Chris and I used a CoupleStreak app to track our relationship. For 999 consecutive days, he sent me a “Goodnight” message every single day. He said it was our special ritual. Even when we fought, even when he went on business trips, and even when he didn’t finish his client dinners until three in the morning, he never missed a single day. Until last night, when the streak stopped at day 999. The app gave a cold notification: Your streak has been broken. Thinking something terrible had happened to him, I called him 108 times. When he finally picked up on the 108th call, his voice was raspy and exhausted. “Stop pressuring me, Chloe. I’m still at the hospital. Grace is having an episode.” Grace was his ex-girlfriend. She had gotten divorced just two weeks ago. I gripped my phone tightly, my heart sinking inch by inch. “So you forgot to say goodnight to me?” Chris paused, as if he had just realized it, and let out a soft, dismissive chuckle. “We’ve been together forever, babe. Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over something so petty?” But this “petty” thing was something he had built with his own hands when he was chasing me. He once told me that “goodnight” wasn’t just a word; it was his way of making sure I was the very last thought in his mind before he went to sleep. I stared at the broken number on my screen. Suddenly, I felt like our two and a half years together weren’t that long after all. It was long enough for him to form a habit, but short enough for him to completely forget about me the moment another woman needed him.
The harsh beep of the hung-up call cut through the freezing night wind. I stood outside the iron gates of Chris’s suburban mansion, dragging my heavy suitcase. The fingerprint lock on the front door flashed red, and a cold, robotic voice spoke. “Access expired. Please contact the homeowner.” I leaned against the icy iron bars, my stomach cramping violently from the ten-hour bus ride. Peeking out from the zipper of my backpack was a pink card. “Wishing Chloe a bright future and a happy marriage.” My school principal, Mr. Hudson, had personally handed that to me yesterday afternoon. Because Chris had told me to “stop worrying about petty things,” I had resigned from my tenured teaching job. On this exact day—our 1000th anniversary—I had completely abandoned my stable, quiet life to come to this unfamiliar city alone. This was supposed to be our first day ending our long-distance relationship. I crouched in the corner of the wall to block the wind, pressing my hands hard against my aching stomach. The physical pain dragged my memories back to two years ago. Back then, I was facing severe bullying at my workplace, and my anxiety was so bad that I couldn’t keep food down. But Chris would drive hours every single weekend, without fail, just to see me. He would cook my favorite pasta, sit in my tiny, cramped apartment, and gently coax me to take one bite at a time. He had promised me. “Chloe, as long as I’m here, you will never have to face the cold winter alone.” That was my saving grace, the very foundation of my courage to risk everything today. But now, the man who once used his own body heat to warm my hands had completely forgotten about me in this freezing wind, all because another woman was in a bad mood. At 5:00 AM, a familiar black Mercedes finally pulled into the driveway. The headlights pierced through the thick darkness. My stiff body struggled as I forced myself to stand up against the wall. My frozen facial muscles twitched, trying to force a smile I hadn’t used in hours. The passenger door opened first, and Chris rushed over. He leaned down and gently lifted Grace—who was lost in a deep depressive state—out of the car. Grace was incredibly thin, wrapped tightly in a thick, oversized cashmere coat. The hem of the coat dragged on the ground. It was Chris’s favorite coat. In past winters, whenever I came to visit him, he loved to unzip that very coat, pull me into his chest, and laughingly tell me it was my personal windproof tent. Now, someone else was in that tent. Chris lowered his voice, whispering sweet, comforting words into Grace’s ear. His entire focus was on the woman in his arms. He didn’t even spare a glance toward the shadow where I stood. It wasn’t until Grace half-opened her eyes and pointed toward the gate that Chris finally turned around. When he saw me, shivering and practically frozen solid, a flash of pure shock crossed his face. After settling Grace down, he slowly walked over to me. Across the iron gate, his voice was still that beautiful, gentle tone that I used to lose myself in. “Chloe? Why did you come all this way without telling me?” “You should have called first.” “Grace had a complete mental breakdown last night and had to take sleeping pills. She can’t handle any sudden shocks right now.” “Be a good girl.” “Keep your voice down, okay? Let’s get inside first.” He reached out, trying to grab my heavy backpack. When his fingers brushed against my icy hand, he froze for a split second. I looked at the deep concern in his eyes—all of which was reserved for Grace—and realized with absolute clarity. In this movie of three people, I had become the unwanted extra who was expected to be quiet and understanding. I pulled my hand back, avoiding his touch, and picked up the two heavy bags myself. “Okay. I won’t wake her.” I stepped into the house I once thought would be my home. Chris took Grace upstairs to the master bedroom. It was a long time before he finally came downstairs and poured me a glass of warm water. “I knew I could count on you to be reasonable, Chloe.” I held the warm glass, my eyes landing on his collar. There was a smudge of foundation on his shirt. It wasn’t my shade.
