, and closed her eyes. The silence in the room became heavy, almost suffocating. All I could hear was the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing. The words I wanted to scream remained trapped in my throat, aching like a physical bruise. Silent tears slipped down my cheeks, soaking into the pillowcase. It was the soft buzz of my phone that finally broke the trance. A confirmation text from the airline. My flight was booked for tomorrow night, just after midnight. I was going to leave Regina, and the last seven years of my life, behind in this city. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, curled beneath the sheets, and eventually fell into a dreamless sleep. The next morning, Regina was up surprisingly early, bustling around the kitchen in her apron. When she saw me walk out, she gave me a warm, rare smile. "Morning." "I made breakfast. Eat it while it's hot." For a second, I was disoriented. I managed a small, tentative smile. "Thanks. I'll eat every bite." "What did you—" The words died in my throat. Sitting on the kitchen island were two hard-boiled eggs with the yolks neatly scooped out, a pile of dry, burnt sourdough crusts, and a few wilted pieces of romaine lettuce. Regina untied her apron, talking quickly. "Wayne said he wanted one of my breakfast sandwiches, so I whipped some up since we had the ingredients. He loves egg yolks and the soft part of the brioche, so I saved those for him." She pointed to the plate of scraps. "I know your stomach is sensitive right now, but you shouldn't be picky. Just eat the rest of this." As she spoke, she grabbed two bottles of the high-calcium milk I had specifically bought for my post-op recovery and stuffed them into her tote bag. "Looks like we're almost out of milk, so I'm taking these. Remember to grab some more later. Oh, and do you mind doing the dishes? I have to drop Wayne off at work or he'll be late." The front door slammed shut. I stood by the dining table, staring at the pile of scraps on the plate. Maybe it was a complication from yesterday's surgery, but a sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I sank into a chair, crying with a raw, agonizing grief. When my eyes were swollen and dry, I finally stood up. Without touching a single bite, I scraped the plate into the trash. I went back to the bedroom to pack. I didn't own much. When you strip away seven years of history, your life fits quite easily into two large suitcases. By noon, a dull hunger finally set in. After debating with myself, I sent Regina a text. [Are you free for lunch?] [I'll come to your office. We can grab a bite, I have something really important to tell you.] Predictably, there was no reply. I opened Instagram. She had commented on one of Wayne's posts literally three minutes ago. Gritting my teeth, I copied my text and pasted it directly into her public comment section. Regina replied instantly. [Busy. No time.] A bitter ache spread through my chest. I didn’t bother replying on the app. Instead, I dialed her number. "Logan, I told you—" "Twelve-thirty. I'll be at the Italian bistro across from your office." I hung up before she could argue. I didn't want to give her a chance to back out, nor did I want to give myself a chance to hesitate. I sat in the bistro until 1:10 PM. She still hadn't shown. Just as I assumed she was ghosting me and reached for my phone to call her, Regina finally walked through the door. But before I could speak, Wayne popped out from behind her shoulder. "Hey, Logan! I saw your comment on Regina's post, so I decided to crash. You don't mind, right?" 3 I didn't say a word. I just stared at Regina, waiting for her to say something. Sensing my coldness, she offered a dismissive explanation. "I had to pick Wayne up, that's why I'm late." "Sorry." "It's fine," I said, my voice flat as I opened the menu. Regina looked at me, slightly taken aback. She had clearly expected a fight, but I had let it slide without a word. I raised my hand to wave down the waiter. "I'll have the lunch combo A. Just swap the white wine for warm water, please." Across the table, Wayne leaned forward, pointing at a section of the menu with a pout. "Oh, this couples' tasting menu looks amazing! Too bad Logan can't eat seafood, but Regina and I love it. Why don't we get the couples' menu instead?" "Is that okay, Logan?" Regina frowned. After our massive blowout over the rehearsal dinner menu, even she knew this was crossing a line. No matter how close she was to Wayne, this was inappropriate. "Wayne, maybe we shouldn't—" "Go ahead," I interrupted, not even looking up. Regina’s gaze grew even stranger. In the end, she didn't let Wayne order the couples' menu, and she kept stealing glances at me, trying to gauge my reaction. But I didn't have one. I wasn't pretending. I genuinely just didn't care anymore. Throughout the entire meal, Regina looked like she wanted to say something to me, but her attempts were constantly drowned out by Wayne's endless chatter. I ate my food in silence, listening to them talk about movies, work, and recent jokes. Their easy, warm banter looked exactly like how Regina and I used to be seven years ago. It