Nice Hugh
My boyfriend, Gabriel, was a romance junkie.
For ten years, we chased the ultimate high, skydiving from thousands of feet, diving into the deepest oceans.
We lived fast and hard.
Until I got pregnant.
Gabriel held me tight, eyes gleaming.
"Let’s climb Mount Denali. I’ll propose to you at the top of the continent."
I hesitated.
The doctor said my chances of conceiving were near zero.
This baby couldn't survive that kind of strain.
Gabriel didn't argue. He just slipped the ring onto my finger and walked out.
Seven days later, I saw his post on Instagram.
It was a photo of him at the snowy peak, down on one knee before another woman.
My best friend, Tiana, commented underneath, “I survived days in a cramped truck just to make your dream come true.”
Gabriel replied, “You’re still the best. If I were with you back then, you would’ve climbed this peak with me, pregnant or not, right?”
A tear dropped onto my stomach.
I finally got it. He didn't care about me.
All he cared about was the thrill. So, anyone could fill the role.
Ten years of his wild romance was enough.
It’s time for me to choose peace.