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.
Mason stood there, staring at me as he walked into the room. The silence felt thick, so I broke it with a casual, “I didn’t think you’d come back tonight.”
He reflexively answered, “No, I’m just working overtime.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, we both froze. The smell of disinfectant clung to him—clearly, he’d just come back from the hospital. And besides, he had taken leave today for our date, so there was no “overtime.”
I couldn’t help but think about all the times he’d used that excuse before. The nights he didn’t come home, the forgotten anniversaries, the time he left me at the hospital with a fever. Always “busy,” always “working late.” At some point, his words turned from reasons into excuses, each one a flimsy shield hiding something deeper. But honestly, I didn’t care anymore.
He looked like he wanted to explain, but his gaze shifted to the calendar on the wall. The date, exactly seven days from now, was marked with a big star I had drawn.
“What’s happening on that day? Someone’s birthday? An anniversary? What do you need me to do?”
It was almost funny—Mason, the guy who hated celebrating anything, was suddenly asking about a special date. In the past, I would have to remind him of important days, practically beg for some kind of effort. Now, he was throwing questions at me like he was trying to change the subject.
I mirrored his old tone, vague and dismissive. “Oh, nothing big. I’ve got a gift for you. You’ll find out soon enough.”
He smiled, relieved. “Funny, I’ve got a surprise for you that day too!”
I couldn’t help but laugh inside. Seven days from now, he had no idea what was coming.
Mason’s eyes drifted to my hand wrapped in gauze and he asked, almost hesitantly, “Does it still hurt?”
I shook my head. “Not really. I was anesthetized during the surgery and the painkillers are still working.”
He grabbed my arm to check, a little too roughly and I winced as the pain shot through my wound again.
“Baby, it was just a few falls. You needed surgery? Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice softened, guilt creeping in.
I pulled my hand back, trying to keep the irritation from showing. “It’s fine. Anyway, you should get some sleep. My tutor gave me some last-minute work and I have to stay up late.”
Before he could argue, I pushed him out of the study and shut the door behind him. The slam echoed in the quiet room. I stood there for a moment, staring out at the dark night, feeling the weight of everything. Sleep wasn’t coming tonight.
On day six of my breakup countdown, Mason left early. He sent a short message, as if it were routine, [I’m heading to Alderhaven for a six-day business trip. Wait for me to come home.]
Perfect timing. We were both exhausted with each other anyway. Leaving without a goodbye seemed fitting.
On day five, I posted a guide about going abroad on Instagram, feeling a strange sense of finality. Then, a notification popped up—people you may know. Among the suggestions was an account named “Naomi.” Her latest post from the night before was captioned, [Teenage dreams come true.]
I didn’t even need to think twice to know what she meant.
The Instagram post was tagged in Alderhaven and it hit me—Alderhaven was Mason’s hometown.
On the fourth day of my breakup countdown, I stared at the clutter I had accumulated over five years. Exhausted, I called a moving company to help pack everything.
On the third day, I shipped my luggage off and confirmed my arrival date with my foreign tutor. During that time, Mason texted, "[What are you doing? I miss you.]" It felt like an eyesore, so I blocked him.
By the second day, everything in the apartment that belonged to me was gone. I left the keys, turned off the lights and walked out. Since my city didn’t have an airport, I had to head to the next city a day early.
On the train, I got a call from Peyton, Mason’s childhood friend. He mentioned Mason was planning a surprise for me, recording a video and asked if I could "dress up a little." He even threw in a casual "happy marriage" wish. Clearly, he was mistaken. I hung up, confused.
Finally, on the morning of the seventh day, I checked in for my flight. The countdown was over. As I sat waiting to take off, Mason blew up my phone with calls and texts, begging me to meet him at the town hall. I replied with just one sentence, "[As you wish, let’s break up.]"
