No Longer in Love

During a company retreat to Colmar, I found out my boyfriend was going to propose at sunset, surrounded by colleagues.

Instead, in the golden light, he dropped to one knee with a ring in hand in front of someone else.

“Lana, I’m ready to be the father of your child. Will you marry me?”

Lana, the woman Mark had loved for ten years, his unforgettable first love.

I stared at the two, watching them embrace. Then I quietly turned away, booked myself a trip three days out, and went home for an arranged date.

A year later, I ran into him again when I returned to the country. Mark’s eyes were bloodshot as he grabbed my wrist.

“Rosie, you’re finally back. Don’t leave me again…”

"Your flight will depart from Colmar in three days.

"Have a pleasant journey, Ms. Hale. Goodbye."

I’d just confirmed the flight details with the airline staff when my assistant’s voice called from behind.

“Rosie, it's time to go.”

By now, Mark was already carefully helping Lana into the car.

News about him proposing to the ex of Genovia’s most eligible bachelor had blown up online.

Everyone was swooning over the idea of his fairytale romance. Finally, after a ten-year unspoken crush, he had gotten the girl.

No one knew I was the one who had actually been dating him for the past six years.

Earlier this afternoon, I found a custom engagement ring in Mark’s pocket.

I was thrilled. I thought he remembered I wanted to be proposed to under the sunset.

Clearly, I was just fooling myself.

It turned out the ring or his love had never belonged to me.

Shortly after I left town, Mark called.

His tone was cold and commanding as he said, “In half an hour, I want chicken soup.”

Then he hung up, without giving me a chance to respond.

I was stunned for a moment.

Chicken soup would be suitable for pregnant women.

I scrolled through our chat history on WhatsApp. Three months ago, Mark started asking for all kinds of soups known for nourishing the body.

Looking back now, it hit me.

He must have already decided back then to be the stepfather of Lana's kid.

Half an hour later, I showed up at his estate with the chicken soup in hand.

The living room was full of his close buddies from the team retreat.

The moment they saw me, the room went silent.

They always saw me as Mark’s pathetic lapdog secretary, who would do anything for him. Now, they looked at me with smug curiosity, clearly waiting for a meltdown.

Mark sat with Lana, half-curled in his arms, at the head of the room.

He took the soup and said flatly, “Perfect timing.”

Then he casually nodded at the table full of shots.

“Lana can’t drink. You’ve got a good tolerance, don’t you? Drink for her.”

He didn’t even look at me. It was as if he were talking about some other irrelevant thing.

Mark