Don't Cherish My Love, I Decided To Leave

He’d been so preoccupied lately, constantly busy and neglectful. Now, I realized, he’d been planning something—something significant. Was he finally going to propose to me? Despite the tension between us, a flicker of hope sparked in my chest. I carefully selected a dress, did my makeup and made sure I looked my best. I wanted to be prepared for whatever was coming, to hold onto that glimmer of possibility that maybe, just maybe, he was ready to take our relationship to the next level.

With a mix of anticipation and anxiety, I arrived at the restaurant. My heart pounded in my chest as I pushed open the door, only to have that flicker of hope extinguished in an instant. Sitting at the center of the elegantly decorated room, dressed in a stunning white wedding gown, was Tommy’s ex, Lolly. The sight of her in that position was a punch to the gut. Around her, the room was filled with guests, all eyes on the grand scene playing out before them.

I turned my gaze to the giant screen behind her. Bold letters flashed across it: “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan, for hosting a luxurious birthday party for his favorite little princess, Lolly.”

My stomach dropped as the truth hit me. This wasn’t a proposal for me. This wasn’t our moment. It was a lavish celebration for her.

Tommy had once told me that Lolly was his first. She had given him his first experience of love, or so he said. He felt obligated to her, a sense of guilt or unfinished business, perhaps. I was nothing more than a consolation prize in comparison. “A secondhand product,” he had once spat at me in a moment of anger, words that had cut deeper than any blade. I wasn't worthy of a grand gesture. I wasn't worthy of his commitment or his love.

I turned and walked out, leaving him and the life I had known behind. As the door closed behind me, I felt a strange sense of release. For the first time in eight years, I was free. And as painful as it was, I knew this ending was the beginning of something better.

Lolly, in her extravagant wedding dress, noticed me first. Her smile faltered for a moment before twisting into something cruel. Her fingers clenched around her champagne glass and with a quick flick of her wrist, she sent it crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering glass cut through the air, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Tommy looked up from his position at Lolly's feet, annoyance flashing across his face.

"Laura, are you trying to steal my limelight on purpose?" Lolly sneered, eyes blazing. "What do you think you’re doing here dressed like that? Do you think you can outshine me on my day?"

Tommy stood, brushing imaginary dust from his knees, as if kneeling in front of Lolly had been some sacred act. "Didn’t I tell you to wear something nice?" He sighed as if the sight of me was exhausting him. "Forget it, Laura. I’m too tired to argue with you. Lolly, let’s focus on the ring. This is your day, not hers."

Tommy’s brother sauntered over, a smug grin on his face. “You really should choose who you date more carefully, Tommy,” he said, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “Stick with women like her,” he nodded toward Lolly, “and your life will be perfect. End up with someone like...that,” he pointed at me with a disgusted curl of his lip, “and you’re just asking for a mess.”

A wave of laughter rippled through the room. Faces turned towards me, eyes gleaming with mockery. The heat of shame spread across my cheeks. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I turned and fled, my vision blurred with tears.

In my haste, I missed the last step of the staircase. My foot twisted painfully, sending me sprawling down the steps. A sharp pain shot through my ankle, but the pain in my heart was far worse. I laid there, the cold floor beneath me, waiting, hoping that Tommy would rush to my side, would try to explain, to apologize. But he never came. The door to the party remained firmly closed, sealing me out.

Minutes passed before my phone buzzed with a message. I scrambled to check, hoping against hope that it was Tommy, regretting his actions. I opened the message to see Tommy’s name and a text that broke what little remained of my heart:

[Laura, don’t embarrass yourself. Lolly just wanted a special moment. She gave me her first time and I feel like I owe her. I’m not leaving you for her. I just want to make things right. You know you can’t compete with that. Be reasonable.]

