Three years of long distance with my boyfriend, and every time we met up for a meal,

he'd instinctively arrange the plates just right and find the perfect angle for a photo.

When we went out shopping, he'd snap pictures of the streets, the storefronts, the scenery. But I was never in a single frame.

I teased him once.

“Chester Henson, who are you so eager to send all those pictures to?”

His throat bobbed before he laughed it off：

“Don't overthink it. I'm just documenting my life.”

I believed him. And because I wanted to be part of his life, wanted just one more chance to see him,

I worked overtime for a solid month, finally scraped together enough days off, and flew across the country to surprise him.

Only to stumble on him strolling through town with another girl.

Chester was carrying her shopping bags like a gentleman, every last one of them, his smile wide and easy.

I thought of the times I'd asked him to hold mine. He'd always brush me off with that flat tone.

“Izzy, women these days are supposed to be independent. Carry your own bags.”

He'd waited in line for an hour with this girl to get into some trendy restaurant.

He mixed her dipping sauce himself and set her chopsticks out for her.

And this time, his phone stayed perfectly still in his pocket the entire meal. He never took it out once.

So that was it. All that "documenting his life" had just been taking photos to send to her.

Something inside me went quiet. All of it, every bit of trying, suddenly felt pointless.

This love. I didn't want it anymore.

……

After the girl left, Chester finally noticed me standing off to the side.

The moment he saw me, he froze. A flicker of guilt crossed his face.

“Izzy, what are you doing here? You should've told me you were coming.”

I pushed my suitcase toward him. “I was trying to surprise you.”

He didn't take it. Instead he grabbed my hand.

“Next time give me a heads-up. I'll call you an Uber.”

I murmured back, “Okay.”

When Chester had said goodbye to that girl just minutes ago, he'd offered to drive her home himself.

But for me, it was "I'll call you an Uber."

Then again, he'd probably never cared about me to begin with.

Chester could never remember my cycle.

Last time I visited, I was curled up on the couch with cramps so bad I couldn't eat a thing.

He'd walked through the door and said：“There's a new restaurant down the street. Let's go check it out.”

When I told him I had cramps and asked him to pick up some warm ginger tea, all he gave me was:

“Why do you always feel sick at the worst time?”

Yet just now, he'd known that girl's cycle down to the day, reminding her she shouldn't have anything iced.

In the car, I watched the trees slide backward past the window. Neither of us spoke.

I'd flown three thousand miles to see him, and he couldn't manage half a sentence of concern.

The text I'd sent last night：【I have a surprise for you tomorrow.】

All it got back was：【Oh.】

My chest ached. I opened my phone in silence.

The photos of the cloud layers I'd taken from the plane window,

the ones I'd been saving to share with him, I selected all and deleted every one.

The car finally stopped at a red light, and I made myself ask the first real question of the night：

“Chester, do you even love me at all?”

Silence. A long silence. No answer came.

I looked up to find him typing away on his phone, completely absorbed.

A bitter laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it.

Even when we were alone together, he couldn't spare me a scrap of his attention.

He glanced up a beat too late, voice absent. ：“Sorry, what'd you say?”

I shook my head. ：“Nothing. Keep your eyes on the road.”

At the hotel, I set the homemade cookies I'd brought him on the table.

He'd mentioned once, offhand, that they were good. I'd remembered it for months, tracked them down specially.

He didn't even glance at them. He just picked up his phone, snapped a photo of the packaging,

shoved the bag aside, and fired off a message.

It finally clicked. He'd never liked those cookies.

She did. And because she liked them, so did he.

He disappeared into the shower. On the nightstand, his phone screen lit up.

I told myself not to look. I looked anyway.

Her name was Lily Dotson. A new hire in his department.

Their chat history was endless, dense, tender in a way that made my throat close.

They looked far more like a couple in love than we ever had.

With Lily, Chester was a completely different person. He couldn't stop talking.

