At the class reunion, my girlfriend of six years, under the influence of alcohol and spurred on by the crowd, kissed her ex. It was a brief touch, but the atmosphere at the scene grew tense, and everyone's eyes were on me. Against everyone's expectations, I showed no reaction and instead started clapping and cheering, "Another one!"

I still remember the shocked and angry look in my girlfriend Emily Smith's eyes, as if she couldn't believe what she heard, followed by a sobering fear.

"Bill Brown and I are just friends!" she hurriedly explained before I even asked.

A male classmate who had been on good terms with me whispered, "Emily, isn't that going too far? After all, Lucas White is still here!"

Bill, too drunk, was provoking me with his gaze.

The mood was oppressive, and the chattering classmates fell silent, waiting for my response.

I laughed, "The mood is set. Do you guys want to go get a room tonight?"

——

The sarcasm in my tone was clear to everyone.

Emily got angry.

"Lucas, it's just a joke. There is no need to be so sensitive, right?"

"And I've told you many times. Bill and I broke up years ago. He's only got me as a friend here. If anything was going to happen, it would have happened long ago. Can't you be more magnanimous?"

Bill also laughed, "Don't worry. Lucas isn't that petty. Right, Lucas?"

Everyone looked at Emily with complex expressions, annoyed by her lecturing me in public.

Everyone could know that she was upset by my unexpected reaction and my irrational behavior.

Even in her eyes, I saw that she was braced for an argument about this incident once we got home.

In the past, I would have confronted Emily right there, in front of everyone.

She was used to it too, responding to my nearly hysterical arguments with a very cold attitude.

A few sweet words afterwards would give me an excuse to forgive and forget.

I can't remember how many times we've fought over her relationship with her ex-boyfriend Bill.

During our worst fight, I even overturned a table at home, scattering fruits and items all over the floor.

After each argument, a long period of cold war followed.

I almost had a shadow over it. During these cold wars, it always ended with my concession. In this marathon of love, I loved too deeply, from a position too low.

From the beginning, our relationship was unequal.

Emily was too beautiful. She was the class beauty at our school, and never lacked suitors.

In our freshman year, a rather immature classmate even copied a video from the internet, arranging a huge heart made of candles below her dormitory.

He stood below her dorm, holding flowers and declaring his love through a loudspeaker, even startling the headmaster.

But such a charming woman, the goddess of my heart, ended up being the girlfriend of a nobody like me.

My friends envied me countless times behind my back, even joking that during our passionate moments, I should have Emily call out their names.

No help for it.

Emily was too popular.

This made me anxious while being with her, fearing that she might be taken away by someone else, so I tried my best to treat her well, sharing every bit of my daily life with her.

A cute stray cat, a beautifully made ice cream, exotic fruits and every interesting thing in life, I couldn't wait to tell her, but all I got in return was always just one word—"boring."

Before, I was passionate, pressing my warm face against her cold demeanor. I thought that by giving everything, humbling myself to the dust, I could touch her with that little bit of romance left.

We had gotten used to this.

"Lucas?"

After a brief silence, Emily tentatively called out my name. She might have realized that she had gone too far.

I let out an "ah" with a calm and indifferent demeanor that surprised even myself, looking at this once goddess of my heart, my lover, whom I had desperately wanted to spend my life with.

"I'll explain it to you when we get home!" Emily said.

In her eyes, this was a trivial matter.

I could hardly use it as an excuse to be angry.

I waved it off, "It's fine. I'm used to it."

Emily didn't speak to me again.

Instead, she continued to chat enthusiastically with Bill, as if I wasn't there, both of them reminiscing about old times and laughing.

In front of me, they even joked around and drank a toast.

Everyone looked at me with complex gazes, some disdainful, some schadenfreude, and some sympathetic.

I couldn't remember the last time Emily had been this enthusiastic towards me.

If they ended up getting a room tonight, I wouldn't be surprised.

To everyone, it seemed like Emily and Bill were the couple.

They always did things beyond what friends would do, though they used to restrain themselves more, perhaps flirting in conversation. They tested my limits again and again with the physical contact and the kiss fueled by the alcohol and the atmosphere until now.

"You guys have fun. I'm going home. I have work early tomorrow." I calmly picked up a cigarette and left.

Everyone looked at each other.

As I left the private room, I heard some girls discussing me, saying I couldn't take a joke.

I didn't care anymore and couldn't be bothered to argue.

I've always been an easygoing person, able to chat with anyone and able to be friends with anyone.

In the past, whenever Bill was around, I would anxiously stay until the very end. Though nothing had happened to me personally, I had seen it online. An ex crying spells doom for the current relationship!

I stepped outside the restaurant, smoking a cigarette. Feeling the satisfaction of the tobacco filling my lungs, my mood was calmer than ever before. When did it start? I was tired! Suddenly, I realized—I no longer loved Emily!

I returned to our rented apartment.

It was over four thousand a month, three bedrooms, one living room, one kitchen, decorated by me and Emily. In my eyes, this was our home, and I loved it deeply.

I numbly scrolled through TikTok, falling into a doze on the sofa.

I could sense, about two hours later, the sound of Emily entering the door. I didn't need to look. I knew she was as drunk as usual, calling out my name.

Because she was used to it. No matter how drunk she got or how late she played, she could always enjoy my attentive care when she got home.

She would see the fruit I cut for her, her favorite lemonade and the hot water for her foot bath.

