My boyfriend had promised me a romantic day at the beach, but when we got there, he brought his so-called "dream girl" along. Things took a turn for the worse when this girl deliberately led me onto a mossy reef. I slipped three times in a row, my joints were scraped and bloody and my boyfriend didn’t even bat an eye. Instead, he pointed at me and scolded me in front of everyone, saying, "You fell because you're stupid. Why blame others? Didn’t your parents teach you how to walk?"

The dream girl pretended to go get medicine, but my boyfriend stopped her, telling her, "Just stay away from her so you don’t get hurt. There's no pharmacy around; it's just a little bleeding. Let her deal with it." Not long after, the girl scratched her feet and my boyfriend rushed her to the hospital, heartbroken over her minor injuries.

I stayed calm and didn’t make a scene, just counted down the days until I could leave. Seven days later, I disappeared without a word and my boyfriend, who was always so composed, went completely nuts.

***

My boyfriend, Mason Stone, completely forgot our anniversary. To make up for it, he planned a beach date. I went all out— flawless makeup, a sexy swimsuit and was ready to bask in the sun. But when we got there, Mason introduced a new guest, "Jessica, this is Naomi Sutton, a high school classmate who just returned from studying abroad. I invited her to join us."

Naomi playfully hit Mason’s shoulder and teased, "Mason’s been so tight-lipped. He never mentioned he has a girlfriend. Looks like he really treasures you!" Mason’s eyes were warm, but he wore a slightly disappointed smile.

I stood there, stunned, as if struck by lightning. Naomi’s face was all too familiar. Just a week earlier, I’d had to borrow Mason’s computer for an urgent work task because mine had broken down. While using his computer, I accidentally clicked on a hidden file labeled “Naomi.” To my shock, it was filled with tens of thousands of photos of the same girl, all taken five years ago. In one group photo, Mason’s gaze was fixated on Naomi's profile—just like it was now: lingering and affectionate.

It hit me hard. Naomi was the heroine of his life. Despite being a photographer, Mason had never taken a single photo of me in our five years together. I had tried to persuade him to, but he always brushed me off, saying, "I work more than ten hours a day and it’s really tiring. Why make me work after work too?"

I had looked through the photos Mason had taken of Naomi and it was clear he’d gone to great lengths to capture her at her best. He could snap hundreds of shots from the same angle just to get the perfect one. It wasn’t that he was unwilling—it was that I wasn’t the subject he cared about.

The realization hit me hard, like a thorn piercing my heart. I wanted answers but couldn’t bring myself to ask. Last night, Mason had said he would take me to the beach to unwind. It was the first time in five years he had actually initiated a date. As I packed, I noticed he had quietly slipped in a new camera. I was thrilled, thinking I was finally stepping into the role of his dream girl.

But then he brought Naomi along and flirted with her right in front of me. The relationship I once cherished now felt like it was turning my stomach.

“Naomi, that photo is great, but try to smile more naturally!” Mason’s soft voice pulled me from my thoughts. I saw Naomi leaning against a coconut tree, striking pose after pose as Mason guided her patiently. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. If they were so into each other, I’d step away.

Naomi finally noticed me and waved enthusiastically. “Jessica, the coastline here is amazing. You should get a photo too!”

I stopped dead in my tracks. It was clear that the man I’d loved for five years only had eyes for his dream girl. It was impossible not to feel utterly rejected.

In a daze, I thought, why not just take the first and last photo Mason ever took of me as a breakup gift? Naomi’s sly smile was still fresh in my mind as I followed her suggestion and stepped onto a mossy reef. The next moment, I felt my knees slam into the stones with a painful crack.

I had worn non-slip sandals, but they were useless on the slippery moss. I tried to stand but fell again. To avoid hitting my head, I used my palms to break the fall, but the reef was covered in sharp shells. One of them sliced into my right palm and I curled up in pain. The reef was cold, the moss was slimy and my swimsuit, which I’d chosen for the photos, only highlighted my humiliation and vulnerability.

“Baby, are you okay?” Mason’s rarely seen distressed expression surfaced as he tried to help me up, but his nails dug into my wound. As I struggled to pull away, I glared at Naomi, who was pretending to be worried. “Are you trying to humiliate me on purpose? Congratulations, you’ve succeeded!”

Naomi's voice trembled as if she was the one wronged. “Is it wrong to want you to take beautiful photos?”

Mason’s expression shifted in an instant. Not only did he loosen his grip, but he also pushed me away. “Jessica, you fell because you were being careless. It has nothing to do with Naomi. Didn’t your parents teach you how to walk properly?”

If Mason hadn’t tried to help me, I might have been able to get up on my own. But his half-hearted attempts at care only led me to fall a third time. By now, I could barely feel the pain in my body. The repeated falls had finally jolted me awake.

For five years, I had been blinded by Mason’s fake affection. It all started when I was a freshman, lost on our massive campus. Mason swooped in like a knight, took my heavy bags and handed me a tissue to wipe away my sweat. I was smitten by the seemingly perfect, considerate senior. Some people called me shameless, but Mason never turned me down and always seemed to give mixed signals.

He had invited me for midnight snacks after breakfast, given me cute toys as gifts and sweeten the deal whenever he had messed up. But once I became his official girlfriend, things changed. He had gone hot and cold and whenever I felt hurt, he’d throw in some sweet gesture to make up for it.

The beach date was supposed to be his way of making up for forgetting our fifth anniversary. A little slap and then a “makeup” date had become his routine way of controlling me. I kept swinging between his coldness and sweetness, always finding excuses for him—he worked hard, was under a lot of pressure. But now, I saw it for what it was: manipulation.

