On the way to get our marriage certificate for the twentieth time, Rolf Trivett regretted it once again.

In eight years, this was our twentieth attempt to get the certificate.

But every time we reached City Hall, he would always say he needed time to care for his seriously ill childhood friend and couldn't promise to marry me.

This time, I couldn't take it anymore and asked him, "If she’s never going to get better, does that mean you’ll never marry me? What am I to you?"

Rolf immediately lost his temper and yelled at me, "I've already promised to take care of her for life. Can you stop being so selfish?

"Besides, we've been together for eight years. What difference does it make if we don't get this certificate?"

Once again, abandoned on the way to get a marriage certificate, I felt dazed. Strangers passed by—couples, families with kids, and old couples supporting each other.

Their happiness felt like an insult, as if reminding me that Rolf Trivett didn't really love me, or he wouldn't keep leaving me behind over and over.

Tears spilled out before I could stop them. I lifted my head stubbornly and walked to a corner, breaking down into loud sobs.

Eight years—you don't get a lot of that in a lifetime. But my eight years of love had only been met with repeated lies.

Despite wearing my best clothes, I was the most broken person on the whole street. No one looked worse off than I did.

But I'd already faced this kind of brokenness nineteen times. This was the twentieth.

People always say the third time's the charm, but I'd been through more than that many times over, so this time, I allowed myself to cry and be broken one last time, and then never again.

"Are you okay?"

A little girl in a princess dress came over with a smile and offered me candy. My eyes blurred with tears, and for a moment, I felt like I was back on the day I first met Rolf.

Back then, my family was in crisis. My mother lay in the hospital, barely hanging on. I was hiding in a corner, wiping my tears, when Rolf appeared, handing me a piece of candy. He told me, "Don't cry. You'll get through this. One step at a time."

That candy was so sweet that I felt enveloped in it, and Rolf's comfort helped me through. My mother got better, and I started searching for him everywhere.

I always believed he brought me luck, that it was meant to be.

I stared at the candy and reached out my trembling hand to take it.

The candy tasted bitter, so bitter that it hurt deep inside.

It turned out that he was poison wrapped in sugar all along. I was just too stupid to realize it.

I forced a smile at the little girl. She waved and ran off, taking the piece of my heart she touched with her.

After I gathered myself to call a cab home, a notification popped up on my phone—a notification from Miranda Rowe.

She was Rolf's childhood friend. She'd posted a short update. [With you here, I don't feel so sad.]

The picture showed Rolf feeding her.

They seemed really in love.

I painfully shut my phone and turned toward a nearby little bar.

Over the years, I rarely drank. Rolf hated the smell of smoke and alcohol, and I had made sure that everything catered to his needs.

It turned out that he was very good at taking care of people, too—just not me.

As I downed one drink after another, the burn in my stomach grew, but my heart strangely calmed.

I raised my phone above my head. In the camera, my face was flushed, my eyes glassy, red, and puffy. I looked like a train wreck.

But I didn't care. I lifted my glass and took a photo.

[Here's to my last eight years.]

That was the caption I posted on social media with the photo, and many people had already sent their sympathy.

[Didn't get the certificate, huh?]

[Did he ditch you again? Don't worry, babe. I'm coming!]

[What's this? Why are you out late, acting crazy? Are you playing the victim just to get people to blame me?]

Mixed in with those messages were Rolf's insults. He didn't ask why I was drinking, nor did he care enough to tell me to cut back. Instead, he angrily scolded me, telling me not to "act crazy".

My mood sank. This wasn't the first time Rolf criticized me, but every time he did, the wounds only got worse.

Rolf had always been like this. Whenever Miranda had a flare-up, he would take it out on me.

Maybe he wasn't exactly taking it out on me. Maybe he just couldn't stand seeing me happy when Miranda wasn't. If she wasn't doing well, then why should I?

But I didn't owe her anything. After Rolf and I got together, I learned about this childhood friend he cared about so much. I even hugged him gently and promised I'd be good to her.

But Miranda remained a barrier between us. Whenever we got close, she pushed us apart.

I even confronted Rolf and told him that if he really couldn't let go of her and wanted to stay by her side, I'd step back. After all, I had my pride; I wasn't going to be the third wheel.

But Rolf got angry and pointed at me, saying I insulted him.

"What do you think I am? Miranda and I are just friends. She's sick right now; what's wrong with me taking care of her?

"Don't you have any friends? Or are you just so bitter?

"Do you think everyone's as petty as you?"

Honestly, I felt like I had done everything I could, and I had never caused trouble with Miranda.

But to Rolf, I was still the selfish one.

I lifted my glass again and swallowed the drink, mixed with tears.

Bottoms up, one after another. My head started spinning, and I lost track of a lot of things.

At last, I felt alive again, like I was finally my own person.

