Peter left, feeling satisfied.

The door closed behind him.

In the dark, I lay alone on the couch.

The clock on the wall ticked softly.

That familiar loneliness from our first breakup crept back in again.

Only this time, it didn’t feel suffocating.

It felt like my withdrawal was finally easing.

The memories of our breakup came rushing back.

It all began one late night.

Julia sent Peter a message: [Peter, I’m getting a divorce.]

From that moment, something changed in him.

He removed our photo from his social media background.

He said it was a critical period for his promotion and he needed to appear professional.

I never doubted him.

I was busy with work, and so was he.

I never imagined he still had time to run errands for Julia.

We both came from ordinary families.

Peter’s situation was even worse.

His father had transferred all their money to another woman, and when his parents divorced, his mother was left with nothing.

Looking back, there had always been signs.

One afternoon, while Peter and I were having lunch, he suddenly said, “You should learn how to do your makeup too.”

Later, when I checked our chat history, I realized that same day, Julia had “accidentally” sent him a sultry, full-makeup selfie.

One night, when we were both drenched in sweat after making love, Peter, still not fully satisfied, looked me over and said, “It’d be perfect if your waist were a little slimmer.”

That day, Julia had ordered the smallest size of lingerie online and “accidentally” filled in Peter’s phone number.

One evening, a fire broke out in the building’s parking area.

The flames spread upward, thick smoke billowing into the sky.

At that moment, all I could think was thankfully, Peter had gone to take out the trash.

Thankfully, he was safe.

As the smoke filled my lungs and my vision blurred, I saw firefighters rushing in and Peter trying to charge into the flames.

But he was stopped by a woman in black lace nightwear.

I soon lost consciousness and didn’t think much about it afterward.

I assumed she was just a concerned neighbor.

During my hospital stay, Peter ran back and forth between work and the hospital to take care of me.

It was only a minor burn, so to avoid missing work, I was discharged quickly.

I kept living in the illusion of our loving relationship until one day when the landlord came to raise the rent.

I tried to argue, switching from pleading to threatening to move out.

I talked so much I was practically spitting, sounding like a desperate woman quarreling over a few dollars.

The landlord said coldly, “Then how come your boyfriend can afford a second apartment?”

It hit me like a blow to the head.

Even after the landlord left, jingling the keys, I was still in shock.

That night, when Peter went out to take out the trash, I followed him on impulse.

I watched him pick up a parcel, carefully disinfect the package outside Julia’s door, then step inside after neatly placing his own shoes in the cabinet and changing into those deep-blue house slippers.

Everything he did was so practiced, as if he were returning to his own home.

I stood at the door for a long time, frozen in place.

A chill spread from my chest, and my mind went blank.

Like a puppet on strings, I knocked on the door.

From inside came Peter’s voice.

He asked who it was.

“The delivery shouldn’t have arrived this fast…” he muttered as he opened the door.

That was when I finally understood why Peter suddenly insisted on taking out the trash every night, why he stopped ordering takeout at noon and began asking me to cook instead.

He wanted to save more money to spend on Julia.

I couldn’t remember much about what happened after that.

Only that Peter stood protectively in front of Julia.

“I just didn’t want you overthinking it. That’s why I didn’t tell you before. And sure enough, you’re overreacting again!”

“There’s nothing between me and her!”

Really?

Everything about our relationship was something I learned through Peter’s experience.

He used to say everyone had a past.

Was I really just overreacting?

But later, he kept going to see Julia again and again.

Even on our anniversary, when she called sounding shaken and said, “I’m scared.”

Peter left me sitting in the restaurant without a second thought.

That night, I waited until four in the morning before he came back.

His hair was damp.

He had clearly just taken a shower.

When he opened the door, he met my red, tear-filled eyes.

A flicker of panic crossed his face before he said, “I thought you were asleep, so I took a shower at Julia’s place. Nothing happened between us.”

I answered him by throwing a glass of water at him.

The worst fight we’d ever had broke out.

My breathing was uneven, and anger twisted my words.

“She’s still married, and you’re desperate to play the homewrecker? You two make me sick!”

“Smack—”

The slap landed hard across my face, swelling instantly.

Peter’s expression was cold.

“Watch your mouth. Don’t you dare slander Julia’s name.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

Suddenly, the man in front of me felt like a stranger.

“You don’t trust me at all. With you like this, we can’t go on. Let’s break up.”

He said the words as if they meant nothing.

Yet back when we were dating, he hated it whenever I even mentioned breaking up.

That very day, Peter packed his suitcase and left.

I stayed in our apartment, numb and lost.

I couldn’t eat a single bite, just went through the motions.

In the neighborhood chat, Julia posted a short video of a man clumsily cooking in the kitchen:

[No one at home knows how to cook.]