He could spend hours with her going from topic to topic, culture to geography,

one tangent spiraling into the next, from late at night straight through to dawn.

He'd order her a boba tea at the same time every day. He'd send her movie recommendations every week without being asked.

He'd stay on the phone with her for three, four hours, even falling asleep on the line with her.

Then I opened my own phone. Our chat history,

nothing but the same plain dinner photo, day after day, without a single word attached.

I'd once sent him the exact same dinner photo every night for a week straight.

He never noticed.

So Chester wasn't incapable of tenderness.

He wasn't someone who didn't know how to love, wasn't cold by nature.

All that warmth, all that patience, all that devotion,

it had simply never been mine.

I let out a slow breath and dialed my boss.

“Mr. Gilbert, is the overseas transfer still available? I've changed my mind.”

A pause on the other end. Then, carefully：

“Isabel Lyons, are you sure about this? Once you transfer, seeing your boyfriend will be even harder.”

“I'm sure.”

“Well, if it's real love, distance and time shouldn't matter.”

I didn't correct him. I just hung up quietly.

Chester and I were already over.

I had just hung up the phone when Chester walked out of the bathroom, freshly showered.

He grabbed the hair dryer without looking at me and asked casually：

“What were you saying just now? Something about a transfer?”

I looked him in the eye and steeled myself to speak：

“Chester, I……”

The roar of the hair dryer cut through the air, swallowing my words whole.

It was always like this.

In his world, there was only ever Lily and himself.

He couldn't spare me even the few seconds it took to hear me out.

When the noise finally died, he spoke in that lazy, unhurried tone of his：

“Izzy, I have to work overtime tonight.”

“I booked you a spot at a craft café. Go hang out there for a while, and I'll pick you up later.”

I stared at him in disbelief, biting my lip.

“I flew three thousand miles to be with you, and you're telling me you have to work?”

His brow creased, impatience bleeding into every syllable：

“It's just tonight. I'll spend the whole day with you tomorrow. What's the rush?”

Ice spread through my chest.

What's the rush?

I'd gotten off the plane, transferred through three connecting trains, forced myself to stay awake every mile of the way,

poured everything I had into making this rare reunion happen,

and all I got in return was a dismissive what's the rush.

A bitter laugh slipped out of me. “I want to go home.”

His expression darkened instantly, his voice turning cold：

“Isabel, what are you trying to pull now?”

“You show up without a word of warning and want to leave before the day's even over. Do you think I'm not exhausted too?”

My eyes burned as I fired back：

“Exhausted from what, Chester? You spent the entire day with Lily and I didn't hear you complaining then.”

His face changed. He locked his gaze on me, hard and unblinking.

“Isabel. You went through my phone.”

I held his stare.

“I didn't need to. I saw you with her this afternoon when I got here.”

“You were laughing like I haven't seen you laugh in years. Tell me, did my showing up ruin your little world with Lily?”

He hurled his towel to the floor.

“Enough. She and I are coworkers. That's it.”

“Coworkers grab a meal together. It's normal. Can you stop being so paranoid?”

Watching him lose his composure, a sour ache spread through me.

So this was what he looked like when he actually cared about someone.

“Coworkers grab a meal, and that explains the hour-long phone calls every single night?”

“Chester, every photo I sent you of flowers, of sunsets, you never even opened them. Not once.”

“But the second Lily mentions a new shop nearby, you've already mapped out the route and scouted the best angles for her photos.”

“That's just coworkers?”

Maybe my pain was too obvious to ignore, because something flickered in Chester's eyes, something close to regret.

He stepped forward and lifted his hand, reaching for me.

For one split second it felt like the beginning again, back when he wasn't like this with me.

But the scent of unfamiliar perfume drifted from his collar, and I turned my face away.

“Let's break up, Chester.”

His whole body went rigid. He stared at me, frozen.

Then a knock came from the other side of the door, followed by a sugary female voice.

