My boyfriend and I had been saving for three years for a down payment, only for half of it to vanish overnight.

When I called him to ask, he dismissed it casually: "Jennifer wanted a designer handbag, so I lent her some money. We're close; saying no was tough."

The next moment, his "close friend" Jennifer Hudson was flaunting the limited edition bag on Instagram, along with a photo of them together, captioned: "Thanks for the birthday surprise, you're amazing!"

Smirking to myself, I transferred the remaining $32,000 from our joint account into my personal one.

That evening, I packed up and left.

Waylen Bishop, you and your "best friend" can enjoy each other's company.

"Finished with your little meltdown, Ivy?" Waylen leaned against the bedroom door frame, arms crossed, as I packed the last of my clothes into my suitcase.

I didn't look up or respond.

"It's just $32,000, Ivy. Is it really worth all this fuss?"

"You know Jennifer is like family to me. It was her birthday, so what's wrong with giving her a gift?”

"And I told you, it was a loan for now. She'll pay it back."

I finally paused and looked at him calmly.

Three years of saving for a future home.

When we say "together," in reality, more than $51,000 came painstakingly from me, dollar by dollar.

For the sake of our "future home," I worked as a designer during the day, took freelance jobs at night, and did weekend gigs.

Gave up my favorite coffees and snacks; the last time I bought new clothes was for Thanksgiving last year.

And Waylen?

He saved less than $6,000, constantly using it for his "best friend" Jennifer Hudson, withdrawing and depositing repeatedly.

One day it was because a friend was moving and needed a housewarming gift, the next because a friend's business was struggling and needed emergency funds, and another time because a friend's dog passed away and needed a funeral.

Every time, he'd say, "Babe, I'll make it up when I get my bonus."

But his bonuses were something I never saw.

Now, without hesitation, he'd drop $32,000 on a handbag for Jennifer Hudson.

He didn't even bother to give me a heads-up.

If I hadn't checked the account balance today, I might've found out only when there was nothing left.

I opened my phone and showed him Jennifer's Instagram post.

"A loan?"

"Waylen Bishop, you call this a loan?"

In the photo, Jennifer was posing with the limited edition bag, her head resting fondly on his shoulder.

Waylen glanced at it, showing no guilt. Instead, he frowned.

"Are you seriously jealous?"

"You were fine with this before, but today you’re picking a fight?"

I laughed, tears almost escaping.

Yes, before I tolerated it over and over.

Letting Jennifer Hudson, under the guise of "friendship," have Waylen leave my side in the middle of the night, when I had a fever, to go drink with her.

Allowing Jennifer Hudson to wear Waylen's shirts, sleeping in our bed while I had to take the couch.

Watching Jennifer Hudson get cozy with him right in front of me.

And I, as his supposed girlfriend, could barely express any grievances without being labeled "petty," "irrational," or "immature."

In those three years, I saved more than just money; I accumulated disappointment time and again.

Every time, I told myself that Waylen was just clueless, that he loved me, he just didn't know how to say no.

But this time, I couldn't fool myself any longer.

"Waylen, let's break up."

When I said those words, my heart didn't ache as much as I anticipated.

It was more a feeling of relief.

He paused for a moment before scoffing.

"Break up?"

"Suit yourself, but in a few days, you'll come running back."

I brushed past him standing in the doorway.

"Don't worry, this time I won't be coming back."

I picked up my suitcase and headed straight for the door.

As I passed him, I caught the familiar scent of women's perfume on him.

It was Jennifer Hudson's favorite.

I didn't look back.

I knew, this time, I was truly moving on.

Dragging my suitcase down the rain-soaked street, the wind whipped around my neck, but I felt no cold.

I checked into a budget hotel and picked up my phone, dialing the number for the company's HR director.

"Hi, Mr. Campbell. This is Ivy Lane from the design department."

"You mentioned a possible two-year assignment at the Swiss branch. Is that position still open?"

Mr. Campbell seemed a bit surprised but quickly confirmed the offer.

This overseas opportunity was a testament to my abilities, offering double the salary and a prestigious addition to my resume.

Until now, I had been indecisive.

The thought of a long-distance relationship with Waylen Bishop was daunting. I doubted our already fragile bond could survive the distance.

Looking back, it's almost amusing.

A relationship that asked me to sacrifice my future for its sake wasn't worth holding onto.

"I've decided. I'll come by tomorrow to sort out the paperwork."

With that resolved, I took a deep breath and unflinchingly deleted all of Waylen's contact information.

The next day, just as I was about to leave for the office, an unfamiliar number appeared on my phone.

I answered, greeted by an enraged Waylen.

"Ivy, why did you transfer all the money out?"

"Do you know how embarrassing it was when I tried to pay for Jennifer's birthday dinner and my card got declined?"

"You better transfer the money back, got it?"

I was silent, just listening.

In the background, I heard Jennifer's voice.

"Don't worry, darling. Let her have her tantrum. Let's see how long she sticks it out."

"You know women best, my dear. Don't lower yourself to her level, running back to her like a lapdog. Spoil her, and you're finished."

Then I heard the line go dead.

This time, I felt no anger or sadness. I finally understood that I truly didn't fit into their world.

I blocked that number too.