It’s never the final straw that breaks the camel’s back, but every single one that came before.

And Ralph’s arrival was the heaviest of them all.

A junior from Lauren’s literary circle, Ralph was a boy with delicate features and a tongue sweeter than honey. Under the guise of “study and exchange,” he soon became a regular visitor in our small home.

On his first visit, he unceremoniously took my spot on the couch and smiled. “Anthony, you’re such a good house-husband—taking such good care of Lauren. I’m thanking you on her behalf.”

*Wow, this junior is so considerate, immediately acknowledging the male lead’s efforts.*

*Now the male lead has a helper; they can take care of Lauren together from now on.*

The comment section buzzed with approval.

But in his earnest eyes, I caught a flicker of barely concealed disdain.

From that day on, my life grew more crowded. More suffocating.

Ralph always found an excuse to drop by. Sometimes to discuss a literary concept; other times with a dessert he’d “just happened to pass” and pick up. And Lauren was always all smiles for him.

“Junior, that idea is brilliant! Pure inspiration!”

“Ralph, you’re too kind, bringing me cake. Please, sit.”

That kind of gentleness, that patience—in five years, I’d never received it.

The real torture was Ralph’s constant, subtle provocations.

“Anthony, did you over-salt this soup?” He’d take a deliberate sip of the chicken broth I’d spent hours making, frown, and continue right in front of Lauren. “Her stomach is sensitive—she can’t handle much salt.”

And Lauren would immediately put down her spoon. “Anthony, how many times have I told you? Keep it light.”

I had no way to defend myself. I’d tasted that soup. The seasoning was perfect.

“Anthony, this coat looks a bit worn out, doesn’t it? It doesn’t really suit Lauren’s style.” He’d point at the new coat I’d bought, offering his critique with feigned innocence.

Lauren’s gaze would turn critical. The next day, the coat would end up in the donation bin.

*This junior really worries about Lauren every second—true love!*

*The male lead really needs to up his taste; he can’t keep holding Lauren back.*

The comment section hummed in harmony.

I felt like a man trapped under a glass bell jar, screaming my lungs out while everyone outside saw only perfect peace.

Then came the day I caught a bad cold. My head was splitting; I could barely get out of bed. I texted Lauren, hoping she’d come home early with some medicine.

Instead, I waited until late at night. Feverish, drifting in and out of consciousness, I finally heard her return—laughing and chatting with Ralph.

From the living room came the sounds of gaming, cheers, and Ralph’s exaggerated laughter. “You’re amazing, Lauren!”

Struggling up for water, I heard Lauren say to him, impatiently, “Ignore him. He’s a grown man—it’s just a cold. He won’t die. He always makes a big deal out of nothing and ruins my mood.”

Leaning against the doorframe, I felt a chill seep into my bones.

For the first time, the comment feed in my vision fell silent.

Then, one trembling line floated up.

*…Lauren, isn’t that a bit too much?*

It was quickly drowned out.

*Harsh words, soft heart! She probably said that so the junior wouldn’t worry!*

*Exactly! She’ll take care of him secretly later—that’s just her tsundere side!*

Looking at those self-deceiving words, I suddenly found it all laughable.

So it wasn’t only me who had been brainwashed.

What finally woke me up was a casual afternoon tea between Lauren and her friend.

That day, Lauren had arranged to meet her writer friend at a nearby cafe. As usual, I was bringing her some homemade pastries. Before I reached their booth, I caught her friend’s voice—slightly exaggerated.

“Lauren, your Anthony really is the perfect boyfriend. Treats you like a queen. Honestly, what do you even see in him? No money, no career to speak of.”

Instinctively, I stopped and hid behind a nearby potted plant.

Lauren gave a light laugh—a cold, superior tone I’d never heard from her before.

“Him?” Her voice was lazy. “He’s just a free live-in maid. You think I actually like him? I keep him around because he’s obedient, takes good care of me, and lets me focus on my writing.”

An invisible fist clenched around my heart, stopping it cold.

Her friend let out a low whistle. “Damn, you’ve really got him wrapped around your finger. Has he ever tried to push back?”

“Push back? He wouldn’t dare.” Lauren’s tone dripped with disdain. “He gave up everything for me—his family, his future. Now he’s just a useless nobody. Without me, he couldn’t even afford rent. People like him are pathetic. The worse you treat them, the more they cling to you, thinking it’s love.”

