My girlfriend of ten years, Evelyn, was everyone’s idea of perfect. Beautiful, capable, successful – her only flaw? She loved tearing me down. If I got second place instead of first, she’d tell me I wasn’t “smart enough.” When I finally earned some money from my writing, she’d dismiss my work as “worthless garbage.” Later, at the suit shop, when Evelyn criticized my posture, saying I didn’t look like a groom in the suit, I finally snapped. For the first time, I yelled at her: “If you think I’m not good enough, then don’t marry me!” At the suit shop, when I walked out of the fitting room, even strangers nearby couldn’t help but steal glances. The sales associate smiled. “You have a great build. This suit looks really sharp on you.” “Go show your fiancée! She’ll definitely love it.” I forced a smile. “Not necessarily. Her standards are pretty sky-high.” After all, for over ten years, Evelyn had always had high expectations for me, never once praising me. But today, looking at myself in the mirror—broad shoulders, long legs, a lean build—this dark suit suited me perfectly. I thought, Evelyn should be pleased, right? Would she praise me? Would she think I looked handsome? Would she gaze at me with admiration, like the other fiancées in the store looked at their partners? With that hopeful expectation, I nervously reached for Evelyn’s wrist. The next moment, however, my hopes were mercilessly crushed. Evelyn turned, scanning me up and down. Her first words were: “Leo, your shoulders are too slouched.” My smile froze on my face. Even the sales associate looked a bit flustered. “Your back isn’t straight, your posture is terrible, your presence is timid. You look completely uninspired in that.” Evelyn sighed. “Leo, in that suit, you really don’t look like a groom at all.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was just enough for everyone in the store to hear. All sorts of eyes landed on me: pitying, mocking, or just plain entertained. In that moment, I felt like nothing more than an item being scrutinized by Evelyn, not a person. My eyes burned. My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. I’d hit the gym every day and done posture exercises, just like Evelyn wanted, all to look more distinguished at the wedding. Why did she still have to say such things to me? Maybe days of accumulated stress had left me emotionally fragile, or maybe the feeling of dashed hopes was just unbearable. Either way, after ten years, I couldn’t take it anymore. I ripped off my tie. For the first time, I yelled at her: “Evelyn, if you think I’m not good enough, then don’t marry me!” “Yes, I don’t look like a groom, so this wedding? It’s off!” As Evelyn stared, stunned, I took a deep breath and finally said the words that had echoed in my mind countless times: “Evelyn, let’s break up.”
My emotions still hadn’t calmed down by the time my friend, Alex, came to pick me up. After I posted the news of the canceled wedding on social media, everyone started asking what happened. Most people said things like: “Leo, are you and Evelyn just having a misunderstanding?” “She’s such a great woman; you’ll never find anyone like her again.” Even my mom sided with Evelyn. “Evelyn told me about what happened. It’s just a small thing, no need to dwell on it.” And Evelyn herself just texted me three words: “Stop messing around.” I gripped my phone, a wave of helplessness spreading through me. No one understood. After all, in everyone’s eyes, Evelyn was the perfect girlfriend. Beautiful, capable, earned good money, and had been with me for ten years without ever cheating. If she had any fault, it was that she loved putting me down. We grew up together. She was the “golden child,” excelling at everything, always better than me. But fate is fair. While it gave her talent, it also gave her a difficult family background. Her mom passed away young, and her dad was a workaholic who barely paid attention to her, only giving her a second glance when she won an award. And her dad was traditional and old-fashioned, always saying it was “a shame she was a girl.” Because of this, Evelyn was exceptionally driven. While the other neighborhood kids were still playing in the dirt, Evelyn was already participating in math competitions and winning awards. Her difficult upbringing shaped Evelyn into someone strong-willed and demanding. But only with me did she reveal her critical side. If I got second place instead of first, she’d tap my head and tell me I “wasn’t smart enough,” pointing at my mistakes and scolding me, “How could you get something so simple wrong?” If I only won a bronze medal in a competition, she, who always won gold, would be deeply disappointed, coldly criticizing me and calling me a “blockhead.” My mom’s favorite saying was, “Look at Evelyn, she’s so brilliant. She always gets first place and wins awards left and right.” You could say I grew up in Evelyn’s shadow. I hated how she always made me feel worthless, and I hated my mom constantly comparing me to her. Yet, in our early romantic years, everyone called Evelyn and me a classic “opposites attract” couple. They said the way Evelyn treated me was her way of showing affection. Even when Evelyn confessed her feelings, she said, “Leo, if I didn’t like you, would I be so hard on you?” It was the first time she’d ever spoken to me so gently. Her young face softened, and her eyes sparkled with a smile. The cheers and teasing around us were constant, and I was too caught up to notice the little knot of discomfort in my stomach. And just like that, I kind of stumbled into a relationship with Evelyn. That “stumble” lasted ten years.