I stared at the words, my hands trembling. I had met Tommy after a difficult relationship, one where I had been hurt and learned to build myself up again. Tommy had known about my past, had used it against me in arguments, but I never thought it would come to this. That, in his eyes, nothing I did could measure up to the purity he believed Lolly had given him. My sacrifices, my love, my care—it was all worthless compared to a memory he shared with her.

Above Tommy’s text, I saw a message from my grandmother, the one person who had always believed in me.

[Finally, my dear girl is getting married! I’m so happy for you, Laura. I’ll make sure to gather my strength and be there for your big day.]

A fresh wave of tears blurred my vision. My grandmother and I had leaned on each other for so long. She was ill and every day was a gift. Knowing that I might be getting married had been her only joy, the one thing she clung to. I had wanted to tell her that Tommy was proposing so she could be at peace, knowing I’d be taken care of. But now, the future I had built in my mind crumbled around me.

I glanced down at my swollen ankle, feeling the pain sear through me. But it was nothing compared to the emptiness in my chest. There was no need to ask Tommy why he had done this, no need to beg for explanations. Today marked the eighth anniversary of our relationship, but it was clear now that it meant nothing to him. I would never get the ring I had waited so long for. I didn’t want it anymore.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, determined not to look back. As I hobbled down the street, away from the restaurant, I knew that this was the end. Not just of Tommy and me, but of the girl I had been, the one who believed love could be measured by time and sacrifice.

It was late at night when Tommy finally returned home. The door creaked open and he slipped in, carrying a small, neatly packaged box. He walked over to where I sat on the couch, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a table lamp. His face was marked with annoyance, but he forced a smile as he handed me the box.

“I brought you a piece of cake,” he said, his voice tinged with impatience. “Lolly asked me to give it to you. Look at how generous she is, Laura. Why can’t you be more sensible, like her?”

I glanced at the cake. It was a mango sandwich cake. My stomach tightened in anger and sadness. This entire cold war between us had started over mangoes. I was allergic to them. Despite reminding Tommy countless times, he had brought home a fruit salad filled with mangoes a few weeks ago. It was a small thing, but it signified something so much bigger. His indifference. I got angry because it felt like he didn’t care about me and he got angry because he thought I was overreacting.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the swelling tide of grievance. “Tommy, grandma’s getting worse,” I said softly, my voice cracking with the weight of my suppressed tears. “I want to see her, maybe for the last time. Could you come with me tomorrow at noon?”

I hadn’t told grandma the truth about our relationship. I couldn’t bear to shatter her illusions. She was the one person who had always believed in my happiness and I was afraid that telling her about Tommy’s betrayal would break her heart. Deep down, I wanted to give Tommy one last chance. For the sake of our eight years together and for my grandma’s sake.

His words cut through me, as they always did, sharp as glass. I didn’t respond. I turned and limped back to the bedroom, my injured ankle still sore from my fall.

As I entered the room, my eyes fell on the small transparent jar on the nightstand. It was filled with gold beans. Every time Tommy used cold violence against me after an argument—his silent treatment, his harsh words—I would use his credit card to buy myself a gold bean. A tiny symbol of selfworth in a relationship that had long ceased to be loving. Over eight years, I had collected 521 gold beans. The jar was now full, unable to hold any more.

The next day, I sat by my grandmother’s side in the small, sterile hospital room. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale against the white sheets. She took my hand in hers, her grip weak but determined. From under her pillow, she pulled out a pair of intricately embroidered marriage certificates.

“In our family, the man usually prepares these,” grandma whispered, her voice a fragile thread. “But Tommy is busy, with his career and all. So, I did it for you. To make things easier.”

I stared at the certificates, my heart breaking. Grandma had never been good with her hands and her health had been declining rapidly. How long had she spent, struggling with needle and thread, to create these? Her eyes were misty with unshed tears as she began to give me advice, her words filled with love and hope. She handed me a small pouch, filled with her life savings. Money she had put aside to help decorate the wedding, to give us a good start.

