I finally got a cab.

Watching the city’s neon lights blur past, I suddenly realized that I’d become numb to Nadia.

The biggest fights between me and Cole were always about her.

But lately, it’d been calm for months.

I didn’t know when it started, but I stopped minding Nadia’s presence.

Like today, I could calmly accept Cole’s sudden departure.

Even seeing that social media post didn’t stir much emotion.

Is this what moving on feels like?

I picked up my phone and sent a message to Cole.

[I don’t want to be sensible anymore. Cole, let’s break up.]

He didn’t reply by the time I got off the cab.

I scoffed to myself.

Of course, with Nadia by his side, he wouldn’t have the bandwidth to respond to me.

Back home, as I put down my bag, the gift box fell out.

It was a DVD.

Inside was a video of Cole promising to marry me in ten years.

Today was also our ten-year anniversary.

I tossed the DVD into the trash.

An ungiven gift holds no meaning.

Looking around, this so-called “home” barely had any trace of me.

We bought this apartment the year before last.

Back then, Cole’s studio was still small, strapped for cash.

The decor was as minimal as possible.

But Cole, ever the designer, still handed me a bunch of blueprints, demanding design flair.

But he was already exhausted from work.

I had no choice but to take over the decorating.

Following his designs, while trying not to go over budget, I ran around to save money.

I visited several furniture stores to find a sofa discounted by 2,000 bucks.

Wherever possible, I bought furniture and decorations online, or did it myself.

After half a year, the apartment was finally ready.

On the day we moved in, Cole invited Nadia over for dinner.

I was happy because it meant inviting Nadia over for dinner at the home Cole and I shared.

I was the host; she was the guest.

But what I didn’t expect was Nadia’s first comment upon entering:

“Cole, this cabinet’s design is all wrong. I’ve seen the original designer’s work. The height of your cabinet is clearly incorrect. Why would you use such a cabinet? It’s so tacky.”

I was flustered, looking at the storage cabinet that took me two days to assemble.

Indeed, it was bought online.

Many were of the same design; I didn’t realize it was a knockoff.

Cole took Nadia’s bag and said, “Her taste is lacking; it’s normal for her decorations to be tacky.”

Yes, my aesthetic sense was no match for Nadia, who had won design awards.

All I knew was that this taller cabinet made it easier for Cole, who often suffered from back pain, to store things.

Later, that cabinet was moved to a corner. Covered in dust.

Like me, staying in Cole’s house, forever relegated to a corner, dusty and forgotten.

After packing, I realized I only had a suitcase’s worth of clothes, even less than when I moved out after college graduation.

Checking my phone, I saw it was already past midnight.

Cole still hadn’t returned.

No messages either.

It dawned on me that what I thought was a shared journey with Cole was really just me going it alone.

He didn’t care at all.

That was not what he wanted, either.

Dragging my suitcase downstairs to catch a cab, I realized I had nowhere to go.

Hesitating whether to go back up, I suddenly saw Cole.

He wasn’t alone, was he?

The dim lights in the neighborhood were faint, but I could see two figures entering the elevator.

At this hour, it had to be Nadia.

Checking my phone again, sure enough, Cole had replied, “I’m tired. I don’t want to argue today.”

That was it.

Just those two sentences.

Any thought of staying another night vanished.