Alex was my best friend from college and the only one who supported my breakup. Once in college, Evelyn asked me to study with her at the library. Getting up at 7 AM on a weekend was no easy feat. Even though I rushed as fast as I could, I was still two minutes late. Evelyn stood there, arms crossed, a frown on her face. “Leo, why do you have no sense of time at all?” “Are you going to be late meeting clients when you start working? What if it’s a multi-million dollar deal?” My first instinct was to apologize, but Alex pulled me behind him. “Getting up early on a weekend to study with you is against human nature, Evelyn. Leo’s already doing great just showing up.” “And he was only two minutes late. Do you really need to make such a big deal out of it?” From then on, Evelyn and Alex’s relationship went downhill. Alex loved praising me, offering a kind of validation I’d never received in over twenty years of my life. That’s why I loved spending time with him. Evelyn just scoffed. “He praises you only to make you arrogant, so you can’t see your flaws.” “Humility leads to self-reflection. Telling you your shortcomings directly, *that’s* what’s really good for you!” Talking about Alex always made Evelyn frown. It was her sign of irritation. Every time she made that face, I knew I was in for a lecture. I wanted to tell her Alex wasn’t like that. But an unbidden fear spread through me, freezing me in place. I was afraid of Evelyn’s anger, afraid of her criticism. When Alex heard about it, he just clapped me hard on the shoulder. “Leo, someone used to being put down finds it really hard to break free.” “Just take your time.” So today, when he heard I’d finally decided to break up with Evelyn, Alex was especially happy. He threw an arm around my shoulders, grinning. “Congrats, Leo, free from misery!” Alex took me to his place and let me stay in his guest room for a while. He led me into the room. “Leo, do you like the room? I decorated it just for you!” Looking at all sorts of sneakers and basketball-themed pillows, I felt a little dazed. How long had it been since I’d seen things like this, ever since I moved in with Evelyn? Evelyn was a minimalist. When it came to my sneaker collection, she’d just scoff, mocking, “Leo, your taste is so childish and ridiculous.” Thinking about it, my eyes started to burn again, and I couldn’t speak for a long time. If Evelyn was an insidious nightmare in my life, then Alex was probably heaven’s way of making it up to me.
I went to our shared apartment to pack up my things. I didn’t expect Evelyn to already be back. She sat on the couch, lazily lifting her eyelids. “Had you thrown your tantrum, and were you back?” I tried my best to keep my voice from trembling. “I’m not throwing a tantrum, Evelyn. I was serious about breaking up. I’m here to pack my things.” Unexpectedly, Evelyn didn’t say a word, just watched me with a smirk. I swallowed down the discomfort churning in my gut and started packing. I didn’t have many things, really. Only a few items truly belonged to me. Most of it, Evelyn bought for me after I moved in. When we first started living together, she saw my mouthwash cup and towel with cartoon characters on them and frowned. “Leo, your stuff is so childish and ugly.” The next day, she replaced everything. I tried to reason with her, but she said dismissively, “Your things were tacky and not sophisticated enough, so I changed them.” That was the first time I wanted to break up. But my mom convinced me, “If she likes you, just let her do what she wants. You’ve been together for so many years; you can’t break up over something so small.” That time, I compromised. It took a long time for me to realize that it wasn’t a small thing at all. Anything that makes you uncomfortable shouldn’t be dismissed as “small.” The only part of that apartment I felt any attachment to was my writing nook. Just a desk, a lamp, and a computer, yet it was where countless stories were born. I’d loved writing since I was a kid, but Evelyn always called it “a waste of time,” so I put that hobby on hold for a while. It wasn’t until college, when I had more time, that I started writing again. Evelyn was my first reader. I was so excited, hoping she’d praise my work, but after reading it, she just coldly said, “What you write is total nonsense, utterly worthless. Leo, you have no talent for writing. Give up.” But I guess I truly loved writing. For the first time, I didn’t listen to her. I kept writing, and I actually made a name for myself. When I got my first royalty check, I proudly showed off to Evelyn. “I actually got paid for my writing! A full three hundred bucks!” I wanted to prove to her that people *did* read my stuff, that I wasn’t as bad as she said. But she scanned it quickly, then immediately declared, “Worthless garbage.” She looked down on me, her eyes barely hiding her scorn. “There are just a lot of kind people out there. They probably tipped you to encourage a newbie.” “You actually think you’re a good writer?” Her every word was a blade, bursting the bubble of hope in my heart, leaving behind a festering, oozing wound. After that, no matter how much money I made from writing, I never told Evelyn again. I took a deep breath, about to close my laptop, when I noticed it was already on. I opened the screen, and my drafts on the desktop were all gone! That was hundreds of pages of drafts. Every word had been carefully chosen; the effort and passion poured into them were undeniable. I checked the trash bin, then looked through Word’s revision history. Nothing. Nothing. They were all gone! Only one person would do something like that. Evelyn’s voice suddenly came from behind me. She leaned against the doorframe, her gaze dark and knowing: “I deleted them for you. See, this useless stuff has just made you arrogant. You didn’t actually think that with this worthless trash, you could just leave me and live on your own, did you?”
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