The seventh time Claire Fisher bailed on our marriage license appointment, I finally cut her out of my life—for good.

From then on, if she was at a party, I wasn't.

When she was scheduled to perform at our college's anniversary celebration, I made sure to leave early.

The moment my company announced a collaboration with hers, I resigned without a second thought.

Even on Christmas Eve, when she showed up at my parents' house with gifts, I slipped out with a half-hearted excuse about "visiting a friend."

I blocked her number. Deleted her from my contacts. Burned every bridge and salted the earth behind me. No calls. No texts. No social media.

I didn't reach out. She couldn't reach me.

Simple as that.

For the better part of my life, I was hopelessly in love with her—waiting on her, caring for her, putting her first in every way that mattered. I gave her all of me without ever holding back.

But after the seventh time she left me sitting alone at the City Hall, something inside me broke.

I was done.

If that meant spending the rest of my life alone, so be it.

Better that than sitting in an empty apartment, listening to the silence, holding on to hope for someone who never planned to show up.

The Seventh Time's the Last Time

I sat at the marriage registration desk in the City Hall, waiting for Claire. Again.

I waited so long that the place started to empty out. Desks creaked as the staff packed up, keys jingled, and someone let out a tired yawn.

At first, when I called, she just said she was tied up at work and told me to hang tight.

Two hours later, her phone went straight to voicemail.

I called again. And again. Busy signal. Again.

The form in my hand was now a crumpled mess, damp with sweat from how tightly I had been gripping it.

"Sir," a voice finally broke through. "We're closing for the day. Are you still planning to file for a marriage license?"

I blinked, my thoughts snapping back to the present. I shook my head, the corner of my mouth barely twitching.

"No. Thanks," I replied quietly. "I'm done."

I stepped outside. The cold air hit my face like a slap.

Behind me, two clerks chatted as they left.

"I think I've seen that guy before," one whispered. "Always comes in alone. Wants to get married."

"Oh yeah," the other said, recognition dawning. "I remember him. He's the one who waits and waits, but no one ever shows up."

I didn't say a word. My face stayed frozen, blank as stone.

But inside? I was bleeding.

My heart felt like a worn-out cloth—thin, unraveling, leaking pain with every beat.

I stared at the ground, and I couldn't even meet my own eyes in the glass door's reflection. My feet moved before I could think.

Seven times. Seven times I waited for her at that same office. And every single time, she never showed.

I was just about to call a cab when Claire came running. Literally.

She jogged up, breathless, her coat flapping open and her hair bouncing with each step. A smile played on her lips, a little sheepish.

"Zach," she panted, "I'm so sorry. Work called last minute. I came as fast as I could. Hope I'm not too late?"

I stared at her. My lips curled up—barely. And not from happiness.

Last time, it was a work emergency.

The time before that? Also work.

And before that? You guessed it.

Same script, different days.

I didn't even bother calling her out anymore. I just shook my head.

"You are late," I said. "They just closed."

She frowned and glanced at her watch, as if she couldn't believe it. "Seriously? They clock out on the dot every time. Can't even wait one minute?" She scoffed.

Then, she grabbed my hand and pressed it to her chest, dramatically. "I ran the whole way, I swear. Traffic was a nightmare. I'm so out of breath I could collapse."

I stared at her blankly. My chest was tight, my throat burning with emotion I didn't want to show.

But I wasn't a fool, nor was I blind.

There was not a single drop of sweat on Claire. Her forehead was dry. Not even a smudge of dampness.

I bit the inside of my cheek, the truth sitting heavy in my gut. Still, I asked the question I had been swallowing for too long.

"If you really ran all the way here, why aren't you sweating?"

Her smile froze for a split second.

She frowned, and the look in her eyes changed. Sharp. Accusing.

Her tone shot up like a whip. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? Do you think I'm lying? That I wanted to miss this? After everything I did to get here? God, Zach, how heartless can you be? You think I'd fake being late just to avoid marrying you?"

There it was. The deflection. Turn me into the villain. Make a scene.

However, the more she yelled, the more it looked like she was trying too hard to look innocent.

I massaged my temples. My head throbbed. I was done.