The next morning, I woke up in the guest room. After freezing outside all night, my throat was raw and painful. I got up early, habitually walking to the kitchen to make Chris’s favorite pancakes. As I passed the hallway on the second floor, I noticed the master bedroom door was ajar. Chris and Grace were sitting side-by-side on the wool rug by the balcony. Grace was clutching her head, her body trembling uncontrollably. Chris had his arm wrapped around her, gently rubbing her back. I stood there, silent. I quietly went back to the guest room and pulled out a card I had written on the bus last night. Happy 1000 Days, Dr. Blair! I’m finally here to be with you. The handwriting was bursting with the excitement I felt at the time. But now, I tore it into pieces and threw it into the trash can. At breakfast, Chris brought two plates out from the kitchen. With my throat burning, I instinctively reached for the plate with the light, clear chicken noodle soup. But Chris gently pressed his hand over mine, his eyes soft but firm. “Chloe, I made that specifically for Grace.” “Her stomach is really sensitive from her antidepressant medication. She can’t handle anything greasy.” He pushed the other plate, loaded with greasy bacon, toward me. “You used to love bacon. I went out of my way to order this delivery for you.” I stared at the plate of bacon dripping with oil. Just swallowing my own saliva felt like swallowing razor blades. My voice came out raspy and broken. “My stomach hurts too. I can’t eat greasy food today.” The moment those words left my mouth, Grace’s eyes welled up with tears. The fork slipped from her hand, clattering onto the table, and she began to shake. “I’m sorry…” “It’s all my fault. I’m even fighting you for a bowl of soup.” “I’m so useless. I should just die…” She covered her face and sobbed. Chris immediately rushed to her side, pulling her into his chest to comfort her. Once Grace’s breathing finally calmed down, Chris turned to look at me, letting out a heavy sigh. “Chloe, you’ve always loved greasy food.” “She has lost everything. She’s literally fighting for her life every day.” “You have a stable, great job, and you have my undivided love.” “Why do you have to pick a fight with a sick person over a simple bowl of soup?” With the gentlest tone, he ripped open my deepest wound. He had no idea that I didn’t have a stable job anymore. By noon, I developed a low-grade fever, and my throat was so swollen I could barely speak. Chris’s private dental clinic was located in the commercial district just outside our neighborhood. I decided to walk over to get some anti-inflammatory medicine from him. When I reached the clinic, I looked through the glass storefront. Chris was lying on the recliner next to the dental chair. He was holding Grace’s hand while the nurse administered a calming therapy session for her. Two receptionists at the front desk were whispering to each other. “Dr. Blair is so sweet to her.” “He canceled all of his afternoon appointments just to stay with her during therapy.” I stood in the drizzling rain, took a two-hour bus ride, and went to the run-down North End of the city—a place filled with sketchy, cheap apartments. I walked into a dingy little pharmacy, bought the cheapest fever reducers, and swallowed them with a bottle of water while standing in the cold wind. As the medicine started to kick in, I searched through the narrow alleys for an apartment, repeatedly checking the balance in my bank account. To be with Chris, I hadn’t just quit my job; I had spent almost all of my savings paying off the school’s contract termination penalty. Finally, I stopped in front of a dim, semi-basement apartment. The walls were peeling, and the place smelled heavily of mold. I told myself that this was where I would plant my new roots in a city that didn’t belong to me. I sat on a plastic chair in the rental office and signed the lease for the semi-basement. When I looked up, I saw a job posting tacked on the bulletin board. At that exact moment, the phone in my pocket vibrated. It was a voice note from Chris. “Chloe, I’m taking you out for French food tonight to celebrate our 1000 days.”
