I had to work until eleven, and I hadn’t managed to get the Kobe Ribeye Liam wanted. As a peace offering, I splurged on an expensive Black Cod, the kind he’d mentioned wanting last week. But he didn’t want it anymore. He smashed the container against the tile floor, the spray of water soaking my slacks. The comments section was buzzing. [It’s the FMC’s fault. How much does that overtime pay anyway? Keeping the ML happy is the real job.] [Black Cod is delicious and expensive, but the ML specifically asked for the beef. Anyone would be mad at that kind of obvious substitution.] Really? Maybe they had a point, but I had just spent over twelve hours on the clock, and I was utterly exhausted. Too tired to handle the mess on the floor, or the furious man standing over it. 1 It was almost eleven PM, and only our office lights remained on in the entire corporate tower. I rubbed my pounding temples and saved the sixth draft of the proposal before powering down. The five-hour project review that afternoon had ended with the client tossing out everything we had. The whole team scrambled, managing to nail down the final outline just before the late-night commuter train stopped running. But we weren't done. We had a week until the project deadline, and there was still a mountain of work to climb. Despite the screaming protest from my body, I shoved my laptop into my tote bag. The moment I pushed open my apartment door, a blast of cold air, thick with stale cigarette smoke, hit me. Liam was sitting on the sofa, a cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. The acrid smoke made me cough. A low, almost inaudible scoff reached my ears: “Don’t start…” The sound vanished a second later, so fast it felt like a hallucination. On the first day we moved in together, we set a firm rule: no smoking inside the apartment. Liam was fine with it initially. Then, he started arguing that the living room wasn't a room—only the bedrooms counted. Now, ash trays were scattered in every corner of our small space. Perhaps it was the chill of early winter, but my coughing escalated, a tight, painful spasm that felt like a tiny claw scratching at my lungs. I dropped my bag and headed straight for the water glasses. They were all empty. That’s when Liam finally spoke, his voice ice-cold. “You decided to come back, then? Take a look at how many times I called you.” I had already seen. The second the meeting ended, I checked my phone: five missed calls and one text message. [Get the Kobe Ribeye from The Prime Butcher on your way home. They close at seven.] I’d called him back, but he never picked up. I knew he was angry. Ever since I joined the project team, my life had accelerated. When I got busy, every minute, even for eating or drinking, was calculated. Liam was a freelance artist, usually sleeping until the late afternoon. He couldn’t accept my reasons. We’d fought countless times over missed calls and slow text replies. “We had a project review today. Everyone had to silence their phones.” I put my bag down, my voice heavy with exhaustion. “I saw the text at seven-thirty.” Liam sneered. “And? Where’s the beef?” “The Prime Butcher was closed.” I pulled a clear container from my canvas bag. “But I bought you Black Cod. It’s very fresh. Twenty minutes steaming, and it’s ready.” He shot up, snatched the container, and stared at the pale red fish, his eyes dangerously cold. “Ava. I was specific. The Kobe Ribeye from The Prime Butcher.” He ground out every word: “Are you suddenly deaf, or do you just not care what I actually want?” The words ended in a low, seething growl. A few familiar sentences scrolled across my vision. [The ML is just worried the FMC is working too hard. He’s taking it out on her.] [FMC, just apologize. Say some sweet words and it will all blow over.] [Honestly, the ML just feels neglected. That's why he’s so furious.] A massive sense of absurdity washed over me. If he was just worried about me being tired, Liam had all afternoon—why couldn't he have gone to pick up the beef? Why was I expected to work a twelve-hour day, buy the groceries, and then cook the meal? I was too drained to argue. I tried to reason with him calmly. “Liam, I didn’t get out until eight. That place was honestly closed. This fish—you said last week you were craving it. I drove forty minutes out of the way to the seafood market for this.” “Out of your way?” He scoffed. “Ava, you are always like this. Always falling short, always just almost enough. Just like you think you’re so dedicated to this stupid job, but you can’t balance our life with your so-called career!” His voice rose sharply. “Your company is making bank—have they cut you a single check for all this? You’re always pulling all-nighters, but why are you never the one getting promoted?” I froze. