“We’re done!” I dumped Julian the second he got back from Geneva. “Just because I didn’t get you that vintage watch?” He scoffed, his handsome face saying he didn’t really care. “Yes.” I didn’t even blink. My fiancé, Julian, took his investment team to Geneva for a business trip last week. When he was back, everyone got a gift. He even brought the receptionist a bottle of expensive champagne. Everyone, except me. He completely forgot about me. It should have been my birthday present. The one I kept talking about for two full months — a vintage Cartier watch. His new assistant, Chloe, posted a selfie on Instagram, bragging about her fancy gift. In the photo, she was wearing a brand-new watch from the exact same brand that I wanted. Her caption below: “Best boss in the world! Tysm! Love you always! #BestBossEver” Below, Julian’s comment was brief: “No big deal.” I stared at that post for a long time, then I deleted the text already typed out: “Can’t wait to have you home”. Julian and I met at age seven. We fell in love at eighteen. Twenty years of my life, wrapped up in this man. Once, he put me above everything else. But later, I became the one he cared about least. Take now for example, I’m seriously talking about breaking up with him, but he’s just looking at his phone. It’s a lunch invitation from Chloe. He smirks, sounding annoyed but trying to play it off: “Alright, Ava, stop it.” “What’s the big deal? It’s just a watch. I promise I’ll get you one next time.” “I’m having lunch with Chloe today. Just take a cab and go home.” He adjusts his suit cuffs, hurrying away. I don’t want to stop him at all. Instead, I reply to the email from that haute couture studio in Paris — an offer they’d sent me seven times. “I accept your offer. Flying out soon. See you in Paris.” After sending the email, I slide the engagement ring off my finger, placing it inside his study drawer. Julian, from now on, we go our separate ways. Take care. … “Ava, did you really break up with him?” The moment I step out of Julian’s company, my best friend Sophie calls. “Yeah, I did.” “You guys have been together for nine years! And all because he forgot a gift for you?” I stand still on the sidewalk, watching the endless flow of New York traffic. “It’s not just about the watch.” Before Julian left for Geneva, I specifically reminded him that it’s the perfect place for vintage watches. He swore he’d look for it. In the end, he got limited-edition cigars for his banking partners, and the latest Cartier for his assistant. Yet for me, he returned with nothing. “Sorry, Ava, the schedule was all packed. It just slipped my mind.” “Next time I’ll definitely make it up to you.” In the three months since our engagement, he has forgotten my requests seventeen times. The first time, I had a high fever from a severe flu. I asked him to bring some Tylenol after work. He said yes. But when he got home, he reeked of booze. “A super important client called for a last-minute meeting. Sorry about your meds. I completely forgot.” I didn’t lose my temper. After tucking him into bed that night, I wrapped myself in a blanket and went down to the pharmacy myself. The second time, my personal design studio just landed a massive order. I was working my ass off, so I asked him to drop off some food at the studio. He said yes. I waited until eleven that night. My stomach was killing me, but he never showed up. When I got home, he was already out of the shower, watching Bloomberg in bed. “Sorry, I forgot. It’s just been a long day.” I looked at him, totally speechless. Then came the third time, the eighth, And finally, the seventeenth…
Again and again, I convinced myself that he was just too busy. I got so used to it, preparing myself for him to “forget” every single time. Until one day, by pure coincidence, Chloe’s account popped up in my Instagram recommendations. Her account was entirely filled with her daily life with Julian: “#BestBossEver” On March 21st: “Literally just told my boss I couldn’t sleep from stress. Walked in today to find a luxury sleep care package waiting at my desk.” “Feeling the lucky girl vibes.” On April 7th, she posted a photo from a Michelin-starred restaurant. “Randomly mentioned to my boss last week that I wanted to try this place… And he actually brought me over today! So happy!” “Such a charming, wealthy boss — who could resist?” April 7th, the exact same day I asked Julian to drop off some food for me at the studio. And then, there was today. Julian finally returned from Geneva. Chloe bragged about the watch from him on IG. “Best boss in the world! Thx! Love you always! #BestBossEver” Below it, Julian’s comment: “No big deal.” That watch was from the exact same brand that I wanted. However, for me, Julian had a schedule that was “all packed.” For her, it was “no big deal.” “Sophie, I’ve already made up my mind about this relationship. Don’t talk me out of it,” I say to her on the other end of the line. She falls silent, letting out a sigh. “So, you didn’t tell him about going to Paris either?” “Not yet,” I say, “I’ll talk to him tonight.”
At night, in my study, I’m having a video conference with my future colleagues in Paris. It’s a haute couture bridal studio located on Avenue Montaigne. For Julian, I declined six offers out of the seven they’ve sent me. Now, the seventh time. I say yes. “Everything at the New York studio is wrapped up. I can get on the plane in two days.” “Wonderful, Ava!” Arthur, the founder of the studio, says in pleasant surprise. “Your talents definitely deserve a much bigger stage. When you get here, I will personally show you around Paris.” “What about Paris?” Julian’s voice suddenly cuts in. I turn around, realizing he is already back at our apartment on the Upper East Side. “Back so early tonight?” It’s only eight o’clock. For the last three months, he usually stayed out much later with Chloe or some clients. Julian is caught off guard by the question. He freezes for a second. “What do you mean by that?” He doesn’t press further, brushing past me in a hurry, rummaging through the drawer for two concert tickets. He explains casually: “Chloe bought me lunch at noon. So tonight, I’m taking her to Carnegie Hall for a concert. Just returning the favor. That’s all.” Right after, he quickly adds, as if I cared: “Don’t overthink it.” I simply nod, my gaze falling on those two tickets. They are dated yesterday. This wasn’t some last-minute whim. They had this planned all along. But I’m not calling him out. After all, I’m about to leave him forever. He can go with whoever he wants. That’s none of my business. It’s just that… my eyes still sting for reasons I refuse to admit. “Julian, do you still remember what day today is?”