I put on my best white dress, applied some light makeup, and went to the dinner on time. It was a Michelin-starred French restaurant with an incredible view, overlooking the city’s sparkling skyline. Chris had booked half the restaurant, and a beautifully wrapped, expensive gift sat in the center of the table. He smiled, pulling out the chair for me. “I know you took your vacation days just to come see me for our 1000-day anniversary.” “I’m sorry I ignored you these past few days. Tonight is just for the two of us.” He elegantly picked up his knife and fork, cutting my steak into perfect, bite-sized pieces. His eyes were filled with so much love that even the violinist playing nearby looked at us with envy. This genuine affection was the hardest thing for me to fight against. It was a slow, blunt knife. Just as I picked up my fork, trying to accept his words as a final comfort, his phone rang. The moment he saw the caller ID, the smile vanished from his face. The panicked voice of Grace’s psychiatrist came through the speaker, so loud that even I could hear it. “Miss Grace just slit her wrists! She’s in the emergency room right now! Dr. Blair, you need to get here immediately!” The cutlery slipped from Chris’s hands, clattering loudly against the plate. His face turned deathly pale. He stood up instantly, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair. He looked at me with guilt, but his eyes were filled with absolute determination. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. Her life is on the line. I have to go.” “Take an Uber back to the mansion. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” Before I could even speak, he had already stormed out of the restaurant. I sat quietly in the luxurious dining room, staring at the perfectly cut steak, and suddenly felt a wave of pure absurdity. If love only consists of “making things up to me,” how is that any different from charity? I didn’t go back to the mansion. In this city, twelve hundred miles away from my hometown, Chris only had to change the door code, and I would be homeless. The rain outside grew heavier, and not a single light in this massive city belonged to me. I tried calling Chris to tell him that my stomach was cramping so badly I couldn’t walk. He declined my call instantly, sending a cold text right after: I’m outside the ICU right now. It’s not convenient to talk. Be a good girl and go back home to teach your classes. Once I sort things out here, I’ll fly back to see you. I stared at the screen as a wave of acid surged up my throat. I crouched under the bus stop shelter, completely soaked by the pouring rain. That was the moment I finally understood. In his mind, he believed I always had a safe, cozy home to retreat to. Because of that, he assumed I would always be safe. And because of that, he felt entirely comfortable hurting me. In the middle of the night, I went back to the mansion. The house was dark and completely empty. Grace’s antidepressant bottles were still sitting right in the middle of the coffee table. I walked into the guest room and quietly packed my suitcase. I packed my clothes and the lesson plans I had left in the study. I cleaned up the room thoroughly, making sure not even a single strand of my hair was left in the bathroom. I never belonged to this house anyway. I came without a sound, and I left without a trace. Before leaving, I pushed open the master bedroom door and took one last look at the bed we used to share. I pulled a piece of paper from my bag. It was the copy of my resignation letter. I had planned to give it to him tonight, on our 1000th anniversary. I wanted to tell him: “Chris, for you, I have become a wanderer in this city.” But now, I slowly tore the paper into tiny shreds, walked to the bathroom, and flushed them down the toilet. He would never deserve to know this secret. The front door clicked shut. I dragged my suitcase out into the late autumn rain. At that moment, my phone lit up with a message from Chris: She’s out of danger. Take care of yourself at home. Don’t make me worry.
An hour before I left, there was actually a small confrontation. Just as I dragged my heavy bags to the foyer, the front door swung open. Chris had rushed back to grab some of Grace’s things, and we ran straight into each other. Seeing my bags on the floor, Chris pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, though his voice remained gentle. “Chloe, didn’t we agree you would stop throwing tantrums?” “You’re a high school teacher. Can’t you be a little more mature?” “Grace is literally lying in the ICU, and you’re choosing this exact moment to play the runaway girlfriend?” Grace’s nanny, who was following behind him to grab her pajamas, gave me a contemptuous look. Chris stepped forward, placing his hand on my suitcase to stop me. “Fine. I know you still have a few days left of your vacation.” “You’re going back home, right?” “I’ll book you a first-class flight for tomorrow. Just stay at a hotel tonight, okay?” “Grace can’t handle any stress when she gets discharged, so she has to stay here for a while.” “Go back to your quiet little town, teach your classes, and once she’s fully recovered, I’ll come get you.” He took it for granted that Grace could occupy his house, and he took it for granted that he could discard me back to what he assumed was my safety zone. He was so certain that I couldn’t leave my job, so certain that I couldn’t survive in this massive city, that I would eventually crawl back to my comfort zone. I looked at the face of the man I had loved for three years, and the very last spark in my heart died out. I didn’t argue. I didn’t explain. I had no home left to go back to. In front of Chris, I pulled out my phone. I opened the CoupleStreak app that had witnessed our 1000 days. “Chris Blair,” I called him by his full name. “Thank you for taking care of me these past three years.” “But from now on, we don’t need to keep our streak anymore.” Under Chris’s shocked gaze, I decisively tapped “Delete and Terminate Relationship.” The app let out a cold chime: Relationship terminated. All records have been cleared. Chris’s face went completely pale, but he still thought this was just a high-level tantrum. “Are you crazy?” “A thousand days of memories, and you just deleted them like that?” “Do you really have to push me like this right now?” I gently pulled my hand out of his grip. There was no hatred in my eyes, only the complete indifference you’d show a stranger. “I’m not pushing you. I’m letting myself go.” “Grace needs you more. Take good care of her.” With that, I turned around, opened the door, and walked out. I slammed the heavy security door shut behind me, leaving it all in the cold autumn wind. Three hours later, at a run-down local community center in the far north of the city, I stood in my cheap sneakers with my hair tied back in a simple ponytail. I signed my employment contract with the community outreach program. My daily job would be walking through the alleys, handling trivial neighborhood issues. But the moment I wrote down my new address on the tax forms, I let out a long, deep sigh of relief. From that moment on, in this crowded metropolis of twenty million people, there was one less codependent girlfriend, and one more ordinary working woman named Chloe. And Chris was officially locked away in the grave of my past. During lunch break, I sat at the entrance of the alley, eating a warm bowl of street pasta. At the exact same time, Chris stared at the missing app on his phone, letting out a cold scoff as he muttered to himself: “Fine. Delete it. Let’s see how long she can hold out.”
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