After Eight Years of Dating, I Ran Away From Marriage

My boyfriend, Vito Sims, and I had been together for eight years. Three days before our wedding, I stumbled upon something that shattered our relationship—I found thousands of photos of another woman on his computer. In that exact moment, I booked a plane ticket to leave the country, dated for our wedding day.

The wedding went smoothly, though; Vito played his role so well it was as if nothing had happened. When he discovered I was missing from the party, he went crazy looking for me.

——

“Mr. Greer, I was wondering if that overseas training position we talked about is still available. I’ve made up my mind—I’m ready to take it.” My boss, Damon Greer, sounded pleased with my decision.

“That’s great. I’ll submit your information now. But didn’t you say you were getting married? Don’t you need time for a honeymoon?”

“Don’t worry about it. The wedding’s off.” There was a slight tremor in my voice, and I hung up quickly before he could notice the emotions I was trying to bury.

My eyes drifted back to the computer screen, staring blankly at the thousands of photos of that woman.

After we graduated, Vito and I both started working at the same company, though we ended up in different departments. Tonight, he was out with friends, celebrating his bachelor party, and he’d turned off his phone.

His boss called him repeatedly, asking for an important document—a proposal for their new project. When he couldn’t reach Vito, he called me. That was the moment when everything fell apart. As I searched through his computer for the document, I stumbled upon something I never expected: those pictures. Thousands of photos of another woman, her smile captured in every frame.

Memories from the past rushed back, overwhelming me. We had been together for eight years, and yet not a single photo of me was on his phone. Not one picture to show we had a life together. There was no proof of our relationship.

Every time I cried and asked him about it, he would say we saw each other every day, so there was no need to save pictures for memories. But now, staring at those photos, it finally hit me. It wasn’t that he didn’t think keeping photos was important—I just wasn’t important to him.

For eight years, I had made excuses for his indifference. Now, standing there, I realized how foolish I’d been, holding onto something that had never really existed.

Another memory flashed in my mind—something one of his friends had let slip when they found out we were getting married: “I thought you’d stay single for Lula. Are you really going to get married? You’re not just doing this out of spite, right?” He chuckled then.

At the time, I hadn’t noticed the panicked look in Vito’s eyes. He patted his chest and confidently replied, “No, we’re doing this for love.”

Now, those words rang hollow, and I no longer had the confidence to believe them. Taking a deep breath, I closed the computer.

I opened my phone, intending to tell Vito that I wanted to break up, but then I noticed he hadn’t even replied to my message from the day before about choosing my wedding dress.

I clicked into his social media page, and my heart sank. His profile was a black void—no posts, nothing but a single word beneath his profile picture: [Waiting.]

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I collapsed onto the couch. All this time, I had thought Vito’s quiet nature meant he was just bad at expressing himself; now I realized how naive I’d been.

I had asked him countless times about the meaning of that word written in his Instagram bio, but he had never answered. But now, I knew what it meant.

Three days left until our stripped-down wedding. I had set the countdown as my phone’s wallpaper, a constant reminder of the clock ticking down.

As I watched the seconds tick away on the screen, I rubbed my tired eyes, fighting back the overwhelming exhaustion. Just as I was about to book my flight, Vito’s friend called.

“Constance, Vito’s drunk. Can you come pick him up? I’ll send you the address.”

In the background, I could hear a familiar voice. It was hoarse, definitely from the alcohol. He mumbled and shouted at some point, “Lula, I love you!”

My heart tightened. The person on the phone hurriedly closed the speaker, and I heard the muffled sound before they hung up.

I shook my head, trying to push away the emotions I shouldn’t have, quickly changed, and walked to the door. Leaning against the shoe cabinet to put my shoes on, I noticed it: the couple’s keychain I had chosen so carefully sat on the cabinet. That part was Vito’s.

I had gone to a cute souvenir shop that took custom design orders. I picked the design carefully, making sure it matched our personalities and represented our relationship. He had called it childish, so he never wanted to use it.

Angrily, I picked up the keychain and tossed it in the trash. Then my eyes fell on the couple’s mugs beneath the coffee table, still sealed in their box, untouched. It was as if they were mocking me, witnesses to my one-sided fantasy. Annoyance and frustration surged inside me. I took off my shoes, stormed back in, grabbed the trash can, and threw away all the couple’s items we owned.

Once I was done, I hailed a cab to the address his friend had sent.

When I reached the designated room, laughter and conversation spilled from inside.

“By the way, Lula, what’s the deal with your homecoming? Did you hear Vito’s getting married and decide to change your mind? Still got feelings for him?” someone teased, and the room erupted in laughter.

I took a deep breath, forced a smile onto my face, and pushed the door open. As I walked in, all eyes were on me; the laughter instantly died, replaced by awkward silence. And there he was, the man I was supposed to marry in three days, lying comfortably in the arms of another woman—a woman whose face I had just seen in the thousands of photos on his computer.