wasn’t until we were getting ready to leave that Regina finally remembered to ask: "So, Logan, what was that important thing you wanted to talk about?" I wiped my mouth with a napkin and grabbed my bag. "It's a private matter. We should talk about it alone." "Go on, you should get back to the office." Guilt flickered in her eyes, and she looked at me sheepishly. "About that... Wayne's office is pretty far, and it's hard to get an Uber around here right now. I have to drop him off first, so..." I understood exactly what she was trying to say. I held up my phone screen to show her my active ride-hailing app. "I already booked a ride. It was easy." "Go ahead and take him." A wave of remorse seemed to hit Regina. She stepped closer, reaching out to hold my hand, probably wanting to offer some sweet reassurance. I quietly stepped back, letting her hand fall through the air. "My ride is here." I turned and walked out the door. Regina followed me for a couple of steps, calling out: "Logan, I promise I'll leave work early today. I'll come straight home to be with you." I nodded. It was the last time I would choose to believe her. When I got home, I finished packing the remaining essentials. My suitcases were lined up neatly in the entryway. They were impossible to miss, ready to be grabbed at a moment's notice. At five o'clock, the front door clicked open. It was Regina. I was surprised. She usually didn't get off work until 5:30. Coming home this early meant she had left ahead of schedule. Had she actually come home early for me? 4 I stepped out of the bedroom, but before I could even find my footing, Regina rushed past like a whirlwind, slamming hard into my shoulder. The impact knocked me back against the wall, a sharp pain radiating through my spine. She didn't even look back. She sprinted straight into the master bedroom, frantically throwing open drawers and closets. I braced myself against the wall and stood up. "Regina, what are you looking for?" Without looking up, she snapped impatiently: "Wayne's at the clinic getting an IV. I need to go over and keep him company." "The AC in there is freezing, and I need to grab a blanket. Where did we put the throw blankets?" I didn't answer her. Instead, I asked, "Didn't you say you were coming home early to spend time with me today?" Regina finally pulled out a blanket and began searching through another cabinet, her tone growing increasingly frustrated. "What is wrong with your ears? Are you still out of it from the anesthesia?" "I just told you Wayne is hooked up to an IV. I don't have time today. We'll do it another time." But Regina, we don't have another time. The resentment and heartbreak I had been suffocating finally broke free. I raised my voice, my throat tight. "What if I want it to be today?" "Wayne is sick, but he has parents. He has coworkers, friends. Regina, who are you to him? Why are you abandoning your own fiancé to run to his side?" Regina froze. She turned to me, her eyes filled with disgust, looking at me as if I were a hysterical child. "Wayne and I grew up together. He calls my mother his godmother. Is it really that awful of me to take care of a friend?" "Logan, can you grow up and be reasonable for once?" "Stop letting a little stomach bug make you completely paranoid!" She stuffed the items she had gathered into a duffel bag and turned toward the door. I couldn't stop myself from stepping into her path. "Regina, please don't go." "Just stay and talk to me. Please. I'm begging you." Regina looked at my bloodshot eyes. She hesitated for a second, but there was no pity in her gaze—only the sheer annoyance of being held back. She brushed past me, her foot kicking one of my suitcases out of the way. With an irritated wave of her hand, she muttered: "I don't know what kind of tantrum you're throwing..." "Fine, fine. I'll be back early, okay?" The door slammed shut. Bang! The apartment fell into a heavy, dead silence, save for the sound of someone crying. It was me. I sat on the couch, waiting for her to return. An hour passed. I sent her a text: [Are you coming home?] — Read. She didn't reply. Two hours passed. I sent another: [I really have something important to say to you.] — Read. Three hours passed: [This is the last time. Are you coming back?] This time, the message didn't even go through. Regina had blocked or deleted me, tired of the notifications. Looking at the bright red exclamation mark, I felt like the punchline of a cruel joke. My tears had already dried. At the four-hour mark, I sent her a final SMS: [Regina, let's break up.] The moment I hit send, the red exclamation mark popped up again. It didn't matter. I grabbed my suitcases and walked out the door. By the fifth hour, as I was boarding my flight, I received a follow request from Regina on Instagram. I hit decline and posted a single text post to my feed: [Regina and I are over. Just wanted to let everyone know.] I flipped my phone to airplane mode, leaned back in my seat, and closed my eyes. As the plane lifted off the tarmac, I drifted into a deep sleep. When the sun rose tomorrow, it would be a fresh start.
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