Mason had always been pretty distant and not the best at expressing his feelings, but I convinced myself he was doing alright by me. Then I saw how he treated Naomi and I realized just how unfair he was.

There I was, with my knees bleeding. Naomi helped me with a tissue to stop the bleeding but then suddenly claimed she needed to buy medicine. A moment later, she pretended to be dizzy and collapsed. Mason rushed to her side, holding her gently and brushing her hair away from her face with a look of genuine concern.

“Where’s the nearest pharmacy? You’ve been walking in high heels—your feet must be sore,” he said, his voice full of worry.

Then he turned to me, dismissing my pain. “Jessica’s fine. It’s just a little bleeding. She can manage.”

He even told Naomi to stay away from me, as if I might somehow hurt her. Even though I had made up my mind to end things, his words made me feel like I was falling into an icy void.

My palm was deeply cut, with shell fragments still stuck in it. My knee was a mess, with blood streaming down my calf and staining the sand. The rest of my exposed skin was covered in large bruises. To Mason, though, it was just “a little bleeding.”

A passerby, clearly moved by my state, helped me to a chair and went off to get iodine and gauze.

Naomi shot Mason a look and said sarcastically, “The nearest pharmacy is just 200 meters away. It should take less than five minutes to get there and back. You’re a big guy—don’t tell me you can’t walk there?!”

Mason realized he had overstepped but couldn’t bring himself to apologize. With a cold expression, he grabbed the cotton swab from a young lady’s hand and pressed it against my knee, applying way too much pressure.

I flinched and tried to pull away and he gave me this look as if to say, “See, she doesn’t want me to touch it.” It was like he was waiting for me to prove him right.

I quickly cleaned the wound and managed to stop the bleeding. I was about to call a taxi to the hospital when I noticed Naomi running over, excitedly holding a camera.

“Jessica, don’t be upset! At least we got some great photos!” she chirped.

Mason chimed in, “Yeah, Jessica, you’ve always wanted to be my model. Now it’s finally happening!”

Naomi pulled up the photo gallery and looked through it, her expression changing from curiosity to embarrassment. She finally said, “Her poses look amazing, but why didn’t you get any photos of Jessica?”

She continued flipping through the gallery, clearly disappointed and then turned to Mason with a frown. “Your skills are all over the place! You got a great shot of me, but her beautiful swimsuit was totally wasted!!”

I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at Naomi’s camera. She was zooming in and out, admiring her perfect shots under the coconut tree. Every detail was flawless.

Noticing me looking, Naomi quickly clicked a few buttons and tilted the screen towards me. This time, the photos were of me—blurred focus, awkward angles. Each shot captured my embarrassment in full.

If this had been the old me, I’d have cried and made a scene, trying to get Mason to prove he loved me more. But now, I just felt humiliated and ridiculous.

I calmly took the camera from Naomi’s hands and started deleting those photos and with them, five years of memories.

Mason, seeing that I wasn’t making a fuss, felt a twinge of guilt. He rarely softened his attitude, but he took off his coat and draped it over my shoulders. “I’m sorry about the photos. I didn’t get any good ones. Did you bring a long skirt? I can take a few more shots after you put it on.”

I felt a mix of anger and disbelief. Did he really expect me to endure this date with Naomi and his lovey-dovey behavior, all while nursing my injuries?

Just then, a sweet fragrance surrounded me. I thought Naomi was too close until I noticed the jacket I was wearing. The cuffs were lined with long hairs that definitely weren’t mine.

Disgusted, I tossed the jacket to the ground. Naomi happened to come over with a Band-Aid and as she did, the zipper of the jacket scraped her ankle.

Mason thought I was trying to provoke him, so he grabbed the camera and slammed it into my chest. “It’s just a few broken photos. I already apologized. Do you really need to hit her?” he snapped.

He turned on me, saying, “You’re the one who pushed Naomi, who only tried to help by getting you a Band-Aid. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before acting like this!”

He then cradled Naomi’s foot, examining it carefully. It was just a minor scratch, but he seemed more concerned. Without a second thought, he whisked Naomi off to get a tetanus shot, leaving me behind.

I ended up taking a taxi to the hospital alone. The doctor checked my wounds and said they were contaminated with seawater and had debris in them, making them prone to infection. He recommended debridement surgery, which meant I’d need a week to recover.

So, I had to cancel my flight, which I had just booked. I looked at the calendar and realized that in seven days, I had to report back regarding the foreign exchange. Not long ago, my tutor had praised my research and recommended me for a study abroad program in the UK. Mason’s friend had even hinted at a romantic proposal, which made me decide to stay and marry him.

Now, I was grateful for this unexpected turn of events. It gave me a decent reason to bow out gracefully.

I had planned to leave tonight. But rushing off while injured, barely able to drag my luggage, felt too humiliating. Seven days—that was perfect. Enough time to sever ties completely and leave with some dignity.

After the surgery, I returned to the apartment I shared with Mason. I mentally mapped out my seven-day breakup plan, starting by tossing out old junk. The dusty couple’s water cups went first, followed by the couple’s shirts, tags still attached. They, like my one-sided love, belonged in the trash.

It was 1 a.m. and I was sorting through thesis papers when Mason suddenly walked in. I was a bit startled—mostly because, just an hour ago, he posted his first-ever Instagram post. The caption read, [I’ll never let you get hurt again,] with a picture of him on one knee, applying medicine to Naomi. The note section had exploded.

Most people were speculating about the mystery girl. A few mutual friends, however, jumped to the wrong conclusion.

[Mason and Jessica finally went public! Wishing you two the best!]

[This pose looks like a major hint!]

But when I refreshed it again, all I saw was the spinning loading symbol. He had probably blocked me.