There was no doubt that the man in her video was Peter.

[Does anyone know a housekeeper who can come over to cook for two people who prefer bold, spicy dishes?]

I liked spicy food too.

But Peter always preferred bland dishes and couldn’t handle spicy ones.

I always bent to his preferences, eating bland food just to match his.

But now, he could share spicy meals with Julia.

I went to his office.

He seemed completely unaffected.

He worked as usual, confident and composed, and after work, he even stopped by a flower stand and bought a bouquet.

I’d never received flowers from Peter.

After all, we were saving up for marriage, so there was never room for that kind of expense.

Almost masochistically, I scrolled through Peter’s social media, checking his music app’s following list one by one.

That was where I found Julia.

And the record showing they’d been listening to songs together late at night, even back when we were still together.

I ran into the bathroom and threw up for a long time.

I once thought that the half apple left on the table was the rotten one.

But the half I’d eaten was rotten too.

Within a month, I lost fifteen pounds.

I was like someone drowning, cold lake water slowly filling my nose and mouth, flooding into my chest and stomach.

No one could save me.

And I couldn’t find a way to save myself until I went to see a therapist.

She said, “Have you ever heard of exposure therapy?”

It was a kind of therapy that meant facing the pain, offering love willingly, until disappointment gradually wore that love away.

So that day, I put on makeup, changed into new clothes, lifted a smile, and went to see Peter.

A flicker of admiration crossed his eyes, but he still said reservedly, “Do you realize your mistake now?”

Did I?

Of course I did.

My mistake was not seeing him clearly enough, not having the courage to let go, and still holding onto foolish hope for him.

Just like that, we got back together.

It was as if nothing had ever happened.

If anything, I felt like I loved Peter even more.

Every day, I fussed over him, tended to his needs, and doted on him more than he ever did on Julia.

Even the intimate acts I once resisted, I began to go along with.

Peter was thrilled.

“Sarah, if only you’d been like this from the start.”

But soon, Peter began to notice something was off.

I didn’t care if he worked late or caught a cold, and I never checked up on him.

When his replies came slow, I didn’t push.

When he broke plans, I didn’t get angry.

Even when I saw lipstick on his shirt, I acted like I hadn’t noticed.

In just a month, the therapy had taken effect.

Peter started to look uglier in my eyes.

When he leaned in to kiss me, a wave of disgust rose in my chest.

The closer he got, the harder it was to bear.

In those moments of forced intimacy, he seemed to sense something.

He asked, “Sarah, do you love me?”

Without hesitation, I said, “Of course.”

But somehow, that answer didn’t satisfy him.

He asked again and again, needing constant reassurance.

And finally, on an ordinary day, I finally realized I was ready to walk away from Peter.

Over the past few days, I’d been sending my belongings away little by little.

An old college friend who started a business abroad had invited me to join him.

I accepted the offer.

That night, Peter came back unusually early from “taking out the trash.”

I quickly shut my eyes.

He slipped quietly into bed beside me.

His arm reached across the space between us, trying to pull me close.

I turned over casually, putting some distance between us.

His hand froze midair.

“Sarah, have you been too tired lately?”

There was no response.

“Why don’t you argue with me anymore?”

I still didn’t response.

Peter kept talking to himself. “What kind of wedding do you want? How about one by the lake? You’ve always said you wanted to go there…”

There wouldn’t be a wedding.

I drifted off to sleep to the sound of his rambling.

The next morning, Peter shaved, then put on the most expensive designer suit in the closet, the one I’d given him for his birthday once.

Today was the day Peter accompanied Julia to collect her divorce papers.

She was already waiting downstairs.

The moment she saw him, she went straight up to him, clinging to his arm.

When she noticed me, she smiled politely, but the smug glint in her eyes gave her away.

Peter turned around, saw me, and quickly pushed her a little aside.

“Sarah, what are you doing up so early?”

It wasn’t even time for me to leave for work.

He walked over, took my hand gently, and said softly, “Julia’s just getting her divorce papers today. I’ll take her to the airport after that. Then we’ll have dinner together, just the two of us.”

But I didn’t believe him.

He had just been promoted a few months ago.

He wasn’t even thirty, already earning a comfortable five-figure salary and making a name for himself in the city.

Julia, on the other hand, was supposedly leaving to stay with relatives overseas and take on some ordinary job.

How could that compare to rekindling things with Peter?

But I didn’t expose the lie.

Peter took a few steps, then turned back to look at me.

“Wait for me. I’ve got a surprise for you tonight.”

This time, I didn’t respond.

He seemed to sense something.

“Sarah…”

He paused, about to turn back, but Julia caught his hand.

And just like that, he left.

That day, the sky was clear and bright.

That day, my heart felt light.

That day, I finally ended a failed relationship.

I boarded the plane and left it all behind.