We waited, the hours stretching long and silent. But Tommy never came.

As the day faded into night, grandma’s grip on my hand loosened, her eyes fluttering closed. She left the world holding onto the belief that I was going to be happy, that my wedding day would be everything she had dreamed of for me. She never got to see Tommy walk through the door.

I arranged her funeral alone, each step taken without Tommy by my side. My phone rang after everything was over. It was Tommy.

“Sorry, the company had an emergency,” he said casually. “I’ll cook something nice tomorrow to make it up to you.”

Before I could say anything, I heard a familiar giggle in the background. Lolly’s voice rang out, clear and carefree. “Tommy, come on! Help me catch the biggest stuffed doll!”

The call ended abruptly. My chest tightened, not with the familiar pain of betrayal, but with a new resolve. I opened my email and sent a message to my supervisor.

[I would like to take on the overseas project responsibility.] I sent text to him.

It was time to leave. To leave Tommy, the pain and the life I had outgrown. Grandma had always wanted me to be happy and I realized now that staying with Tommy would never bring me the happiness she had wished for me. It was time to create a new beginning. One where I didn’t have to beg for love or be compared to someone else’s past. One where I could learn to love myself.

I hesitated. The idea of leaving my grandmother and Tommy behind had always held me back. But now... everything was different. Grandma was gone and Tommy—well, Tommy had chosen someone else over me. There was nothing left for me here.

As I packed my suitcase, Tommy came home. He didn’t even notice the open bags on the floor, my clothes neatly folded and stacked, ready to be shipped to another continent. He tossed a teddy bear onto the bed.

“A gift for our eighth anniversary,” he said, his tone devoid of enthusiasm.

My eyes fell on the teddy bear. It was identical to the one in Lolly's social media post. I had seen the photo earlier that day—Lolly holding a giant teddy bear, her smile wide and radiant, her eyes sparkling. The caption read: "As long as it's something I want, he will always give it to me with both hands."

I stared at the bear. In eight years, Tommy had never taken me to play those silly arcade games where you win stuffed animals. He never did anything just because it would make me happy. He always held back, giving only the bare minimum, never with both hands, never fully.

“Don’t like it?” Tommy asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Lolly is so much simpler. She’s not materialistic. Women your age, who’ve been around, naturally value interests more.”

His words stung, each one laced with the same old accusation: that I wasn’t a virgin when we met. That I’d experienced the world before him, unlike Lolly, who was still “pure” in his eyes. He’d never let me forget that, constantly reminding me that no matter what I did, I could never be as innocent as she was.

Tommy saw the look on my face and smirked, like he was enjoying my discomfort. “You can’t find fault with this gift, right?” he said, reaching into a bag and pulling out a shoebox. My heart skipped a beat. It was from my favorite brand.

Not long ago, I’d mentioned to Tommy that there was a new pair of shoes I liked. They were a limited edition, only one pair available nationwide. I knew it would be impossible to get them, but it was a casual complaint, something I shared, not expecting anything. I hadn’t even thought he was listening.

For a moment, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this was Tommy’s way of making up for everything. I carefully opened the shoebox, excitement and curiosity bubbling inside me.

Before I could get a good look inside, something cold and slithery wrapped around my arm. I gasped as a small snake slithered out and sank its fangs into my palm.

“Ah!” I screamed, shaking my hand desperately, trying to fling the snake away. It took a few tries, but finally, it fell to the floor and slithered under the bed. My whole body was trembling, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. Pain shot up my arm and I felt lightheaded.

Tommy looked just as shocked as I was to see the snake. His eyes widened and he instinctively reached for his phone. For a moment, I thought he was going to call for help, but he hesitated. Instead, he dialed Lolly's number.

"Tommy, thank you for the shoes you gave me, they are so beautiful," I heard Lolly’s cheerful voice on the other end of the line.

"What’s with the snake?" Tommy asked, his voice laced with confusion and anger.

