The Engagement Question That Ended Us

"So, when is the big day?"

Margot Beale's voice sliced through the low hum of indie pop and chatter filling her apartment living room. She stood near the coffee table, raising her half-empty wine glass like a microphone to command the room's attention. "I'm serious," Margot insisted, looking straight at the center sofa. "We were just talking about thirty-year plans. Come on, Julian. Seven years! When are you making an honest woman out of Cora?"

A few people chuckled. Someone in the back whistled.

I kept my smile pinned firmly in place. I turned my head, fixing my gaze on Julian sitting right beside me. The room felt warm, suddenly expectant. This was the opening. A joke, a timeline, even a vague, teasing promise would do. I waited for him to speak.

Julian picked up his scotch. He didn't look at me. Instead, he slammed the heavy crystal glass down on the wooden coaster. The sharp thud echoed like a gunshot, instantly executing the laughter.

"Who needs a refill?" Julian asked loudly, his tone rigid and defensive. "I'm heading to the kitchen. Anyone?"

Nobody answered. The silence stretched. One second. Two seconds. The weight of the quiet pressed into my skin. Across the table, Margot lowered her arm. Her eyes darted from Julian's retreating back to my face. She offered a wincing, apologetic look. Pure pity radiated from her expression.

My smile never faltered. I dropped my gaze, picked up my own cup, and took a long sip of my drink. The ice bumped against my teeth.

Julian didn't return to the sofa. He stayed by the kitchen island, talking to Mark about real estate trends. He deliberately avoided my gaze for the rest of the hour. When the clock struck eleven, he walked into the entryway and grabbed his wool coat from the rack.

"I'm heading out," Julian announced to the small group lingering by the door.

I stepped out of the living room. "You're leaving now?"

"I have that massive project next week," he said, shoving his left arm into the sleeve. "I need to get some sleep."

"It's Saturday night."

"Work doesn't care what day it is, Cora."

"Are we going together?" I asked, keeping my voice low so the others wouldn't hear.

Julian adjusted his collar. "No. Stay. Catch a ride with someone later." He opened the front door.

"Julian," I called out.

He paused, hand resting on the brass knob. "What?"

"Have a good night."

"Yeah. You too." The door clicked shut behind him.

I turned around. Margot stood at the edge of the hallway, holding two fresh cups. She gestured toward the sliding glass doors, and I followed her out onto the balcony. The crisp night air hit my face, cooling the flush in my cheeks. Traffic hummed on the street below, a steady rhythm against the chaotic noise of the party inside.

"Cora, I am so sorry," Margot whispered, leaning against the metal railing.

"It's fine, Margot."

"It's not fine. I shouldn't have pushed. I just thought it would be a fun question. You thought after seven years, he would have an answer." Margot winced again. "He completely shut you down in front of everyone."

"He gets weird about crowds," I offered. The excuse rolled off my tongue automatically, a reflex built over years of practice. "He prefers to keep our relationship private."

"It was just us," Margot pointed out, her brow furrowing. "Ten of his closest friends. That wasn't a crowd. Does he ever talk about it privately?"

"No."

The single syllable hung in the air between us. I looked at Margot's face in the dim balcony light. That same pity from the living room remained etched into her features. Everyone saw it. Everyone knew. For years, I told myself Julian simply hated public displays. I convinced myself he would explain his reluctance when we got home. I waited for late-night conversations that never happened. The excuses were always mine, manufactured to cover his silence. He never explained. I just kept finding new ways to justify his behavior.

"I should get going," I told Margot, stepping away from the edge. "I have the app. Thanks for the drinks."

Ten minutes later, I slid into the backseat of a yellow taxi. "West 4th," I told the driver.

The car pulled away from the curb. Streetlights flickered across the leather seats, casting alternating shadows over my lap. I pulled my phone from my purse. My thumb hovered over the screen before tapping the photo gallery. I scrolled down to the album labeled *J & C*.

Seven years of memories lived inside that folder. I swiped up, dragging the timeline backward. Past last month's dinner, past our trip to the coast three years ago, past the day we signed the lease on our apartment. I stopped at the very first picture.

We were twenty-two. Sitting on a campus lawn. Julian had his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, laughing at something just out of frame. I was looking up at him, my eyes bright, completely certain of our future. That girl thought a ring was inevitable. That girl thought love meant eventual progression.

I stared at his twenty-two-year-old face. Then I remembered the sharp thud of his glass on Margot's table tonight. The rigid set of his shoulders. The way he walked out the door without me.

I backed out of the album. My thumb moved to the menu icon. I tapped *Create New Folder*. The keyboard popped up, prompting me to enter a name. I stared at the blinking cursor. I didn't type a single letter. I just hit save.

A blank, unnamed folder appeared at the top of my screen. It held zero items. It was completely empty.

"We're here, miss," the driver announced.

The taxi idled outside our apartment building. The light in our third-floor window was already off. He was probably asleep. I didn't reach for the door handle.

"Miss?" The driver turned around. "You getting out?"

I looked at the empty digital folder on my screen one last time. "Just a minute more," I said.

I locked my phone, letting the screen go black. The silence in the backseat felt different from the silence in Margot's living room. That quiet had been humiliating. This quiet was a promise.

Tomorrow, that empty folder would start filling up. But not with photos.