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.

A while after Rolf left, he seemed to have grown a conscience and sent me a message full of apology.

[Miranda's sick. I'll take her to the hospital, and then I'll come find you. She's unwell, so I hope you'll understand. You're the only one I love.]

I'd heard that line so many times my ears were numb. She was sick, so I was supposed to give in to her.

But I didn't owe her anything. Whether she was sick or just pretending, I still didn't owe her a thing.

I had asked a lot of friends about Miranda's condition.

She was born with a heart defect, but she'd been well cared for and had surgery on time. In theory, she shouldn't be having a flare up every single day.

The funniest part? Her attacks always came at perfect timing—either on my birthday, our anniversary, or the day we went to get our marriage certificate.

I'd never heard of someone getting sick that precisely. Or maybe she could control it.

I stopped checking my phone and took pictures of the restaurant's scenery instead. It really was beautiful—there were pavilions and courtyards, with birds and fish. Most of all, it was a place filled with love, with stories of people's love written all over it.

I posted the photos to my social feed with one line. [Maybe other people's happiness is still happiness.]

Then, almost immediately, Miranda fired back with a photo set of her own.

[You're always around when I'm not feeling well.]

The pictures were so intimate—she was leaning on Rolf's shoulder, her hands gripping his tightly. That was how normal couples looked.

I clenched my phone tightly and sat back down.

Since Miranda was already at the hospital, Rolf should be back soon. I wanted to end things properly and leave some good memories behind.

But I had overestimated my place in his life. He didn't show up until closing time. I sent messages asking where he was, but he didn't reply.

The night was cool, and the sky seemed to mock me by letting a light rain fall.

I didn't run or hide. Step by step, I walked home. Just like the past eight years, every step felt so hard.

Half an hour later, I got home, my forehead burning, my throat sore.

Rolf wasn't back, but I was used to it. I just collapsed and fell asleep.

When he finally thought of me again, dawn had already broken.

He came back, full of apology on his face.

"Miranda's condition got worse, and I couldn't leave. I brought you breakfast. Come eat."

I turned away and grabbed my files, ready to leave.

My body felt weak from the rain and a slight fever. I didn't want to argue, but Rolf wouldn't let go. He grabbed my hand stubbornly, refusing to let me leave.

"You're burning up—"

Before he finished, I yanked my hand free, trying to keep some dignity.

But I pulled too hard, and the files slipped from my hands to the floor.

Rolf rushed to pick them up, his pupils suddenly wide with shock.

"These are all for projects overseas. What's this?"

Seeing the hurt in his eyes, I felt a rush of cold satisfaction and snapped, "As you can see, I'm being sent abroad. Let's break up. You're free now. No one will stand in the way of you and Miranda anymore!"