“Laura’s not doing well,” he said casually. “I’m going to stay with her for a few days. Call me if you need anything.”
He never looked at me. Not once.
Not even when my face was pale with fever and my limbs barely strong enough to hold me upright.
Not even when I stood there, silent and hollow, watching the man I had once chased for years leave without a backward glance.
He opened the door and was gone.
I stayed home for the next two days, letting my body mend while my heart continued to splinter in silence.
When my strength returned, I didn’t waste time.
I opened my laptop, wrote my resignation letter, and stared at it for a long time before hitting print.
Friday morning, I walked into the office where I’d worked for the past four years and handed it in.
My supervisor glanced at the letter and then up at me, brow furrowed in gentle concern.
“Is this about salary? Or work hours?”
I shook my head. “No… I’m going home.”
She hesitated. “So… long-distance, then? You and your boyfriend?”
I accepted the HR paperwork, the exit packet, the formalities.
And I gave her a faint smile.
“No. We’re breaking up. I’m going home to get married.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. Behind her, a junior packmate from marketing dropped her pen.
I walked out without looking back.
Four years of effort. Four years of loyalty. All left behind in a single morning.