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means you’re naive!” He practically yelled. “What’s the point of all this effort? You don't have the connections, you don't have a family name, and you're not exactly a stunner—you are never going to move up! Just like this fish…” He violently threw the container onto the floor. “It will never replace the Kobe I wanted!” Under the harsh overhead light, Liam was breathing heavily, his eyes bulging with rage. I could barely see his face through the scrolling comments. [The ML went too far. He’ll regret this in a minute.] [He’s just worried about the FMC constantly working. He doesn't know how to express it.] [FMC, don’t be sad. The ML actually wanted you to have the beef, not him.] I looked at the water spreading on the floor, the Black Cod’s scales flashing faintly under the light. That fish cost nearly fifty dollars. It was expensive for me. I’d deleted the new clothes I’d been eyeing for weeks from my online cart just to afford it. Now, it seemed I had lost both the pretty clothes and the fresh fish. I spoke softly. “Liam, I am genuinely exhausted.” He paused, clearly thrown by my subdued reaction. The usual Ava would already be explaining, apologizing, and placating him. She would probably promise to take a day off tomorrow just to buy him that specific beef. But he quickly recovered his rhythm, his voice louder than before, a raw, furious accusation. “You’re tired? I’m the one who’s tired!” “Waiting up for you every night, only to find out I can’t even have the one thing I asked for!” The comments kept refreshing. [The ML is using reverse psychology! He means he misses spending time with you.] [FMC, go hug him! He’s been waiting all night just to have dinner with you.] I stared at the words, and a small, brittle laugh escaped me. “What are you laughing at?” Liam frowned. I shook my head, knelt down, and carefully picked up the Black Cod. Its eyes were still clear, maintaining that fresh, glossy look. “What are you doing?” he demanded. I didn’t answer. I simply walked over to the kitchen trash can and dropped the entire fish inside. “Ava!” He shouted, his voice laced with disbelief. I turned back to him. “Since you don’t want it, I’m throwing it away.” The comments went silent for a beat, then erupted into a frenzy. [What is the FMC doing? She’s escalating the situation!] [The ML is stunned! She has never acted like this.] [It’s over, it’s really over this time!] Liam’s mouth was open, momentarily speechless. He looked at my calm face, his expression shifting from blind fury to confusion, even a hint of panic. “I’m going out.” I picked up the bag I’d just dropped. “Ava!” He called my name, his voice uncertain. “Where are you going?” I stopped at the doorway but didn’t turn around. “Maybe I’ll go find a place that’s still open right now, where I can buy The Prime Butcher’s Kobe Ribeye.” I spoke quietly. “Or maybe just a place where I can eat a meal in peace.” I opened the door, stepped out, and closed it. The actions were fluid, without hesitation. The motion-sensor light in the hallway clicked off. I stood in the dark and heard his frustrated sigh from inside the apartment. Then, the comments finally began to change. [This feels different.] [Is the FMC actually… leaving?] 2 I took a cab back to the office. Lying in the breakroom, I couldn't fall asleep. My mind kept replaying our recent arguments. This was the third time Liam had exploded this month. The first time, it was because I was thirty seconds too slow handing him a yogurt. He threw it on the floor. “Clumsy idiot! Can’t even do one simple thing right!” The second time was even more ridiculous. I took a work call while ironing his shirt, and he snatched it away. “Is your job more important or is my shirt more important? You clearly don’t care about me! You’re completely selfish!” He acted like a constant observer in my life, using a magnifying glass to find my flaws, using any failure to immediately bend to his will as proof that I was worthless. [FMC, don’t be sad. The ML just has a short fuse, but he thinks the world of you.] [His words are harsh, but his heart is in the right place. Women really don’t need to work so hard.] [The ML is regretting everything right now, but he’s too proud to apologize. FMC, give him an opening!] The comments swirled around me like annoying flies. I suddenly realized they would always take Liam’s side, finding any excuse to absolve him. The next morning, my colleague handed me a coffee. She looked at the dark circles under my eyes and the messy bedding in the breakroom, and her concern was clear. “Ava, you look terrible. Another fight with your boyfriend?” I managed a weak smile. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well.” “How many times this month?” My colleague, Maya, sighed. “Last week you were crying in the bathroom. The day before that, you had to call him during a meeting to send him a mini-manifesto of apology. Ava, this isn’t a normal relationship.” I opened my mouth, wanting to defend myself, but I couldn’t find a single reasonable argument. “Why don’t you crash at my place for a few days?” “He won’t allow it.” I rejected the idea instantly. Every time I suggested living apart, Liam would fly into a rage: “You want to break up, don’t you? I knew you didn’t love me anymore!” Then, he’d use even crueler words to validate my cold-heartedness and callousness. The final project meeting that afternoon confirmed the plan. I downed two cups of coffee and psyched myself up for another late night. Just then, my phone screen lit up. [I’m coming to pick you up after work.] Instead of the usual lift, my heart instinctively tightened. [I’m working late tonight. It’s a major push. Don’t come. I ordered that beef you like from Seamless. Just grab it.] I replied cautiously, but Liam seemed to ignore me. [Six thirty. Be downstairs