The elevator descended normally.
As soon as it reached the first floor, I staggered to my feet and rushed out.
I drove straight home.
Mom had sent me a list of wedding venues to choose from, but I wasn’t in the mood to pick any.
I just sat there, quietly watching the clock hands move.
I don’t know how long it was before Zelda came back.
She brought a bundle of lavender and some food.
I opened the container—it was baked Ziti.
Zelda had forgotten that I was allergic to gluten.
Yet she still apologized with a self-satisfied air.
“See how much I care about you? I even remembered that you hadn’t eaten. Hurry up and eat it while it’s warm!”
I removed the lid and ate all of it.
Almost instantly, rashes broke out on my skin.
“Oh no, how did you have an allergic reaction?”
Zelda covered her mouth in surprise.
But I didn’t care.
“Your birthday’s coming up. Come back. Let’s celebrate it together.”
She froze for a moment, and then she quickly nodded.
I got up and went to find my allergy medicine.
As a busy man, I never really learned how to cook properly.
The only dessert I can bake decently is cupcakes.
But for some reason, every attempt I made today failed.
I didn’t want to waste food, so I silently ate all the failed cupcakes.
I counted the time.
Once Zelda came back and finished celebrating her birthday, it would be time for me to leave.
But in the end, I didn’t get to wait for her.
She called me.
“Luigi, that idiot, burned his fingers while cooking. I have to take him to the hospital first. You go ahead and eat without me.”
Oh, her lies had always been really terrible.
I couldn’t see her updates on my main Facebook account.
But on my alternate account, a new post appeared in her Story.
The picture showed two people standing in front of a cake.
Colorful confetti floated in the air, frozen in a moment where they smiled and held hands.
“Wallace? Wallace?” Zelda was still on the line.
I let out a long breath.
“It’s fine, no rush.”
I liked her post from my alternate account, and then I dumped the cupcakes into the trash.
Zelda no longer loved me; letting her go should make her happy.
So then I dragged my suitcase and left the house.
On the way, I sorted through years’ worth of confusing photos of Eugene and Zelda.
Then I posted them to my Story.
Plenty of their mutual friends would see those pictures. If I was leaving, well, I wouldn’t let them have it easy either.
Before my flight took off, I sent Zelda a message.
[Happy birthday. Let’s never meet again.]
I didn’t say we were breaking up.
Because in our seven years together, she had never once introduced me as her boyfriend.
Getting cheated on was just what I deserved—blindly clinging to someone who never wanted me.
Right before I turned off my phone, an onslaught of calls came flooding in, and I accidentally answered one.
