I gave up my New York socialite status to live with my husband in a basement for seven years.

On our wedding day, he abandoned me to attend a christening party with Brooke and her son. While everyone laughed at my expense, he updated his Instagram feed with the caption: "Loving you brings joy to Mom and Dad." The photos showed him, Brooke, and their son looking like a perfect family.

I commented sarcastically, "Congrats. Permanently sealed." Armed with the DNA test results, I filed for divorce. But later, he showed up with red-rimmed eyes, kneeling before me, pleading for me not to leave.

Christian finally called after three days of complete silence. Before I could say anything, a woman's voice filled the line:

"Elianna, I'm truly sorry. I've been feeling down; the past couple of days marked the anniversary of my husband's death."

"Christian was so concerned about me that he missed the wedding."

"I’ve already talked to him about it."

"And the post was meant to comfort me; he has deleted it now, so please don't take offense."

The woman turned towards him:

"Christian, honestly, the wedding was a significant event; how could you leave like that?"

"We're adults now, let’s not behave like kids throwing tantrums, alright?"

"I could spoil you for a lifetime. Can Elianna do that?"

"Come on, let's set a date for a proper ceremony. I'm feeling much better now, so I can handle being on my own."

Her words were gentle but accusatory. I felt a wave of nausea and was about to speak when Christian interrupted:

"Brooke, if you send me back now, I truly won't return again!"

"Your mood has just improved a little; how could I leave you alone at such a time?"

His tone was something I had never heard before. In front of me, he was always the emperor, his words like commands.

Suppressing the bitterness inside, I said, "Christian, if Brooke needs you, there's no point in you coming back. I'll send you the divorce papers."

I was done listening to their flirtations and spoke directly.

"Elianna, when will you stop blowing things out of proportion? Isn’t it enough already? Threatening me with divorce?"

"Didn't you hear Brooke just now? She was grieving her husband’s anniversary!"

"Was it wrong for me to be there for her? Try to have some perspective."

"You're crossing the line!"

Christian raised his voice as soon as I mentioned divorce, flooding me with accusations.

I pressed my lips together, used to such outbursts.

"You're crossing the line!"

Christian often accused me of that. My care was seen as stifling his freedom; my cautious suggestions as holding him back.

In the past, those words would drive me to immediate self-reflection.

Was I really interfering too much?

I would then apologize, promising to grant him the freedom he desired.

But we were husband and wife, together for seven years.

Since when did caring become a restriction on his freedom?

"Christian, this time it's real."

This time, as I meticulously planned and eagerly awaited our wedding day, the groom walked away.

As he cuddled someone else’s child while their mother happily nestled beside him, I was worn out.

Perhaps sensing the chill in my voice, Christian hesitated slightly, softening his tone:

"Elianna, you're overthinking. Brooke was grieving; I was afraid she'd spiral, so I cheered her up."

"The wedding can happen anytime."

"This time, however you want it, it’s all up to you."

"And that Instagram post, I've deleted it. They were just photos, and I’m the child’s godfather, so taking a family picture was only natural."

"Elianna, why can’t you show some empathy?"

Brooke Black, Christian's childhood sweetheart and ideal crush, and his first love at sixteen.

Her insincere voice came through the phone:

"Elianna, it's all my fault. Christian only did it for me."

"If it helps ease your anger, I'm willing to suffer any punishment, even crawling to your house in apology."

Crawling in repentance? She really dared to say that.

I scoffed and replied:

"Go ahead, I’m not asking you to do both, just pick one!"

"If you want to apologize, do it quickly. The divorce papers will be ready this afternoon."

My words were met with silence on the other end.

Brooke had spoken thoughtlessly, never expecting me to take her up on it.

She stammered for a while, and Christian took over the phone:

"Elianna! Why are you acting so unreasonable? Brooke was just trying to calm things down, and you expect her to actually crawl in apology."

"Besides, if anyone should apologize, it's you. I'm not done with you about that reckless comment!"

"Do you realize how many people have contacted me and Brooke because of your comment? Brooke was already in a fragile state; you've made it worse!"

"And you have the nerve to bring up divorce? Fine! Let's divorce! Just don't regret it!"

He shouted, not waiting for my response, and abruptly hung up the call.