“Chester! Weren't we supposed to go to the concert venue? Where are you?”

So that was his overtime.

The moment he heard her voice, Chester transformed into a different person entirely.

He went straight to the door and opened it for Lily.

She tumbled into his arms the second it swung open, clinging to him with a whine：

“This is your fault for not picking up my video call! I had to walk here in the dark and it was so scary!”

“Was it that clingy ex-girlfriend of yours bothering you again?”

Only then did she look up and see me. Panic flashed across her face, and she scrambled to backpedal：

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I was just joking around with Chester. We're always messing with each other like that……”

Before I could say a word, Chester stepped forward and pulled Lily behind him, shielding her.

“She's my subordinate. We're close, so we joke around. She didn't mean anything by it.”

“She already apologized. Are you really going to stand there glaring and drag this out?”

Close. Used to it.

How laughable.

We'd been together five years. Three of them long-distance.

Every time I tried to be playful with him, to be affectionate, all I ever got was impatience and distance：

“Izzy, you're a grown woman. Stop being so childish.”

So how close did someone have to be before he'd call it a habit?

I didn't know. And I didn't want to know anymore.

I looked at the two of them, standing together, shielding each other, and my voice came out cold：

“Then keep at it. I'm done.”

I was about to turn and leave when Lily grabbed my wrist, holding on tight.

Her eyes rimmed red, her voice pitching into a tearful whimper：

“I'm so sorry, Isabel. I didn't mean to intrude on you two, I really didn't.”

“Chester is just so amazing, and you're never around. I only wanted to look after him for you.”

“We never crossed any lines. When I was feeling low, he just used his hands to help me relax, that's all.”

Her words made my stomach turn. I wrenched my hand free.

But she threw herself backward, dramatic as ever, and crumpled to the floor.

Chester's face went ice-cold. He pointed at me and tore into me：

“Isabel, enough! Do you have to blow everything out of proportion?”

“Lily already begged you to stop, and you still won't let it go. Do you have to destroy everything before you're satisfied?”

“If you hadn't insisted on playing career woman, would we even be here right now?”

His words nailed me to the floor. I never imagined Chester would say something like that.

When I was eighteen, my father was caught having an affair with a man. My mother and I walked in on it.

He felt no shame. He locked us both in a pitch-black basement.

“Keeping you locked up works just fine.”

“Neither of you can earn a dime. You'd die out there without me anyway.”

Ten days and ten nights.

My mother died in that basement. I shattered completely.

It was Chester who pulled me out of that hell.

“Izzy, I understand what you've been through. For the rest of my life, I won't let anyone hurt you again.”

What happened to my mother was the reason I never trusted anyone again, the reason I threw myself into building a career of my own.

The Chester from back then had supported every choice I made, no questions asked.

And now he was calling it an act.

His face blurred behind my tears until I could barely make out his shape.

It was the first time I had cried in years.

Something like panic flickered in Chester's eyes. He moved toward me on instinct, reaching out.

That was when Lily let out a shrill scream：

“Chester! My leg hurts so bad, I think I broke something!”

His gaze snapped to her instantly. He scooped her up and rushed out toward the hospital,

leaving me alone in the hotel room.

Mom, this is what happens when you put your life in someone else's hands.

I wiped my face dry and started packing.

Then my phone lit up with a string of texts.

【Isabel, with a man as wonderful as Chester, how could you stand being so far away?】

【He's so attentive with me. Always right by my side, never leaving for a second.】

【Really, thank you for training him to be so sweet and gentle. Too bad I'm the one who gets to keep him now.】

She attached a photo of Chester slumped over the edge of a hospital bed, asleep from exhaustion.

The image hit me somewhere deep, and a memory surfaced. Right after my mother died, when I lay in a hospital bed with nothing left inside me,

Chester had looked exactly like that. I remembered the steady beep of the monitors,

how I believed it would always be this way. It seemed Chester had never changed at all.

The only thing that changed was who he loved.