To keep the foot bath water warm, I used to add water several times, to make sure she was satisfied when she got back.

But tonight, nothing was prepared, and I pretended to be asleep, not responding to her. "Lucas?" Emily called out again. Her sensitive nature could tell something was off about me tonight.

At the restaurant earlier, from the way Emily looked at me, I knew she was ready to respond.

But this time she guessed wrong. I faced her and her ex-boyfriend Bill calmly, walked out of the private room calmly, and calmly took a taxi home. The atmosphere was still.

After three or four minutes, she took off her high heels and lay down on another sofa to sleep. Without everything prepared by me, she'd rather sleep on the sofa.

The next morning, when Emily woke up, I was already sitting on the sofa, preparing for today's meeting report.

Like last night, there was no loving breakfast, no essential sunny-side-up eggs (she liked them half-cooked), and no poured milk.

"Are you awake?"

"Last night, I drank too much. Bill drove me back. It's good there was no DUI checkpoint."

"Otherwise, you might not see me until the end of the year."

Emily joked awkwardly.

In her words, she was blaming me for leaving her alone in the restaurant last night.

It wasn't that she cared about me. I couldn't feel it. It was that I didn't provide her with the princess-like treatment she was accustomed to.

"Oh, tell Bill not to drive after drinking next time."

I stood up, tying my tie proficiently.

Suddenly, I remembered, it had been seven years, only in the beginning when Emily and I started dating, she tied my tie a few times. For the next six or seven years, I did it myself.

I'm not petty, nor do I care about these little details.

I just think that a woman tying a tie for me shows she cares.

"Bill got dumped. He told me last night. Tonight, he's planning to invite me for dinner, have a drink and spend some time with him."

"He said he has few friends in this city. Besides me, he couldn't think of anyone else."

Emily told me, rubbing her forehead.

Her hangover was severe. If my reaction last night surprised her, then this morning, I shocked her. I nodded, "Okay, come back early." Then I walked out the door. "Aren't you going to stop me?" A somewhat angry voice called out from behind me.

As I turned, I saw Emily standing in the living room, her face full of astonishment...

That evening, I worked overtime at the office. At six o'clock sharp, I received a photo from Emily. It was a picture of her with Bill in a restaurant. I was surprised. She had never dared to tell me about these encounters before. It was always after much probing that she would reluctantly confess everything.

I was on the verge of madness, especially during the worst period when I developed anxiety. Only sleeping pills could help me sleep at night. Hearing the name Bill would make my heart tremble, and uncontrollable cold sweats would break out. I felt like Bill was my nemesis and my devil.

But this time, I had never felt such calm, almost as if I was looking at a regular friend having dinner with her friend. "Alright, I'm working overtime now."

No more messages came from the other side. In the photo, Bill looked haggard. He might really have broken up, but this fleeting internal turmoil lasted only a few minutes before I refocused on my work.

I realized that I no longer cared about Emily. I didn't care about her mood, whether she had eaten or slept well, where she was, who she was chatting with, what they were talking about, whether she had added any new suitors on Twitter, whether Bill had contacted her, what should I prepare for dinner tonight, what dessert to buy, and what beer, beverages, or fruits to put in the fridge?

My god! I realized that I had been spending my days on these meaningless issues.

That night, Emily did not come home.

In the past, I would have gone crazy, called her phone non-stop and asked her friends. If I couldn't find her, I would have called the police and spent a sleepless night.

Once, she didn't come home all night, and I was like an ant on a hot pan.

It felt like a TikTok trend a while back, where someone offered a reward to help find his girlfriend's hotel.

I called the police.

They found her at her friend's house.

When we returned home, we had a fierce argument, and in my frustration, I overturned a table she had insisted on buying for over eight thousand dollars.

That cold war lasted half a month.

I was the one who apologized first.

At that time, she looked at me indifferently, "This time you flipped the table. Next time will your fist be on my body?"

I knelt on the floor, swearing over and over again.

I loved her to the marrow. I would go crazy without her. I slapped my own face repeatedly. I desperately explained. I said for you, I would jump off a building. I would never lay a finger on you.

Back then, I was terrifying. Because of this, Emily confessed that she had thought about leaving me several times. She said I loved her too much, that I was not mentally right. She was afraid I might kill her. I faced it with a bitter smile. Yes, I was really stupid. We are all adults. Who needs to see this drama? It never happened again.

That night, Emily didn't come home. I didn't call her and I didn't report to the police. I just washed up, played with my phone, and slept, a long-missed sleep. It was very solid and very peaceful without those torturous thoughts or the anxiety of closeness. Even my sexual energy towards women was gone. I realized how tiring my past life had been.

The next day we went to work as usual. We met around eight in the morning. Emily took the initiative to explain, "Last night I drank too much with Bill. I slept at my friend Cindy Miller's house." Cindy and Bill were close for a while in college. They both stayed in this city afterward, and Cindy had introduced Bill to rent a house in the same neighborhood. So Cindy and Bill lived in the same complex. I nodded, "Oh, got it.'' Then there was silence. It lasted three or four minutes, a deathly silence. Emily nodded, "Hmm!'' At some point, we had nothing to say to each other.

Just leaving the neighborhood, I received a Twitter message from Bill. It was a photo. In the photo, Emily was lying on a bed. From the angle of the photo, Emily and Bill had slept together!