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.

Sensing my change in mood, Rolf suddenly became lively again.

He said while pointing, "Gloria, look at that pavilion. Couples love taking pictures there, especially with today's clouds.

"And over there, that arched bridge—Miranda loves it. You can hear the sound of the stream underneath."

The moment I heard her name, my chest clenched instinctively, but I kept my face calm.

Rolf, on the other hand, suddenly covered his mouth in panic.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bring her up."

I shook my head, but a dull ache bloomed in my chest.

Even though I'd told myself a hundred times not to care, not to get caught up in it… after eight years of loving him, who could accept even their last dinner together being filled with memories of someone else?

Rolf finally fell quiet and led me to our table. He carefully ordered a long list of dishes, but not a single one of them was something I actually liked.

Over the years, I'd come to know all of Miranda's favorites by heart. He recited them like the list had been carved in his brain.

Everything he did had her name written all over it. His heart was full of her, even when he didn't say it out loud.

But for once, I didn't say a word. I just sat there quietly and waited for the food.

Rolf seemed to notice something was off. He looked up and asked, "Is there anything else you want to add?"

I shook my head. After all these years of eating things I never liked, I'd just gotten used to it. How pathetic.

Once the waiter left, Rolf looked embarrassed, his face flushed red.

I glanced at him in confusion, only for him to pull out a pair of rings like he was performing a magic trick.

"Gloria, I know I've kept breaking my promises. Miranda's health hasn't been great, and her parents are never around. Since we've known each other forever, I just couldn't leave her.

"You've been obsessed with marriage, right? So let's just put the rings on. It's just the paperwork that's missing—it's basically the same thing.

"What do you think?"

That last line was just to soften the blow, in case I didn't take it well. I gave a bitter smile and looked up at the man sitting across from me.

He had this unshakable confidence, like he already knew I would say yes.

Why would he think that? Was it because I'd spent eight years chasing after him, because I was a pushover, or because I deserved being taken for granted?

But it wasn't about the paper. What I wanted was to be treated fairly, to have someone who loved me and only me.

Right then, the thought of breaking up filled my head, the words of rejection on the edge of my lips.

Rolf sat smiling, waiting for my answer.

But before I could speak, the ringtone cut through the moment, loud and abrupt.

He answered in a panic. I didn't even need to guess. The only one who could make him react like that was Miranda.

A second later, her voice came through the phone, clear and dramatic.

"Rolf, I feel terrible… I think I'm dying."

Rolf jumped to his feet, knocking the dishes off the table. He grabbed his keys and rushed out.

He didn't even glance back. It was quick, without hesitation—just like yesterday.

We were halfway to City Hall, and all it took was a phone call for him to want to leave.

I'd been stood up twenty times, and every single time, it was because he ran off to take care of Miranda.

That was why yesterday, 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, telling me to get out of the car. "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? Get out. Don't make me say it again."

He knew it had been eight years—countless nights I cried into my pillow, hating him and hating myself for being powerless but unable to let go, even when I wanted to.

"Hi, would you still like your meal?"

The waiter's careful voice pulled me back to reality. That loud scene had drawn a lot of attention. I could feel people staring—some with pity, some with relief that they weren't me.

I nodded and forced the food down, each bite tasteless like wax.