Love will fade away

Seven years of dating, and Amelia hadn't sent me so much as a single daisy. Then, on my 30th birthday, 9,999 roses and a box of condoms arrived, courtesy of her.

I was ecstatic, naturally. Posted it all over Instagram. Then her "assistant," Noah, commented, "Some people are only good enough for my trash."

Turns out, Amelia had bought Noah a condo. Directly below the one we were supposed to move into after the wedding. The flowers, the whole shebang, was meant for him.

I drove the roses over to Noah's place, figuring I’d get some answers. Walked right in on a candlelit dinner. Amelia went ballistic. "How dare you accuse me of something so disgusting! Noah and I were just discussing work." Then, the classic, "If there was anything going on, do you think I’d be marrying you?"

In the past, I would've pressed her, begged for an explanation. But something snapped. I tossed the roses and my engagement ring at her feet. "Be happy," I said, and walked out.

1.

The ring rolled to a stop by Amelia’s designer heels. She sneered, grinding it into the carpet, crushing my dignity and seven years of misplaced love. "If you want to marry me," she spat, "you need to get over your jealous streak. Now leave. Noah and I have things to discuss. Go home and think about how you’ve behaved."

I’d heard it all before. But this time, it felt…different. Calm washed over me as I left.

Back in my car, I texted the family group chat. Told everyone I was calling off the wedding. Amelia, who never replied to my texts, immediately sent a photo of her laptop screen. "Just working late with my assistant," she wrote. Then, her practiced deflection: "Jason, you're just upset I wouldn't buy you that ridiculous $100,000 sports car for our wedding. And I never said anything about you maxing out my credit card at that bar with your… friend."

The chat exploded. My mom, predictably, launched into a tirade about how I was lucky to have Amelia and I should apologize immediately. Threatened to die if I messed this up. I sighed and left the group.

My parents’ divorce had turned my mom into a volatile mess. I grew up walking on eggshells, which probably explains why Amelia’s initial sweetness had been so alluring. Seven years in, though, I saw the truth. Her patience and tenderness? Reserved for Noah. Her polite charm? For strangers. For me? Just endless cold shoulders and cutting remarks. She’d goad me into losing my temper in public, then play the understanding victim, “forgiving” me while everyone else thought I was a lunatic.

But not this time. Only those clinging to hope fight and scream. My heart, long withered, was beyond caring.

Amelia returned hours later, clutching a few wilted roses. I was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through my phone. "Why isn't dinner ready?" she demanded. "Still sulking? Get over it." She tossed the pathetic bouquet at me. "You always wanted me to buy you flowers. There you go. Now stop being difficult."

I used to envy couples strolling hand-in-hand...