on time.] The usual tone of command. [I really can’t leave. The Director is right next to me.] I could already feel the coming storm. [Ava, what is this supposed to mean?] [I actually offered to come get you. This is how you respond?] [If you don’t want to be with me, then don’t. No need for the theatrics.] Predictably, the comments were fueling the fire. [The ML is trying to be considerate!] [The ML is all talk, but the FMC must be thrilled inside!] [The ML was up all night fuming, and today he’s preparing for… hee hee, the FMC is going to have a rough night.] The Director had glanced at me several times. If I didn't stop texting Liam, she was the one who was going to make my night rough. I set my phone to Do Not Disturb and shoved it into my desk drawer, forcing myself to concentrate. Ten minutes later, the internal office line rang suddenly. “I need to speak to Ava!” “Are you coming down or not? I’ve been waiting five minutes!” “I’m giving you three more minutes. If you don’t come down, I’m coming up to your office to find you!” Liam’s voice was so loud the handset vibrated in my hand. I lowered my voice to explain. “I’m racing a deadline. The Director is right…” “Is your Director more important than your boyfriend?” He cut me off sharply. “Or is your overtime more important than me? I came all this way to pick you up. Is this the right attitude? Ava, why are you always so selfish!” The whole office was looking at me. My face was burning. “Can you please be reasonable? This is my job…” “Job? Do you even call that pittance you make a job?” He scoffed. “A clueless brown-noser like you, are you actually thinking about a promotion? They must be really scraping the bottom of the barrel over there.” I was stunned into silence. “Thirty years old and still so clueless, still such an idealist. What do you even have? Money? Family status? Are you seriously acting like the heroine of some rags-to-riches story?” “Who else but me would put up with a personality like yours? Do you think the sky is going to fall if you’re not there to hold it up?” “You don't even have basic social skills. If I came to pick up a dog, it would at least wag its tail. Ava, what is it that you actually bring to the table?” The comments offered their feeble defense. [The ML waited too long. Be understanding.] [He only says that because he cares. When she goes downstairs, he’ll run up and give her a big hug!] [FMC, go home with the ML. You look run-down. You need some tender loving care. Hahaha.] The comments were turning vulgar. I looked away, refusing to acknowledge Liam’s vicious remarks. Finally, he seemed to run out of steam, taking a ragged breath before asking: “Last chance. Are you coming down?” I looked at the crucial section I had just finished. I spoke softly. “No. Go home, Liam.” The line went dead silent for a moment, then I heard his voice, tight with pure venom. “Fine! Ava! You can marry your job! We’re done!” The crashing sound of a trash can being kicked silenced the entire office. I walked back to my cube, ignoring the astonished looks from my coworkers. I finished working around nine. Stepping out of the building, the night air was biting. My phone showed over a dozen missed calls. The latest text read: *[You seriously didn't come down? I misjudged you completely! You wait!] * I turned the screen off and zipped my jacket all the way up. As I passed the corner, a street vendor selling hot pretzels was closing up shop. “Late night, miss?” The vendor, a kind old man, looked up and greeted me warmly. I managed a slight nod and kept walking. “Wait.” He called out, pulling the last pretzel from his warmer and carefully wrapping it in a paper bag. “Closing up. This one’s on me. You look completely worn out, dear. Have something warm.” In that moment, my eyes burned. Tears threatened to fall. A complete stranger could see my exhaustion and offer unsolicited warmth. And the man I lived with, the man who supposedly loved me? The old man pushed his cart away. “Go get some rest now, miss.” The pretzel in my hand radiated a warm, comforting heat, its smell simple and welcoming. The world settled back into a deep quiet. Liam didn't send any more messages. The surface of the sea was calm, but I knew the deep currents were treacherous. Yet, I had no energy, no desire, to wrestle with his emotions anymore. I think, I really need to rest. 3 When I reached my apartment door, the electronic deadbolt screamed a harsh “BEEP-BEEP.” I paused, then entered the code again. It flashed red. “Password incorrect. Please try again.” The cold electronic voice was jarringly clear in the late-night hallway. I pulled out my phone and tried calling Liam three times. All went straight to voicemail. The fourth call didn't even go through. The system showed my contact status as "abnormal." He blocked me! I had no choice but to use the phone location tracker he’d insisted on opening “for my protection” to find the bar he frequented. It was almost laughable. By the time I arrived, it was eleven again. I pushed open the heavy, soundproof door, and the pounding music rushed over me. I saw Liam immediately. The long-haired woman draped over his arm was familiar: Chloe, a former college acquaintance who openly pursued him. Chloe had never hidden her hostility toward me. The first time we met, she trailed Liam, looking me up and down without politeness. Liam laughed then. “This is Chloe, an old friend. She’s crashing here for a few days.” Chloe batted her eyes, then walked over, grabbed my hand, and feigned enthusiasm. “You must be his mom, right? He said he was introducing me to his family, and you look so young, Auntie!” I had dressed up and done my makeup because I knew his friends were coming. I could find no excuse for her rudeness other than deliberate cruelty. Liam roared with laughter. “My mom? No, this is Ava, my girlfriend.” Chloe put on a show of surprise, covering her mouth with her hand, her face a mask of feigned regret. