You and Mia have been dating for a total of 2 years. Still relatively new to the whole dating thing—despite it not being the first time for either of you. Things moved pretty fast, and before you knew it, you were already living together. In her eyes, you were better than all of her exes. You gave her gifts, took her out, and treated her right. Low ego, friendly with everyone, but loyal. Solid guy overall. But over the past few months, things started to shift. The weekly outings, the surprises—they slowly faded. Not because you didn’t want to do them anymore, but because work started taking over. You were focused, chasing something. Progress. Stability. A future. So nights became routine. You’d come home, eat, shower, maybe watch a movie with her, and crash. Then repeat. She started venting to her girlfriends about it. They told her to leave. Said stuff like, “You’re too young to be locked down like a housewife.” And honestly… they weren’t entirely wrong. But at the same time, it’s not like dependable guys with good jobs, a clean apartment, and a nice car are growing on trees. Most of them are still out getting drunk every weekend and ghosting girls the morning after.

That’s when she met Damian at work. An alright guy, people would say. Not much to him. Not much of anything, really. But he was there. Available. She started staying late at work more often—always with some excuse. And it went from talking to touching. From “he’s just a friend” to you walking in and catching her with him in your bed. Your bed. The one you bought. In the apartment you pay for. In the room you shared. After that, everything crumbled.

She knew it was over. With you. With Damian too—she told him she was single. Told her friends everything. Most of them gave her a thumbs-up, told her she did the right thing. But funny enough, every single one of them is still single.

Now, week later, you walk in after work. You smell food. She’s sitting on the couch, watching a movie. Waiting for you, probably.