Chapter 4
On the table sat the candle Eric and I had bought to save electricity. Its weak flame flickered as cold air slipped through the door crack.
I lowered my eyes. "Eric, let's get married."
In my memory, he had always said those words to me first. When I finally said them, his first reaction was panic.
He forced a smile. "Anne, what's going on?"
I didn't answer.
The clock hands cut through the silence like nails. Time dragged on, and his eyes held a complexity I couldn't read.
After a long moment, he let out a sigh. "Alright. Once you're better, we'll talk about marriage. Don't overthink it. I'm just afraid I can't give you the life you deserve."
Minutes later, he seemed like a completely different person. In a daze, I glimpsed the boy who had once shared his hopes for the future with me.
I nodded, but the joy I expected never came. Something dark weighed on my chest, refusing to lift.
"Eric, this is your last chance," I thought—but he still walked away.
The woman's miserable sobs echoed, and Eric flustered so badly that he forgot to lower the volume on his phone.
He pulled on his coat and stepped outside.
"Don't be afraid. Lock the door. I'll be there soon," he said gently.
The old wooden door creaked, then everything went quiet. I found myself tapping on Susan's channel labelled "Sue's Love Diary".
As I expected, there was a new post.
"You can play sick all you want, but sorry, you just ran straight into my line of fire."
Minutes later, a short video followed.
The screen was dark, but I could hear Eric's restrained voice clearly.
"Little liar, do you know how worried I was when I heard you broke your leg?"
Susan's sweet, teasing laugh followed. "Eric, are you really going to leave?"
Then came the sounds of running water from the bathroom, mixed with thuds and gasps.
I lost count of how many times I replayed that one-minute video.
By the time dawn broke, Eric finally remembered me and sent me a message.
"Anne, a coworker had an emergency. I need to help him for a few days."
I called him, and he picked up instantly.
I asked, "Are you really with your coworker?"
He let out a chuckle. "Sorry, Anne. I left in a hurry. I didn't mean to make you worry."
I asked one last time, "Where are you really?"
He repeated the same excuse.
I hung up, and he never called again.
Around the same time, Sue's Love Diary posted an update.
"My sugar daddy was relentless. He didn't stop all night, and even a ringing phone couldn't break his focus."
If this had happened before, I would have lost my mind. I would have barged in, demanded answers, thrown things, and screamed at Eric for an explanation.
But for some reason, I was completely exhausted.
As I packed my belongings, I threw away every object that held memories. I had expected five years to leave me with countless things, but not a single box was full.
I spent the last of my money on a random flight to an unknown destination. While waiting at the airport, I made my private account—where I had chronicled my life—public.
It had begun as a space for simple daily love notes, but now it was over, and nothing would ever be the same. I didn't say a single word and only tagged Sue's Love Diary in my post.
"Eric, if loving someone is this hard, then from today on, we will never see each other again."
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