"Happy third anniversary, Liam," Emma whispered. The words felt like lead in her mouth.
She stood in the cramped elevator, clutching a cake that now felt like a joke. 'I Love You More Than Anything,' the icing read. What a pathetic lie she had been telling herself. For three years, Emma had been the only one traveling this road. Five hours of transit, every single time, because Liam was always drowning in work She had accepted it. She had accepted everything.
She accepted his suffocating rules no male friends, no dinners out, no life outside of him. She had mistaken his jealousy for passion, his control for care. She was Emma, the successful author to the world, but to Liam? She was just a girl who the daydreamer for a living.
"Why can't you get a real job, Emma? Something people actually respect?" His voice always echoed in her head whenever she sat down to write. Even his friends joined in, laughing at her during reunions, treating her like a delusional child while Liam just sat there, letting them tear her down.
She reached his floor. Her heart was a frantic bird, trapped in her chest. She rang the bell, hoping to see his tired face. Ten minutes of silence followed. Maybe he's sleeping. Maybe he's exhausted.
Her trembling fingers punched in the passcode. The door clicked open, and the stench of his betrayal hit her before she even saw it. Stale beer, cheap pizza, and the heavy, lingering scent of a woman's perfume that wasn't hers.
The living room was a mess. But Emma's eyes were locked on the floor. There, right in front of the bedroom door, lay a black silk dress. It was discarded carelessly, as if the person wearing it couldn't wait to get it off.
Emma felt a cold, sharp blade of reality slice through her heart. She looked at the cake in her hands, then at the luxury watch the one she had saved for months to buy, skipping meals just to see him smile.
Suddenly, a soft, muffled giggle drifted from behind the bedroom door. A woman's voice. And then, Liam's laughter the warm, genuine laugh he hadn't given Emma in over a year.
The cake box slipped from her numb fingers. It hit the floor with a sickening thud, the I Love You icing smearing into a pathetic, white blur.
The sound of the cake hitting the floor was deafening in the sudden silence. Inside the room, the voices stopped instantly. They knew.
The bedroom door swung open, revealing Liam the man she had loved for three years standing there shirtless, his skin flushed. Emma fought to breathe, her eyes burning as she caught sight of a woman behind him, casually pulling the duvet over her bare body. The woman didn't even look shocked meanwhile she looked bored.
Liam's face flickered with surprise for a split second, but before he could utter a word, Emma's hand collided with his cheek.
SLAP.
The sound echoed through the hallway. Liam's head snapped to the side, his jaw tightening as suppressed rage flickered in his eyes.
"You bastard," Emma choked out, her voice trembling. "You're cheating on me?" Liam, fueled by his own twisted pride, didn't apologize. Instead, he stepped toward her, his voice rising until it was a roar. "Yeah, I'm cheating! You want to know why? Look at yourself, Emma! No decent man would ever choose you. You don't know how to dress, your body is plain and uninspiring, and you're nothing but a delusional writer living in a fantasy world!"
Each word was a poisoned blade driven straight into her heart. For three years, she had been his shadow. She had forgiven every mistake, every cold shoulder, and every shout. Liam had never treated her like a girlfriend. He avoided even the simplest kiss, and Emma had convinced herself he was just respecting her.
But seeing that naked woman in his bed destroyed the last of her delusions. She didn't feel respected. She felt worthless. Discarded.
Liam grabbed her arm, his grip bruising, and dragged her toward the entrance. "We're done. I'm finished with you. I never want to see your face again!" The heavy door slammed shut right in front of her. Thud.
Emma's world collapsed in that hallway. She sank to the floor, her knees hitting the cold tiles. Her fingers were still white knuckled, clutching the luxury watch she had bought for him a gift for a man who didn't even think she was worth a second glance.
The tears finally came, hot and uncontrollable, blurring the world around her. She sat there, broken, still trying to convince herself this was just a nightmare. She couldn't believe that the person she had prioritized over her own life for three years was the same person who had just shredded her soul into pieces.
A pathetic, desperate sob escaped her throat as she leaned her forehead against the door. She was on the verge of begging. She almost said, "Please." She almost begged him to open the door, to tell her it was all a sick joke, to tell her that he still loved her. Even after the insults, even after the woman in his bed, Emma was still ready to crawl back just so she wouldn't have to face the hollow emptiness in her chest.
But the silence from the other side was absolute. There was no sound of regret, no footsteps coming to save her.
Emma walked away, her vision blurred by a fresh wave of tears. Every step felt like she was treading on broken glass. She didn't know how she got home. She didn't remember the bus ride or the walk to her apartment. All she knew was that the Emma who believed in happily ever after had died in that hallway.
Emma collapsed onto her unmade bed, clutching her phone with trembling hands. Her thumb hovered over Liam's contact the name still saved with a heart emoji that now looked like a cruel mockery.
She stared at the screen, waiting. Maybe he'll call. Maybe he's just confused. Maybe that woman forced herself on him. The thoughts were pathetic, and she knew it. She was a writer, a creator of worlds, yet here she was, desperately trying to write a happy ending for a story that was already dead. She scrolled through their old photos Liam smiling at the beach, Liam holding her hand ignoring the fact that even then, his eyes were always wandering. She began to type a message, her tears blurring the keyboard.
'Liam, if you just say it was a mistake, I'll forget everything. I'll change. I'll be better. Just don't leave me like this.'
She almost hit send. Her finger was a millimeter away from surrendering the last shred of her dignity. But then, she saw his latest social media update. A photo of a wine glass, posted just minutes ago, with the caption: "Finally, some peace and quiet."
The silence of the room suddenly felt like a physical weight, crushing her lungs. He wasn't crying. He wasn't regretful. He was celebrating her absence.
The realization hit her like a second slap, harder than the first. The stupid, lovestruck Emma didn't die with a scream, she died with a sickening, hollow realization that she had spent three years worshipping a man who saw her as nothing more than a nuisance to be cleared away.