He frowns. “What day? Another anniversary? Give me a break, will you?” “I gotta go.” He turns to leave without hesitation. “Julian!” I stop him, forcing a faint smile. “On your way back, get me a piece of cake, okay? Lady M’s matcha crepe.” He pauses, seemingly remembering something, then his expression softens. “Okay.” “When you get back, I have to tell you something. It’s important.” “Got it.” The door clicks shut. I sit back down in front of my laptop. “Sorry about that, let’s continue…” Julian completely forgot — today is my 27th birthday. Two months ago, he asked me what I wanted for present. I only mentioned two of my wishes. First, I wanted him to help me find that vintage watch I’d been dying for. Second, I invited him to a concert. The watch? He didn’t buy it. The concert? He’s taking someone else. In the end, even my birthday is gone in his brain. But it doesn’t matter. After tonight, I’m heading to Paris. We’ll never see each other again.
That night, Julian didn’t come back right after the concert. I fell asleep on the sofa in the study. In my dream, I see the seven-year-old Julian again. He holds a small tree branch in front of me, trembling at a vicious stray dog. Although he’s afraid, he shouts out loud: “Don’t be scared, Ava, “I’ll protect you!” I also see him at eighteen, by the lake in Central Park, his face flushing as he stammers to me: “Ava, will… will you be my girlfriend? I swear I’ll always put you first!” I keep my head down, blushing: “Yes, I believe you.” At twenty-five, he proposed to me. At twenty-seven, we got engaged. And today, three months after the engagement, I waited for him on the sofa to discuss our breakup. He kept me waiting for so long that I fell asleep. In the middle of the night, the vibration of my phone wakes me up. It’s a text message from Julian. “It’s not safe for Chloe to take a cab alone this late, so I’m taking her home first. Don’t wait up for me, just go to sleep.” I reply. “What about my cake? You forgot again?” My finger hovers over the “send” button for a long time. In the end, I delete it, letter by letter. I reply with one simple word. “OK.” Then I lock my screen, roll over, and go back to sleep. That night, I cry so much my arm gets soaked and goes completely numb. The next morning, I find myself waking up in the bedroom. After a brief moment of confusion, I walk out. There’s a smell of coffee in the air. Julian is in the kitchen. On the dining table sits an exquisite cake box. “Awake now, sleepyhead?” He glances at me sideways, continuing to make the coffee. “Fell asleep on the sofa last night? I had to carry you into the bedroom. You really need to lose some weight, you know?” He complains, but a smile plays on his lips, as if nothing bad ever happened between us, as if we are still that inseparable couple. For a second, I’m in a daze. I walk to the table to open the cake box, my voice softening unconsciously: “I just fell asleep waiting for you. Is this cake from last night? Why isn’t it in the fridge…” “Don’t touch it!”
Julian snaps, slapping my hand away so hard the back of it instantly turns red. “Hey, that’s for Chloe. She said she wanted some cake last night, so I went to that trendy bakery first thing this morning and waited in line for this.” He points to the fridge. “Your breakfast is inside.” I open the fridge. A single bottle of strawberry milk sits alone on the shelf. Strawberry milk? When I was eighteen, Julian gave me a bottle of expired strawberry milk. I got severe food poisoning, vomiting and diarrhea non-stop. I could only lie in the hospital bed for three days. Since then, strawberry milk has been sort of my trauma. Julian was terrified back then. In the hospital, he held my hands tightly, crying his eyes out. He swore he’d never let anything strawberry-flavored near me again. Now, he even forgets about that too. I grip the fridge door, spacing out for a moment. I shut it. Julian stands to the side, frowning. “You don’t want it? Chloe recommended that brand. Said it’s amazing.” “I’m allergic to strawberry, don’t you remember?” “Since when?” “Eighteen. Because of you.” Julian’s brows knit for a second, then loosen up as if it’s nothing. “I forgot.” “I know.”
The tension in the room instantly drops to freezing. Julian opens his mouth to say something, but his eyes suddenly drop to my bare finger. His face darkens at once. “Where’s your ring? Why aren’t you wearing our engagement ring?” He fires off the questions, his tone demanding. I raise my hand, about to answer, when his phone rings. Chloe’s bubbly voice comes through the speaker: “Julian, did you get my cake?” “It better be my favorite salted caramel chocolate!” “I’m almost at the office! It better be there, or I’m gonna be so mad at you!” The stern look on Julian’s face instantly melts into a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.” He grabs the cake off the table, drops a quick “We’ll talk tonight,” and hurries out the door. The whole thing takes less than ten seconds. If he had stayed for just ten more seconds, I would have told him. I’m leaving. My flight is tonight. I let out a bitter smile, pull my hair up, and start packing my bags. Halfway through, Julian sends a text. [Wait for me at home tonight. We seriously need to talk.] [When?] I ask. [Around eight. I’ll drop Chloe off first.] My fingertips hover over the screen for a moment, then I type a single word. [Okay.]
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