"Whether you're lying or not, Claire… only you know best."

I turned and walked away.

Her voice followed me like a cold wind down the back of my neck.

"Fine! Go! But don't come crawling back this time! Stop begging me to marry you, Zach. Let's see how long your little tantrum lasts!"

I didn't turn around. Didn't say a word.

But my bottom lip was bleeding from how hard I bit it.

I had barely made it halfway across the parking lot when my phone buzzed—a text.

'So, Zach, no marriage again today, I take it? What a shame. Oh well, can't wait to see you try for the eighth time!'

Count Me Out

I stared at the text. Once. Twice. Three times.

Even if I were the slowest guy on the planet, I would still get it. This was Leo Harrison taunting me on purpose. Another jab, another smug little reminder that I had been stood up yet again.

I had already suspected he was the reason why Claire ditched our marriage appointment. But seeing Leo's name pop up with that message? That still knocked the wind out of me. Like getting sucker-punched in the ribs.

Claire and I grew up together. Next-door neighbors, sandbox buddies, the whole childhood-sweetheart cliche. I used to dream about marrying her before I even knew how taxes worked.

The first time I told her, we were maybe seven, still missing teeth and fighting over crayons. Our parents thought it was adorable and laughed themselves silly over dinner.

Back then, she treated me like I was important to her. And for a long time, I believed she felt the same.

Then college happened. That was when she brought Leo home for the first time. "Just a classmate," she had said.

But something about the way they acted around each other—too comfortable, too familiar—made my stomach twist. That was when it hit me: maybe what Claire and I had wasn't love. Not for her, anyway.

I panicked.

After graduation, I tried to play it cool. I joked that we should just get married and be done with it. To my surprise, our parents were all for it, thinking it was sweet. But Claire? She turned me down. Not gently either. It was a flat no, sharp as a slap.

Still, I didn't give up. Over the next seven or eight years, I asked her dozens of times to make it official.

She said yes… seven times.

But each of those seven turned into nothing. A no-show. An excuse. Radio silence.

And like clockwork, Leo would text me right after every single one, always with just enough venom to sting.

My phone buzzed again.

I almost hit decline without checking, assuming it was Leo again. But when I glanced at the screen, I saw it was a friend calling.

There was a gathering tonight, and they were inviting me out.

I didn't even think before blurting, "Is Claire going to be there?"

My friend chuckled. "Don't worry, Zach. I know the deal. I already talked to her. She said she'll be there."

"Well, then count me out."

Silence on the other end. Like I had said something unbelievable.

Maybe I had.

Everyone knew me as the guy who had been hopelessly pursuing Claire for years.

I was the one who gave her flowers at graduation like some lovesick teenager. The one who scoured job boards for roles she might like, cleaned her place, folded her laundry, and handled the housework like a loyal golden retriever.

At one birthday party, someone joked she must have saved the world in a past life to have me this devoted. Claire just snorted and rolled her eyes.

"He's like a shameless maggot. Annoying as hell. Who even cares?"

Back then, I pretended I didn't hear it. I thought she would grow out of it. Thought she would eventually come around.

But that was the old me.

I cared now.

After hanging up, I sent out a group message to all our mutual friends.

'From now on, if Claire's coming to a gathering, don't bother inviting me.'

I didn't wait for replies. I ordered a cab and headed back to my apartment.

Once I was home, I went straight to the bedroom and started packing. Every little thing of hers—gifts, books, clothes she left behind—I threw them all into a suitcase. Neat. Cold. Mechanical.

Then I called a delivery guy.

Just as the delivery guy rang the buzzer, my best friend Riley showed up.

He stepped inside, took one look at the mess, and blurted out, "Wait… Zach, you're not moving out, are you?"

I chuckled bitterly before popping open the suitcase to show him.

"No. This is Claire's stuff. I'm sending it back."

Riley stood there for a beat, stunned. He watched the delivery guy take the suitcase and disappear down the hall before he turned back to me, his brows furrowed in disbelief.

"Weren't you supposed to get your marriage license with her today? What the hell—"

But his voice trailed off halfway through. He knew.

I didn't have to say it. The answer was written all over my face.

His jaw clenched. I could see the rage building in his eyes like a storm.

