Our Anniversary Ends with an End

I remember that day—the day that marked the sixth year since I had said yes to my boyfriend. I had hoped for something special, something meaningful, a quiet dinner or a thoughtful gift. But I was wrong; it seems my boyfriend had planned something different.

My boyfriend, Yohann, the ever-the thrill-seeker, decided that bungee jumping with his childhood friend was the way to celebrate. It wasn't just any jump, though; it was from a towering cliff. But I have a fear of heights.

While I was thinking and was distracted, he gave me a sudden push. I free-fell, gasping for air. And for a moment, I thought I wouldn't make it.

After being rushed to the hospital, I woke up groggy and disoriented. As I reached for my phone, I accidentally came across my boyfriend's latest social media post. There he was, sitting with his childhood friend at a fancy restaurant, enjoying what looked like a romantic dinner.

The caption read: "I always like brave girls. I hope you ride the waves and bravely move forward for the rest of your life."

In that moment, everything clicked. The timid version of myself, afraid of heights and hesitant to take risks, was no longer enough for him.

So, I decided to leave him. Completely. No explanations, no goodbyes. I knew I deserved more than being someone else's afterthought.

What I didn't expect was what happened next. After I left Yohann, the man who always seemed calm and in control, panicked. He searched for me everywhere, losing his usual composure when he realized I was gone.

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During my two days in the hospital, sleep brought no peace. Every night, I had the same nightmare—falling into an endless abyss, unable to breathe as the panic and suffocation consumed me.

But the worst part wasn't the dream when I opened my eyes. It was the emptiness beside me. I am all alone. No one's with me.

I lay staring at the ceiling. After a long while, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and reached for my phone, trying to shake off anything inside my mind.

The last message between Yohann and me was still from the day we went bungee jumping. I couldn't shake the memory of how easily he had pushed me off that ledge despite my fear. The thought of it felt like needles piercing my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Without thinking, I opened his social media timeline, and there it was—his latest post. His childhood friend, Zandria, smiled brightly in the photo while coyly covering half her face with a bouquet of bright red roses. She looked so happy.

Then it hit me. Yohann had promised that if I could conquer my fear and make that jump, he would be waiting at the bottom with flowers to celebrate my bravery. He had said, "Brave girls are the most commendable, Ysha. I believe in you."

But I was terrified of heights. I didn't want to jump at all. Even thinking about that moment now filled me with anxiety.

Back then, Yohann had stared at me for an eternity. Eventually, he softened his tone, almost as if he understood. "It's okay," he said. "I'll jump with Zandria; you can watch from the side. How does that sound?"

I believed him. But as we approached the edge, everything changed. He took the instructor's ropes and began fastening them to me without warning. My heart raced as I begged him to stop, but he ignored my desperate pleas and pushed me off the ledge.

The sensation of falling made me scream uncontrollably. I felt helpless like the air had been stolen from my lungs. As I fell, I heard Zandria's faint and distant voice, pretending to sound worried. "Yohann, what if Ysha gets mad at you for this?"

Yohann, with his cold confidence, brushed it off like it was nothing. "She won't. She loves me too much ever to be mad."

Now, staring at the photo on my phone, I felt a wave of self-mockery wash over me. I had compromised so many times for him, constantly bending, always giving in. And what had he done? He treated my feelings like they didn't matter, knowing I was too afraid to leave.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from my brother.

[Have you made up your mind? Are you coming back with me or staying there?]

A part of me had always clung to the idea of staying, hoping things would change. But not anymore; I was done with being foolish.

I'll come home. Pick me up after you finish your work.]

Almost instantly, he responded. [Alright, I'll finish this project in about ten days. Then I'll get you.]

For the first time in a long while, I finally made the right choice.