Listening to the cold, relentless "beep-beep-beep" on the other end of the line, my heart seized with pain.

Seven years, more than two thousand days and nights, all spent chasing a misguided love—how could that not tear someone apart?

In the end, the sense of superiority Christian held in our relationship was something I had unwittingly fostered.

I met him during freshman orientation at college. He was a first-year student, glowing with confidence. Many girls were drawn to him, and I was no exception. I fell for him at first sight and embarked on a three-year journey of unrequited love.

Come rain or shine, I brought him breakfast daily, helped him solve various issues, and went out of my way to take the same elective classes he did. Over those three years, a stream of admirers came and went, but I stayed true. Unfortunately, he was always hot and cold, leaving me unable to decipher his true feelings.

As graduation neared, I finally decided to end my feverish pursuit. But just one day after I stopped bringing him breakfast, Christian showed up outside my dorm for the first time one morning, holding hot bagels and coffee.

"Elianna, I never said it was over. How dare you give up?"

That day marked the beginning of our relationship, completely disrupting the life plan my family had for me. I didn’t return to London, didn’t take over my father’s company, but willingly stayed in Christian's small, almost forgotten hometown. For his sake, I didn't complain when he wanted to live with his parents; I moved in with them in a cramped, worn-out apartment of only 600 square feet for seven years.

My family tried countless times to persuade me. Born into privilege, I could have lived easily and comfortably. Why was I choosing hardship? But he was Christian, the man I loved from the start, the one I wanted to stand by.

Christian claimed to have a fear of marriage, which is why we never tied the knot.

"Elianna, I'm sorry. I want to give you a home, but I'm just too scared of marriage. I can’t overcome that hurdle in my heart."

"I'm sorry. I know it's unfair to you."

He repeated these words countless times over the years, and each time, I just held him tightly, full of pity.

"It's okay. As long as we're together, who needs a wedding?"

At the time, I foolishly believed I was the happiest woman alive. Until Brooke Black came back into the picture. That’s when Christian started reconnecting with her. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but soon it felt wrong.

"Brooke's been feeling unwell these past few days. I’m worried and won’t be coming home tonight."

"It's Brooke's birthday today. She doesn't have many friends here, so I'll have dinner with her."

"Brooke is going on a business trip. As a woman, she needs someone to look after her, so I'll go with her for a few days."

Christian came home less and less, and his attitude toward me grew colder. He couldn't complete three sentences without mentioning Brooke. I argued with him, asking him to keep his distance from Brooke. But whenever I brought her up, Christian would jump to her defense.

"Brooke and I grew up together. She’s been through a lot. Am I wrong to take care of her a bit?"

"Elianna, I'm a person, and I have the right to choose my friends! You’re being too controlling!"

His mother always chimed in to support him:

"Elianna, you're overthinking things. I've known Brooke since she was little; she and Christian are like siblings!"

"Besides, Brooke’s doing great in her career. She could be a big help to Christian, unlike you—with no skills and overly petty!"

"If Christian had married Brooke, they’d be much better off now!"

No skills? Petty? A chill ran down my spine.

Christian, I sacrificed everything to be with you. I left my family behind, refused a life of privilege. If not for you, I would have taken over our family business by now, worth millions. Instead, I lived like a servant, catering to you and your parents, only to be mocked for lacking skills when I talked about another woman.

Why did I put up with it all? Because I loved you. Your needs were my top priority, above everything else.

But time wears away everything. Seven years passed, and Christian forgot everything, leaving only endless disappointment and relentless blame for me. Even I could grow tired.

Eventually, I began to accept it. Instead of fighting, I chose avoidance. Gradually, I retreated, silently enduring.

At the beginning of the year, Christian seemed to change his mind. He finally suggested we have a wedding. I was overjoyed, thinking that if I was compliant enough, this man was still mine.

Only now do I realize how wrong I was. My compliance only emboldened Brooke, and my value in Christian’s life faded. He even left me on our wedding day for Brooke, taking family photos with her and someone else's child.

I'll never forget the helplessness of standing alone in the hotel lobby, the sympathetic glances from passersby, and the shock of seeing his post online. Christian, this time I’m truly letting go.