Chapter: The Phone Call
I think it was towards the end of March.
One evening, I went to my bedroom—not to lie down, just to sit on the edge of the bed. Around 9 PM, I called Chris. I had to tell him I was engaged. I was now a fiancée, and if Chris happened to call the next day, what would I tell my fiancé?
Half hoping, half dreading, I silently wished, "Don't pick up that cursed phone, please don't."
And yet… I called.
Guess what happened?
Chris, who sometimes wouldn't answer for hours, picked up on the first ring.
"How are you?" I asked.
"I'm fine. You?" he replied casually.
"I'm… okay," I mumbled. And then it just came out:
"Chris… I'm engaged."
Silence.
And then I hung up.
He didn't say a word.
I didn't either.
The line just went dead.
He never called me back.
Maybe he was shocked.
Or maybe… maybe he'd been waiting for this moment all along.
Maybe, with that one sentence, he was finally free of me—forever.
We'll never know what Chris really thought or felt. We never did.
Did I sleep that night? I don't remember.
But I believe we were both in shock.
At work, my fiancé kept sending me flowers. Everyone talked about how romantic he was.
And there I was, pretending to be happy, convincing myself this new life—this home, this possible family, this child—would bring me peace.
We rented the house we were going to live in.
Slowly, we started buying furniture.
And then, the fights began.
One time I even threw the engagement ring at him.
"I can't do this. I don't want this!" I yelled.
That same night, he came to my door drunk, crying, begging for another chance.
Honestly, life gives you signs.
It whispers, "He's going to hurt you again. Don't marry him."
But you don't listen.
You can't see clearly—not yet.
I forgave him.
We continued down that road.
And the very next night, around early June, while I was home alone…
I called Chris.