"Let me guess," he snapped. "Claire bailed again, didn't she? And Leo's behind it somehow. God, I knew it. No wonder you sent that message. That smug little—nope, I'm done. Come on, Zach. Let's go talk to her. Face to face. No more of this silent suffering crap!"

The Game Is Over

I tried everything to get out of it, but Riley dragged me to the party anyway.

The moment we got to the hallway outside the private room, I froze. Claire's voice carried right through the door, sharp and smug.

"Oh, come on, stop hyping it up. Zach's been saying dramatic crap for years, but he always comes crawling back. He's probably just blowing off steam right now. Give it a few days, and he'll be wagging his tail and begging for my attention again."

I clenched my jaw so hard I bit into the inside of my cheek. The coppery taste of blood spread across my tongue.

Years of effort. Years of loving her, looking out for her, giving her everything I had… And that was how she saw me?

Like I was nothing. A doormat. A joke.

Riley glanced over and saw the look on my face. His hand landed on my shoulder in a quiet show of support.

He was about to open the door when I stopped him.

I didn't want to see Claire. Not now. Not ever again.

I turned, grabbed Riley's arm, and started walking away.

However, we barely made it to the corner when the door behind us swung open. Claire and Leo stepped out, laughing.

Leo spoke first, his voice low and teasing. "Claire, you've had enough to drink. You should really stop talking like that. If Zach heard you, it'd break his heart."

Claire giggled, half-slurring her words. "Isn't that what you want? You're the one who kept pushing me to say yes to marrying him, just so I could bail last minute. You're such a bad influence, Leo!"

That did it. The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over.

So, it was all a game. A cruel, private joke between the two of them, and I was the punchline.

It made sense now. When Claire agreed to marry me, there wasn't even a flicker of excitement in her eyes. I thought I had caught her off guard. I wrongly assumed she was just overwhelmed.

The truth was—she wasn't surprised. She was disgusted.

Leo pulled her into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. She giggled, pounding her fists playfully against his chest.

"Bad influence? This whole plan was your idea, babe. I only went along with it to make you laugh."

Then, they kissed. Right there in the hallway, like no one else existed.

I felt hollow. I felt like my soul had cracked open and drained out onto the carpet. I didn't speak, didn't lose it. Instead, I just turned and walked out the front doors with Riley.

The night air was cool, but it cut through me like glass. Each gust of wind felt like it was slicing straight through my chest.

"You're too kind, Zach," Riley snapped, furious. "That's why they had the gall to pull this crap. They knew you'd never fight back."

I gave him a small smile, more out of reflex than anything.

Then, I opened my mouth to speak… and coughed up red.

The coppery taste of blood hit the back of my throat.

"It's over," I murmured quietly. "Claire and I… we're done. For real this time."

After a lot of convincing, I finally got Riley to head home.

When I got back to my apartment, my phone was already buzzing.

It was the delivery guy I had hired. He said he had made it to Claire's place, but no one was answering. I remembered then that she never picked up calls from unknown numbers.

I told him to wait and hung up. Then, I called her myself.

It sounded like she was in a bar. I could hear loud music in the background, people laughing, and glasses clinking. Still, none of it could drown out the smugness lacing her tone.

"Well, well. Look who couldn't stay away," she cooed. "What happened to all that fire from earlier, leaving me on the street like a drama queen? Where's that courage now?"

In the past, I would have swallowed my pride, begged for forgiveness, and said anything to get back on her good side.

Not this time.

"Your stuff is at your front door," I said flatly. "Make sure you grab it when you get back."

She laughed, way too pleased with herself.

"Oh, Zach. What'd you get me this time? Is this your way of making up? Didn't you text everyone that you weren't gonna show up to anything if I was there? But now you're trying to win me over again?"

I didn't respond. I just hung up.

Right before the call ended, though, I swear I heard her snicker and say something like, "I hope it's something cute. If I like it, maybe I'll forgive you."

I stared at the dark screen in my hand, then let out a dry laugh. After all these years of being her doormat, backup plan, and lapdog, she still thought I was groveling.

She didn't get it just yet.

But… she would.

One day, she would wake up and realize the game was over.