Lolly laughed, a crisp, lighthearted sound. "It’s just a little fun. An eye for an eye. Who told her to ruin my birthday party deliberately? Don’t worry, Snaky isn’t poisonous."

Tommy visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping as relief washed over his face. He shot me a quick glance before retreating to the balcony to continue the conversation in private.

I watched him walk away, feeling a knot tighten in my chest. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had a deep fear of snakes. I called out to Tommy, my voice trembling, but he ignored me. Panic surged through me. My eyes fixed on the snake still writhing on the floor, its tongue flicking out as if taunting me.

My breath came in short gasps and I knew I couldn’t wait for Tommy. I had to do something myself. Summoning every ounce of courage, I opened my eyes and shakily reached for the snake, pinching its neck between my fingers. With all the strength I could muster, I threw the snake across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor, still moving.

I collapsed onto the sofa, drenched in sweat, curling up in fear. The snake lay on the floor, still, but its presence was enough to keep me paralyzed. I couldn’t move, couldn’t bring myself to get up and walk back to the bedroom. It felt like hours before Tommy finally came back inside, finding me huddled and trembling on the couch.

"Laura?" he called softly. His eyes took in my pale face, the beads of sweat on my forehead and the way I was shaking uncontrollably. "Lolly was just joking. She’s young; don’t take it so seriously."

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My mind was still trapped in the fear, the memory of the snake’s cold, scaly skin against my hand. Seeing my state, Tommy’s face clouded with concern. Realizing the severity of my reaction, he decided to take me to the hospital.

He wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and led me to the car. The ride to the hospital felt endless. I sat in the passenger seat, my body trembling, still feeling the phantom touch of the snake wrapping around my arm and neck, squeezing the breath out of me. I clutched the blanket tightly, trying to ground myself, but my mind wouldn’t stop replaying the moment the snake bit me.

"Tommy, I’m scared…" My voice was barely a whisper, weak and shaky.

Tommy’s eyes flicked to me and for a moment, I saw genuine concern in his expression. His tone softened and he reached out to touch my hand. "It’s okay, Laura. Don’t be afraid. We’re almost at the hospital. Just hold on a little longer, okay?" His voice was low and gentle, a stark contrast to the indifference I was used to. It soothed me and slowly, bit by bit, the fear began to ebb away.

But just as I started to calm down, Tommy slammed on the brakes. My body lurched forward, stopped only by the seatbelt and my heart leaped into my throat.

My forehead smacked into the “Lolly Little Princess Seat” ornament hanging from the rearview mirror, sending a dull throb through my skull. I groaned, trying to steady my breathing. Tommy’s phone buzzed, drawing his attention away from me. His brow furrowed as he read the message, his expression a mixture of irritation and something else—maybe guilt.

"Take a taxi to the hospital," he said abruptly. "I need to take Snaky back to Lolly first." His voice was flat, indifferent.

Just hearing the word “snake” made my face go pale, the fear I felt earlier surging back into my veins like ice water.

Tommy opened the passenger door and nudged me out without another word. "You’re a grown woman, Laura. You’ll be fine. I’ll check on you later. But if Snaky has any issues, Lolly will be upset. You know how she is."

The car engine roared to life and before I could argue or plead, Tommy drove off, leaving me on the side of a deserted road. I stood there, feeling lost and abandoned. The tall grass at my feet rustled and I jumped back, imagining another snake slithering out to strike. My breath quickened, panic bubbling up in my chest. I couldn’t stay here. I had to move.

Ignoring the pain in my sprained foot, I hobbled down the road, limping until I reached a more populated street. The sight of people calmed me a little, but the fear and hurt were still raw. The tight string of composure I had been clinging to snapped. I stood there on the busy sidewalk and let out a sob, then another, until I was crying uncontrollably, my shoulders shaking with the force of my grief.

