It was fine. If Anthony didn’t care about me anymore, he would be happy to see me leave.
That night, I packed my things and left the house I had shared with him for seven years–empty–handed.
On my way out, I put together all the evidence of Anthony and Sonia’s years of flirting and posted it on my main Facebook account
I considered it my parting gift–our last anniversary present.
Before boarding my flight, I sent Anthony a final message.
I didn’t even bother saying it was over.
Seven years of being together with no commitment–there wasn’t much to break up in the first place.
Even the termination of pregnancy didn’t mean anything to him–just collateral damage in his mess of a life.
Right before I turned my phone off, the calls started flooding in, and I accidentally picked up one.
“Celine, have you lost your mind? How dare you post those things on social media? Delete them and apologize to Sonia right now!”
I turned off my phone and leaned back in my seat, letting his countless calls go unanswered.
My father came to the airport to pick me up. He wore a suit that looked just as polished as ever, but the wrinkles on his face betrayed his
age.
He didn’t say much, just turned and murmured, “You’ve suffered.”
I never spoke about what had happened over the years, but I knew he and my mother already understood.
Once we got into the car, he began updating me about the company and the family.
The moment I turned my phone on, it started ringing incessantly. I smiled and brushed it off. “Prank calls.”
7
My father hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but he held back.
