Thanks for Not Showing Up

Leon Robertson paused. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I said, steady. "I just don't know if you still want me."

"I'm overseas. Give me a month—no, give me two weeks. I'll be back. We'll get married."

"Okay. I'll wait."

I hung up, stared at the pic on my phone, then shut off the screen.

Five years, and all it took was someone new to wipe it out.

***

Michael Robertson stumbled in past midnight.

I didn't say a word. Just kept packing.

Half a month left or not, I wasn't wasting another second here.

"Get me a glass of water. And bring out my pajamas."

Same bossy tone. Didn't even glance my way.

He always acted like I was a maid.

And the pajamas? That was his code. Meant he wanted me in bed.

Maybe that used to mean something.

Now? I felt nothing. Just zipped up another bag.

A few minutes later, Michael walked out of the bathroom and frowned when he saw me ignoring him.

"Didn't you hear me? Why aren't you moving?"

I zipped my suitcase without looking up. "I'm heading home for a while."

I hadn't told him about Leon.

When he spotted the luggage, his scowl deepened. He sighed like I was being difficult.

"Can you not be so dramatic?" Same calm, dismissive voice. "Kallie gave me blood once, okay? She kinda saved my life.

"It's just her birthday—what's the big deal? So I skipped getting the license today. You're seriously mad about that?"

Mad? Over that?

I let out a dry laugh.

So to him, our marriage license was just a footnote. Less important than a random birthday.

Maybe I loved too quietly all these years. Maybe that's why he thought everything should revolve around him.

But I was done.

I didn't need a love that made me feel invisible.

When I didn't answer, he stepped in, arms sliding around my waist, voice soft.

"Come on, don't go home over this. We can get the license whenever. It's just a piece of paper. Why take it so seriously?"

My head buzzed.

Was he seriously trying to downplay it?

"A piece of paper?!" I snapped. "So, what—Kallie's birthday matters more than our marriage license?"

"It does!" he shot back, like that should be obvious.

I just stared.

How could he say that like it was nothing?

But the way he stood there—so sure, so smug—it hit me.

Like something inside finally dropped.

"Then I guess I don't need that piece of paper either."

I turned, walked to the guest room, and slammed the door.

The bang echoed. So did the crack in my chest.

"Elsa Jensen, don't be ridiculous. When did I say I wouldn't marry you?" Michael muttered through the door. "After everything we've been through, don't you trust me? Can't you just try to see it from my side?"

I stayed quiet.

He kicked the door, hard, then stormed off.

No surprise there.

Every fight, I was always the one to cave— even when it was his mess. I'd swallow it, smooth things over.

Tonight was the first time he even admitted a little fault.

But hoping he'd actually apologize, the way I used to? That was never gonna happen.