[Leon, let's break up.]

After sending the message, tears welled up in my eyes. The words of the taxi driver echoed in my mind and a sudden wave of longing for my parents washed over me. I opened my chat with my mom; the last message from her was just a few days ago. She'd brought up, once again, the childhood engagement my grandfather had arranged:

[Emily, why not give it a try? You and Leon have been together for seven years with no progress. I just feel he lacks a sense of responsibility. Go meet Ollie. He's grown up to be quite the young man…]

I switched back to my chat with Leon, the message I'd sent to him still unanswered. A hollow feeling crept in—I knew he likely wouldn't respond. With a sigh, I returned to my mom's chat and finally replied:

[Okay, Mom, I'll meet him.]

Almost instantly, my phone lit up with an incoming call from her.

"Emily! You've finally come around! But, there's a small hitch—Ollie just left the country to help his family with business. You'll have to wait…"

When I didn't answer, her tone softened. "Emily… did you and Leon break up?"

I took a deep breath, wiped my tears and steadied my voice. "Yes."

The silence on her end felt like a held breath, then came her sigh of relief.

"Oh, Emily. I've watched you put your all into that relationship. Seven years and he still hasn't proposed. Sweetheart, don't be sad. If you're tired, come home for a few days…"

We talked for a while, her gentle words offering a comfort I hadn't realized I needed. And oddly, hearing about Ollie's unavailability felt like an added weight lifted from my shoulders. After ending the call, I realized how hungry I was; the day's turmoil had left me drained. I headed to the kitchen, boiled some noodles and sat at the dining table, picking at them absently.

My mind drifted to Leon and the way he used to scold me playfully, "Emily, you're always terrible at taking care of yourself when I'm not around." Back then, those words had felt warm, caring. He'd prepare meals for me to eat while he was away and I'd believed in that small act as proof of his love. But sitting there alone, the memory seemed distant and blurred, like something that happened in a different lifetime.

As I scrolled through my phone, my fingers paused over Leon's contact. The unanswered message stared back at me. Maybe I needed closure—maybe, just this once, I needed to call him and hear his voice.

With a shaky hand, I dialed Leon's number. The phone rang twice before a woman answered.

"Hello?" Her voice was soft but unfamiliar, tinged with casual warmth. "Are you looking for Leon? He's in the shower right now. You can tell me if you need something…"

In the background, I heard Leon's voice, distant but clear enough, "Babe, no phones at this hour…"

I froze, feeling as though the world had stopped spinning. My hand trembled, my breath caught in my throat. I didn't wait to hear anything more. I hung up, my hand clenching the phone so hard it hurt. The sadness I'd been holding back burst forth, mingling with raw disbelief and anger.

For a few moments, I stood there in a daze, my mind struggling to process what I'd just heard. Then, almost without thinking, I began tearing through the apartment. Every photo, every reminder of our years together, I smashed or threw across the room. The picture frames shattered against the walls, glass scattering around me, but I didn't care. I was done being careful, done holding onto memories that now felt meaningless.

Finally, I stopped, breathing hard, standing amid the remnants of our past. It was like the pieces on the floor matched what I felt inside—broken, scattered, irreparable. I looked around the apartment, realizing that staying here, surrounded by these reminders, would only suffocate me.

With a newfound sense of purpose, I went to the closet, pulled out the dusty suitcase I hadn't used in years and began packing.

I had barely bought anything for myself over the years, so the few belongings I owned fit easily into my old, worn-out suitcase. As I reached into the closet for the last of my clothes, the apartment door swung open. A thick wave of alcohol hit me before I even saw him.

"Emily, did you just call me?" Leon's voice slurred, loud and intrusive. He stumbled in, his unsteady figure filling the doorway. His eyes were glassy and he reeked of booze and cheap perfume. He forced a grin, one that was both apologetic and taunting. "Don't get the wrong idea—she's just some girl from the bar. Nothing happened between us… well, you know, nothing serious, at least."

Leon's gaze drifted around the room before settling on me. His expression was muddled, a mix of confusion and amusement, as if he couldn't quite understand why I was packing. He took a step toward me, stumbling and the closer he came, the stronger that other woman's perfume clung to him. My stomach lurched, a wave of nausea hitting me at the sickening blend of scents.

I took a step back, the muscles in my body tensing. Leon noticed, his eyes narrowing, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, are you afraid, Emily?" he sneered. "Afraid I'll leave you? Don't worry, as long as you stop nagging me about marriage, we can keep things just fine. Why get married? It's such a hassle."

He reached out, his hand grabbing my shoulder, squeezing just a bit too tightly as he leaned in close, his breath hot against my cheek. "Come on," he whispered, his voice thick with condescension. "Admit it—you've come to your senses, haven't you?"

I could feel his grip tightening as he tried to pull me closer, his body pressing against mine. Panic surged through me and I twisted, managing to slip free. My hand swung up of its own accord, connecting with his cheek in a resounding slap.

The impact startled him, his head snapping to the side. He stumbled back, his eyes wide in shock, before anger replaced his surprise. He steadied himself, rubbing his cheek, then laughed bitterly. "Emily," he said, his voice a venomous whisper. "Don't you dare. I'm giving you a way out here—don't be ungrateful."

The word "ungrateful" hung in the air and in that instant, something snapped inside me. I raised my hand and slapped him again, this time across his other cheek. My palm stung, but the satisfaction was worth it. "No, Leon, you're the ungrateful one. Keep your so-called ‘way out' for yourself. We're over."

For a moment, Leon stared at me, bewildered, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to decipher if I was serious. But his smirk soon returned, twisting his features into something ugly, bitter. "Oh, so you're serious this time? Playing the same game again, huh, Emily?"

I didn't respond. My heart felt as if it were tearing apart, but I didn't let it show. I turned away, feeling a strange sense of release and walked out, leaving him standing in the mess of shattered memories and broken frames.

The night air outside was cold, sharp against my face and I inhaled deeply, savoring the bite of it. But sadness still lingered, a heavy ache in my chest that no amount of fresh air could ease.

I didn't want to hear Leon's voice calling after me or any more of his cruel words, so I hurried down the stairs with my suitcase in hand. My foot, still sore from the glass shard, made each step painful, but I kept going.

Halfway down, my balance faltered. I slipped, landing hard on the stairs and my suitcase tumbled out of my grasp, rolling down the steps and scattering my belongings everywhere.

The hall was dimly lit, the quiet pressing in around me as I sat there, pain radiating from my foot and elbow. My clothes and a few personal items were strewn along the stairwell. I looked around, feeling a prickling behind my eyes. This was rock bottom—I couldn't sink any lower. I braced myself against the railing, attempting to stand, wincing as pain shot through my ankle.

Just then, a gentle voice called from behind me, soft and unfamiliar.

"Emily, do you need help?"