That night, under the flashing neon lights of the bar, I didn't go home for the first time in ages. I partied with friends all night and crashed hard in a hotel.

Rolf found out I hadn't come home by noon the next day and called me nonstop.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum? So we didn't get the certificate. Was it really necessary to stay out all night for that?

"I've told you a million times, Miranda and I are just friends. She's sick, and her family is so far away. If I don't take care of her, who else will? Can't you have some sympathy?"

My head was pounding from the hangover, and Rolf kept nagging like a mosquito. I got irritated and didn't answer.

Perhaps sensing his tone was too harsh, he softened and sounded almost like he was begging.

"I'm sorry I left you at City Hall yesterday. Can you forgive me? How about I take you out to dinner and a movie to make up for it tonight?"

That was the kind of thing I dreamed about—us spending a normal, romantic night like any other couple.

But with Rolf, I only got those rewards after he messed up.

I choked out, "Okay."

Rolf's voice brightened. "Great. I'll pick you up tonight."

After hanging up, I straightened my clothes and headed to work.

I'd taken the morning off but had to be back in the afternoon. That was the reality of being an adult—I had to bury all my feelings during the daytime because life goes on.

Walking into the office, I put on a smile again. My coworkers wisely didn't ask questions.

But my boss called me into his office.

"We've decided to send someone overseas to handle international business. I've always believed in you. You can't fail at both love and career."

He must have heard about yesterday and was trying to be gentle.

If it were before, I'd have sulked and answered unhappily, "Rolf needs me; I can't just leave him. If I do, I'd lose all hope."

But now, I just took the file my boss handed me and answered calmly, "I appreciate the opportunity. I won't let you down."

Eight years. While everyone else got promotions and raises, I stayed in the same spot—stuck in between, going nowhere. I knew people laughed at me behind my back, thinking I was a fool. They said I had talent but threw it away for a man.

My boss gave me a hesitant look, then asked in surprise, "What about Rolf?"

Judging by his reaction, it was clear he'd expected to spend a few more days convincing me. He didn't think I'd agree so easily.

"I can make my own decisions. You're right—no one wants to reach middle age with nothing to show for it."

"That's good to hear. I believe in you. Start getting ready."

He patted my shoulder with approval, and I let out a long breath.

I'd spent eight years chasing after Rolf and be left behind over and over. I never got anything real from him and just kept giving. But it was different with work—work was simpler. As long as I gave it my all, I'd reap the rewards.

Handling overseas business meant a lot of preparation. I barely had time to think about Rolf. I stayed busy until sunset.

Most of the office had cleared out by then. George Winfred, a close colleague, tapped me on the shoulder.

"Gloria, your boyfriend's been waiting outside for a while. Aren't you gonna go see him?"

I froze for a second, and he chuckled in surprise.

"Didn't you hear everyone talking about it earlier? We all thought you were still mad at him."

He nudged me playfully to leave work, grabbed his stuff, and headed out.

I walked to the window and pulled out my phone. Rolf had called and texted me many times—at first sounding annoyed, then slowly more apologetic.

[I know I messed up. I even booked a really great restaurant tonight. Don't be mad, okay?]

My eyes lingered on the message. He sounded like he was placating a child.

I let out a cold laugh. People really are pathetic sometimes. When I was clingy and kept texting him, he got annoyed. But the moment I stopped caring, he came running like a man possessed.

Downstairs, Rolf spotted me by the window and waved excitedly, like he was calling over a puppy.

I checked the time, grabbed the documents I needed, and walked out.

It was dinnertime anyway. Besides, things between Rolf and me needed a proper ending.

"Hey, Gloria."

The second I stepped out of the building, Rolf rushed up to hug me with a bouquet of roses behind his back.

I looked down at his wide, doe-like eyes and felt a wave of irritation. I awkwardly pushed him off me.

"Let's go."

I quickly slid into the back seat to cover up my discomfort. Rolf stood there for a second, surprisingly not losing his temper.

"Do you like the flowers? Didn't you always want to do things normal couples do?"

He held the bouquet like it was some grand gift. I cleared my throat and turned away. The truth was, I hated roses. But they were Miranda's favorite.

He couldn't even remember something that simple, yet here he was, acting like he was being sincere.

On the way to dinner, Rolf kept trying to make small talk. But instead of playing along like I usually did, I just stared out the window and answered half-heartedly.

He must've gotten the hint because eventually, he stopped talking and focused on driving.

He took me to some trendy spot popular online, one of those places couples love to take photos at. As soon as we got out of the car, a crowd of couples walked past.

Rolf frowned and grabbed my wrist.

As if afraid I'd try to pull away, he held on tightly with a wide smile plastered on his face.

I pushed down the discomfort in my chest and walked in with him anyway.