I Won’t Ride Beside Him Anymore

Graham Sterling glanced at the keys on the coffee table and let out a quiet laugh.

It was the kind of laugh that came when his usual patience had finally run out.

“Audrey Lawson, are you still not done with this act? It’s just a seat. How are you still making a fuss about it after four years?”

I stood beside the dining table, my fingers still warm from the steam rising from the soup.

“Tonight is our fourth anniversary. You promised you wouldn’t answer Vanessa’s calls tonight.”

“She was upset and alone. What’s wrong with me going to pick her up?” Graham picked up the keys. “Stop making yourself out to be some poor, neglected woman. No one’s mistreating you.”

“So when you helped her move on my birthday, that wasn’t mistreating me either?”

His brows drew together.

“That day wasn’t important.”

Seventy-seventh time.

I looked at him and suddenly couldn’t even be bothered to argue.

Graham probably wasn’t used to me staying quiet, because his voice turned even colder.

“Think about what you did tonight. When you figure things out, then we can talk about getting married.”

With that, he walked out.

The door slammed behind him, rattling the cabinet in the entryway.

A wooden photo frame on the top shelf fell onto the tile floor. The glass cracked, and the photograph inside bent upward in the middle.

It was a picture from four years ago.

That was the night he first took me to his company’s annual party. Vanessa had gotten drunk and taken the passenger seat, sleeping there the entire ride home.

I sat in the back, hugging Graham’s suit jacket and making excuses for him.

She was his friend. She needed someone to look after her.

I crouched down without touching the broken glass.

I fetched a broom from the balcony and swept everything into a trash bag: the shards of glass, the wooden frame, and that photograph of us smiling so hard it almost hurt.

The dining room light was still on.

The dishes were laid out on the table, all of them Graham’s favorites.

I picked up the soup pot and carried it into the kitchen.

When I poured the soup down the drain, a piece of rib bone knocked against the stainless-steel sink with a dull thud.

My phone lit up in my pocket.

Graham had sent me a voice message.

[Vanessa wants some of the soup you made. Pack some up. I’ll come back for it later. Don’t give me that attitude, okay?]

I turned off the faucet and set the empty pot back on the stove.

[I threw it out.]

Less than ten seconds after I sent the message, my phone rang.

I answered.

Graham’s voice was low and controlled.

“Audrey, do you really have to make such a big deal out of everything?”

“The soup was mine.”

“You’re my fiancée. Is giving a bowl of soup to my friend really that difficult?” He paused, as if trying to hold back his anger. “Vanessa was treated badly today, and you’re still holding it against her. You’re making yourself look petty.”

So after four years of giving in, all I got in return was being called petty.

I couldn’t even be bothered to argue anymore.

After hanging up, I called Mr. Blake Cody, the real-estate agent handling the property.

The house was close to Graham’s office.

I had paid an $85,000 deposit with the savings I’d accumulated over five years of working.

Mr. Blake answered cheerfully.

“Ms. Lawson! Graham mentioned that he was coming to see the model home tomorrow. Would you like to change the appointment?”

“No. I’m not going. Please cancel the purchase and deduct the cancellation fee according to the contract.”

“Does Graham know?”

“The money was mine.”

My voice was strangely calm.

“I’m not buying a house for our marriage, and I’m not getting married anymore.”

After hanging up, I went through the entryway cabinet.

I found the lumbar cushion I’d bought for the back seat of Graham’s car, motion-sickness patches, a car air freshener, and a small leather organizer.

I’d bought that organizer for the storage compartment in the passenger seat.

When Graham saw it, all he’d said was, “Don’t clutter up my car.”

Later, I saw Vanessa’s social media post. She had filled that same space with her lipstick, hair clips, and candy.

I put each of those things into the trash bag.