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ava! It’s just that you dress so… so maturely. I honestly thought you were his elder! Heh.” I was shaking with anger, but Liam was doubled over, justifying her behavior. “Oh, you’re too cute, Chloe! Haha! You’re still young, making a mistake is normal. It’s Ava’s fault, really. I told her her features are too average, and she insists on copying those influencers. What’s that phrase… a cheap knock-off!” At twenty-five, it was the first time I’d been called “Auntie” in public. And my boyfriend couldn't see my humiliation or rage; he only laughed at the offender’s “innocent charm.” “The lady of the house is here!” Someone shouted, and the noisy booth suddenly went quiet. Liam slowly turned his head, his arm still resting on Chloe’s shoulder. He was clearly drunk, but his eyes held a clear, sober challenge. “Well, well, if it isn’t Ava the workaholic. What, you finally have time to grace us with your presence?” Chloe made a show of trying to stand, but he pulled her back, pinning her to his lap. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We didn’t do anything wrong.” His friends’ expressions varied. Some hooted and whistled, some looked down at their drinks, and a few girls openly watched my reaction. After everything, I have to say, I was past the point of being angry at this kind of pathetic drama. Last month, I got soaked in a downpour. I called Liam to pick me up. He agreed, but never showed up, finally turning his phone off. I got home, completely drenched. The "unreachable" Liam was in the living room blow-drying Chloe’s hair. She was wearing my sweatshirt. Seeing my miserable entrance, he seemed to realize what he’d promised, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. But he immediately became defensive. “Chloe couldn’t get an Uber. She’s a young girl, and she doesn’t have any friends here. I couldn’t just leave her. As for you, why couldn’t you ride with a coworker? Why are you always so dramatic?” Chloe stood up nervously, her voice a delicate purr. “Liam, is Ava going to be mad?” Liam shrugged dismissively. “She’s not that petty.” The comments went silent for a moment, then rushed back in to defend him. [The ML is right. The FMC can’t rely on the ML for everything.] [The ML is just trying to teach her how to solve problems independently. It’s understandable.] Later that night, when I tried to express my frustration in the bedroom, Liam blamed me. “Can you stop being so sensitive? Sure, Chloe has a crush on me, but I don’t like her. If anything was going to happen between us, it would have already.” “Liam,” I said, my voice flat. “Did you change the door code?” He let out an exaggerated laugh. “Of course, I did. It’s my apartment, babe. Get it straight—why should you get to walk in whenever you feel like it?” He then leaned in and whispered something to Chloe, who giggled and playfully pushed his shoulder. [FMC, get mad! The ML is waiting for you to throw a drink in the Other Woman’s face!] [The ML is trying to provoke you. Tell him you care! Give him the validation he wants!] [The little tea girl is a total snake, but what guy can resist… HAHAHAHA.] The comments were flashing like a strobe light, dictating the appropriate emotional response. I was supposed to flip the table right now. But watching Liam’s deliberately performed intimacy, I suddenly found it all tedious. The three years of our relationship felt profoundly pointless. “Fine. I understand.” I nodded and turned to leave. One of Liam’s friends followed me. “He’s had too much to drink, Ava. Don’t take it personally…” I stopped, and I heard Liam shout from behind me. “Let her go! Don’t pretend you’re above it! You’re probably tearing up inside!” “Chloe, you ever heard that saying? Swallow your tears, don’t swallow blood—internal injuries are hard to fix! Hahaha!” He sounded smug, as if he had finally won this round of the emotional game. His friend looked at me awkwardly. “He really crossed the line tonight…” “It’s okay,” I interrupted him, my voice surprisingly calm. “I’m going.” Work really did have the ability to strip away a person’s passions and emotions. All I wanted was a long, quiet sleep. If I couldn't go back to that apartment, I simply wouldn't go back. I checked into a hotel, took a long, satisfying hot shower, and ordered the expensive meal I had always denied myself: a perfectly seared steak and a glass of good Bordeaux. A half-glass of wine cut through the mental fog, clarifying everything. I realized: when you’re constantly losing, the only way to win is to walk away from the table. This time, I was not going back.
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