I went back to the house where we'd lived for seven years to pack up everything that was mine.
Seven years of waking up and falling asleep side by side, and yet, gathered piece by piece, all of my belongings fit into a single suitcase.
I opened a voice message to tell Winston that I'd left the keys on the cabinet by the entryway.
His reply came fast. The same familiar little "2" lit up the screen.
I tugged at the corner of my mouth. He clearly hadn't bothered to listen to the voice note.
He'd just assumed, out of habit, that I was throwing another fit, pressing him about where he was, demanding to know why he still wasn't home.
So without a second thought, he'd fired back a careless "2," telling me he was with Michelle, that he wouldn't be home tonight, that I should stop asking why.
I didn't bother with his message anymore. The moment I shut the door behind me, a new post popped up on my feed. Michelle had just posted it.
The photo was two silhouettes leaning close into each other.
My chest swelled tight, the pressure choking off my breath until I couldn't get out a single word.
I left my suitcase at a friend's place. I'd barely gotten settled when another message from Michelle lit up my phone.
It was a prenatal report. Eleven weeks pregnant.
I stared at that black-and-white slip, and the last string inside me snapped clean through.
Eleven weeks. That put it right at the night Winston had proposed to me.
Before he ever decided to get engaged to Michelle, I'd kept lying to myself, telling myself he was just soft-hearted, just couldn't bear to hurt her, just looking after Michelle the way you'd look after a little sister.
Time after time I forgave him. Time after time I made room for him, believing that if I held on just a little longer, the clouds would part and I'd finally see the moon.
But the two of them had probably crossed that line long ago, drawing closer with every choice they made.
The truth was, two years ago, I'd carried a child of Winston's too.
I'd been five months along by then, ready to go straight down to the courthouse and marry him.
But back then I'd used that baby as a threat, telling him that if he ever abandoned me for Michelle again, I'd end the pregnancy and end everything.
It was almost as if heaven had heard that vow.
So when Winston dropped me on the side of the road for Michelle once more, leaving me to stand in the rain for two hours and walk all the way home, I lost our five-month-old baby.
And the wedding we'd planned, with the baby gone, lost every reason to happen.
I stared at the prenatal report for a long time. In the end, I deleted Michelle from WhatsApp.
All these days, Winston had thought I was just sulking.
He hadn't said a single word to me since. He probably didn't even know I was about to fly overseas, leaving him for good.
The day I left, I announced the breakup straight into both families' group chat, attaching his and Michelle's engagement invitation alongside it.
The family group chat hadn't even reacted yet when Winston's call flashed across my screen.
The cabin chimed with the boarding announcement. I didn't wait to hear the rest. I hung up.
For me, nothing he said mattered anymore.
