Too Late For Your Proposal

Bridget, after I gave him an ultimatum. "If you go, we're over," I had war

e and Bridget's taunting Instagram posts sent m

posts-pictures of them looking like a happy couple, with captions mock

eak; it turned to ice. The years of begging for his affe

ng his favorite dinner, I ha

ing to the moving boxes that

ng he was going to propose. But it was t

pte

ie

a picture of the bracelet I had always wanted, the one I' d pointed out in every w

it to be ready," the message rea

t like it used to. It just

ss of it. He' d casually tacked o

to our relationship, a constant, irritating buzz in the b

ter always had to exert that extra bit of control. "

ubtedly led to these texts disconnected. Not a goodbye. Not a conf

tape replacing the usual lingering aroma of his cologne. His belongings, meticulously sorted and neatly folded, filled

Did you forget?" I typed, attaching a ph

e infuriating, self-assured s

arely used shaving cream, into a smaller box. Each movement was deliberate, unhurried.

n on the lights. The apartment, once filled with the warmth of shared laughter and the occasional heated

urst of lighthearted chatter, two voices, one deep and resonan

too loud, a little too close. "Oh, Ca

acy of two people who knew each other's body language, who had shared countless private jokes. I stood s

pping with an exaggerated affection that made my stomach churn. "Your po

the crack in the door. I could almost picture her, leaning against him, her

my heart flutter, now just a dull pang of r

my unwavering presence. It was the same tone he used when he expect

air thick with anticipatio

e apartment, a question laced with impatie

g glow of the overhead light. Carter stood framed in the doorway, a slight frown on

xes to the empty spaces where his possessions used to

ef. He gestured wildly at the boxes, as if they had materiali

ng silently by the kitchen counter, my face devoid o

the room, his eyes blazing. "I told you I was coming

en. He yanked open the refrigerator door, peering inside with an almost th

ng around to face me. "There's nothi

h a manufactured sympathy. "Oh, Carter, honey, calm down. Maybe Ellie just had a long day. She probably forgot." She turned to me, her voice sweet as poison.

allenge at me. Carter shifted uncomfortably, his anger

d clarity settling over me. The perfo

dinner, Carter, because we broke up." I pointed to the b

s used to. I reached out, my fingers brushing against the top box, a symbolic