The screen of her phone went dark as Annabella stepped out of the elevator and into her empty Manhattan apartment. She didn't turn on the lights. She walked straight to the heavy oak desk in the corner of the living room and flipped open her MacBook.
The pale blue light of the screen illuminated her face. Her expression was completely blank. She typed in her credentials and logged into the company's internal network.
She clicked through the legal director's portal and pulled up a blank resignation form.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She didn't pause to think. She opened a new document and typed a flawless, aggressive legal addendum, explicitly stating her voluntary forfeiture of all unvested stock options. She demanded immediate processing from the HR department without any mandatory negotiation period. Millions of dollars, permanently surrendered in a few precise keystrokes.
She scanned the document one last time. She hit the enter key. The resignation was sent directly to the VP of Human Resources.
The email confirmation chime pinged from the laptop speakers. A second later, her cell phone lit up on the desk. Ethan's name flashed across the screen.
Annabella stared at the phone. She let it vibrate against the wood for ten full seconds. Then, she reached out, tapped the green button, and hit speakerphone.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ethan's voice exploded from the speaker, thick with rage. "Are you trying to embarrass me?"
"You did that yourself," Annabella said, her voice flat.
"The wedding is just postponed!" Ethan yelled. "You didn't have to storm out of the park like a victim. You need to look at the bigger picture here."
Annabella leaned back in her chair. She listened to his absurd logic, and she felt absolutely nothing. The panic and the pain from the altar were completely gone. He just sounded pathetic.
"Check your email," Annabella interrupted, cutting off his rant. "I just sent my resignation to HR."
Dead silence filled the line. The sound of Ethan breathing heavily echoed through the speaker. He clearly hadn't expected her to throw away her career over this.
"You're bluffing," Ethan sneered, his tone dripping with arrogance. "If you walk away from the firm, you walk away with nothing. You'll have zero leverage."
"That's exactly what I want," Annabella said, her eyes scanning the dark room. "I'm taking out the trash."
"Excuse me?" Ethan's voice spiked in volume. "You think you can call me-"
"Ethan?" Donie's weak, trembling voice drifted through the phone from the background. "My head is spinning. Can you hold my hand?"
The anger in Ethan's voice vanished instantly. "I'm right here, Donie. Just breathe," he said softly, the phone muffling as he pulled it away from his mouth.
Annabella's stomach churned. The seamless switch from vicious boss to gentle savior was sickening.
Ethan brought the phone back to his ear. "Listen to me," he snapped, his voice cold again. "Take a few days to cool off. Don't do anything stupid. I don't have time to deal with your tantrums right now."
He didn't wait for her to answer. He ended the call. The dial tone buzzed in the quiet apartment.
Annabella looked at the darkened screen. She felt a profound sense of pity for the man she used to love.
She stood up and walked into the massive walk-in closet. She grabbed a giant black suitcase and threw it open on the hardwood floor.
She walked down the racks of clothes. Every dress Ethan had bought her, every designer bag, every piece of jewelry he had given her for an anniversary-she grabbed them by the handfuls and dumped them into the suitcase like garbage.
She walked over to the nightstand. She picked up the silver-framed photo of them from their trip to Paris. She dropped it straight into the metal trash can. The glass shattered with a sharp crack.
She moved to the master bathroom. She swept his toothbrush, his cologne, and his shaving cream off the marble counter and into the trash.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were slightly red, but her posture was rigid. She turned on the faucet and splashed freezing water onto her face.
She dried her skin with a towel, picked up her phone, and dialed her real estate agent.
"List the apartment," Annabella ordered the second the agent answered. "The deed is solely in my name, and I want it gone by the end of the week. Cash buyers only. Price it twenty percent below market value if you have to."
She hung up the phone. She looked around the apartment she had lived in for five years. She didn't feel a single ounce of regret.
She walked over to the suitcase, grabbed the zipper, and pulled it shut. She sealed away five years of her youth.