I was furious—furious at Tommy for abandoning me when I needed him most, for indulging Lolly’s cruel pranks, for choosing her over me again and again. I was angry at myself for staying with him, for sacrificing my career and my happiness. Over the past eight years, resentment and frustration had built up inside me like a volcano ready to erupt.

Once the tears had stopped and I was left feeling empty and hollow, I hailed a taxi and headed to the hospital for a full checkup. The doctor reassured me that the snake wasn’t poisonous, but he could see that the encounter had left me deeply shaken. My ankle, which I had twisted during the earlier fall, was worse off now and he put a plaster cast on it. As he wrapped my foot, I snapped a picture to send to my boss, asking to extend my leave.

I promised him that I would take care of everything, ensuring my injury wouldn’t interfere with my work. His response came quickly: “Don’t put too many shackles on yourself. You’re very good. Take the time you need to heal and take care of yourself.”

Those words—simple, sincere—were the first bit of kindness I’d felt in a long time. They touched something deep inside me, a part of me that had almost forgotten what it felt like to be valued and appreciated.

With a sigh, I typed out a breakup message to Tommy. I was done. No more waiting, no more hoping for change. I needed to move on.

When I got back home, I was surprised to see Tommy there, bustling around the kitchen. He’d set the table with my favorite dishes, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the air. He looked up and smiled, though his eyes flickered to the plaster on my foot before quickly looking away.

"Laura, I made dinner to apologize. Let’s not fight anymore, okay? Let’s go pick up Grandma and have a nice meal together," he said, his tone almost pleading.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I walked past him, heading straight to the bedroom. I pulled my suitcase out from the closet and started throwing my clothes inside. Tommy followed me, confusion crossing his face.

"Laura, what are you doing? I said I was sorry," he insisted, reaching out to touch my arm.

I shrugged him off. "Grandma passed away," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Tommy stood there, stunned. His eyes widened in disbelief as he tried to process my words.

"What did you say?Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he demanded, his voice tinged with confusion and anger.

I paused, my hands gripping the edge of the suitcase. "I did, Tommy. I told you. But you were too busy with Lolly. Too busy with everything else to care."

The realization seemed to hit him like a blow. He took a step back, the color draining from his face. "Laura, I—"

I let out a bitter laugh, one that seemed to echo off the walls of the room. I turned to leave, but Tommy blocked my path, frantically pulling out his phone, scrolling through it as if searching for something. I glanced over and saw something that didn’t surprise me anymore—he had blocked my number long ago.

Tommy looked up from his phone, trying to make excuses. "It was Lolly… She was just joking. You know she’s young. She gave me her first time and…"

I cut him off, my voice sharp and cold. "If the first time is so important, then why don’t you marry her? Why are you still with me? I didn’t care that it wasn’t your first time. So why does it matter to you?"

Tommy’s face froze. He hadn’t expected me to talk back, not after years of enduring his insults and belittlement. “You can’t compare yourself to me!” he finally barked. “I’m a man! It’s a matter of male dignity!”

I felt something inside me snap, like a taut wire breaking under too much strain. “You have the nerve to talk about dignity? You call yourself a man?” I spat back.

Tommy’s face twisted in fury. In a sudden fit of rage, he grabbed a plate from the table and hurled it against the wall. The ceramic shattered and a sharp fragment flew past, cutting my hand. I stared at the blood pooling on my palm, more stunned by Tommy’s outburst than by the pain.

For a long moment, I couldn’t speak. The room was filled with the sound of my labored breathing, the tension so thick it was suffocating. Finally, the words I had held back for so long burst out of me. “Tommy, what right do you have to yell at me? Do you think I don’t know about the things you do behind closed doors? The things you never want anyone to find out?”

A flash of panic crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with indignation. “Don’t talk nonsense! I have nothing to hide!”

The day my grandmother passed away, I uncovered the secret Tommy had buried deep in his heart—a secret that had killed any love or hope I had left for him.