She continued, cool and detached. “Sometimes I deliberately pick fights, tear him down until he’s nothing. And you know what he does? He gets on his knees and apologizes. Tell me, why would I ever give up a servant that useful?”

Everything inside my head snapped.

So my five years of devotion, in her eyes, were just “pathetic.”

All my compromises and sacrifices were nothing but the desperate flailing of a “useless nobody.”

The love I believed in was an elaborate scam she’d designed—a brutal trampling of my dignity.

Like a zombie, I turned and left the cafe.

The pastry box slipped from my hand and hit the ground. The delicate macarons shattered into pieces, just like my heart.

Back in the apartment that still carried her scent, I felt a bone-deep chill. Revulsion, for the first time.

The fortress of love I’d been so proud of was just a cage built from lies and contempt.

And I was the fool who’d willingly locked myself inside.

That night, when Lauren came home, I’d already regained my composure.

She tossed her bag at me as usual. “I’m exhausted. Run me a bath.”

I looked at her, my eyes calm and dead as still water.

“Lauren,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Did you ever love me?”

She paused, then frowned impatiently. “What’s wrong with you now? Why ask something so pointless?”

[He’s starting to act up again—isn’t this a trap question?]

[Lauren, just comfort him! He’s feeling insecure!]

I ignored the bullet comments and kept my eyes locked on her.

My stare made her uneasy. She brushed me off. “Yes, yes, of course I did. Now go run the bath. I’m feeling inspired tonight—I need to write.”

With that, she walked straight into the bedroom.

I stood there, unmoving, for a long time.

The last faint ember in my heart finally went out.

I’m leaving.

Before I spoke the words, I made Lauren one last dinner.

Four of her favorite dishes—a meal that echoed the few sweet memories we’d ever shared.

There was the herb-crusted trout, just like the one we had on our first date. The garlic mashed potatoes were the very recipe she’d once praised, back when my cooking first caught her notice.

Candlelight flickered across the table, casting an almost too-perfect glow.

Lauren looked surprised. A rare smile touched her lips as she took in the spread. “What’s the occasion? This is… elaborate.”

“No occasion. I just wanted a nice meal,” I said evenly.

[Wow! He’s finally getting it! Using romance to win her back!]

[See? A couple’s spat, fixed with a nice dinner.]

[Lauren’s going to be so moved. Maybe she’ll even kiss him first!]

The comments buzzed with optimism.

Lauren sat, picked up her fork good-naturedly, and tried the fish. “Hmm, not bad. You’ve improved.”

I watched her. “Remember? Five years ago, that little restaurant by the lake. You told me it was the best trout you’d ever tasted.”

She paused, her expression blank. “Did I? I don’t recall.”

My heart sank. “What about three years ago, up in the mountains? You sprained your ankle while we were watching the fireflies. I carried you down for five hours.”

She frowned. “That happened? I don’t remember that at all.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Then you must remember your first book deal. I saved for half a year to buy you that Parker fountain pen. You hugged me and said I was the best person in the world.”

At the mention of the pen, something seemed to click—but her face stayed flat. “Oh, that pen. Ralph borrowed it, I think. Not sure where it ended up.”

Ralph.

Always Ralph.

Every precious memory I carried meant nothing to her.

A keepsake I’d treasured, she’d just handed off to someone else.

Finally, I understood.

It wasn’t a case of bad memory. She had simply never bothered to store any part of me in hers.

I took a deep breath, set down my fork, and looked her in the eye. “Lauren, we’re done.”

The air froze.

Her smile shattered. “What did you say?”

[!!! High alert! Is he serious?!]

[No! Take it back! He’s just angry!]

[Lauren, cry! Just cry and he’ll fold!]

The comments grew more frantic than she was.

I said it again. “We’re over. I’m moving out tomorrow.”

Her shock twisted into rage. She slammed both hands on the table and stood. “Anthony, have you lost your fucking mind?! Over some forgotten trivia? You think you can just walk away now? Who the hell do you think you are?”

She thought this was about the afternoon tea incident.

I shook my head, my voice still calm. “No. It’s about everything. Lauren, I’m tired.”

“Tired?” She barked a laugh. “You? A useless lump who sits at home all day? You have the nerve to say you’re tired? *I* support you. *I* put a roof over your head! Walk away from me, and you won’t last a week on your own!”

Right then, the doorbell rang.