The phone rang early in the morning. Nadia, barely awake, heard Victor’s hoarse, nervous voice on the line:
“Sophie… I… I need to tell you something…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “I’ve thought about it… I’m not ready. Not ready to get married. I’m confused. I… don’t even know what I feel for you right now.”
Sophie froze. Her heart pounded in her ears. She forced out the words:
“Are you serious? A week before the wedding?”
“There won’t be a wedding,” he said firmly, like he’d rehearsed it.
“What?!” she gasped.
“I want to start fresh. My career, my goals. And you… you’ll find someone better. You deserve that.”
A click. He hung up.
Sophie sat motionless. Then, as if in a trance, she stood, walked to the cupboard, and pulled out a bottle of whisky. She drank from the glass. No snacks. No taste. No thoughts.
And then… she screamed so loud the walls seemed to shudder.
Their story had lasted four years. It felt like love. The real kind. A chance meeting—Sophie had brought her laptop to the repair shop, and Oliver fixed it. When he returned it, he asked for her number. A few days later, he asked her out. She said yes. And just like that, it began.
Six months in, he told her he wanted to move abroad. More opportunities, he said.
“Will you come with me?” he’d asked, almost surprised when she said yes.
And she went.
She left everything—her job, her friends, her family. Because she loved him. Because she believed in him. Because he was everything to her.
He went first to “get settled.” When he met her at the airport, there were no flowers, no smile, no spark in his eyes.
“You’re not happy to see me?” she’d whispered.
“No, it’s not that—just tired. Work stuff.”
He didn’t take her to a flat, but to a hostel, a room barely separated by a curtain.
“I thought you’d rented a place…”
“I did at first,” he muttered. “Ran out of money. Can’t find a job.”
Sophie hugged him. Said they’d push through. And she went to work. Not in her field—just wherever would take her. Cleaning, washing, walking dogs. Side gigs wherever she could find them.
She even got him a job. Talked to a client, convinced them. They gave him a shot.
Things picked up. They got a proper place. They dreamed about the future. Talked about a family.
But Oliver never stayed anywhere long. Kept getting let go. Sophie carried everything. Another hostel, another job hunt. She worked. He “found himself.”
“Ollie, maybe enough?” Sophie finally snapped one day. “We’ve been living like nomads for nearly two years. Back home, we had a life. Here, we’re just surviving. Let’s go back.”
He stayed quiet. Then nodded. A month later, they were home.
Sophie went back to her old job. They were happy to have her. Oliver got hired on trial—passed it. Acted like a kid with a new toy.
Two weeks later, he proposed. “Let’s book the registry office?”
Sophie glowed. They planned the wedding. She stayed with her parents. Moving in together before marriage wasn’t even a discussion.
“My parents don’t believe in living together first,” she explained.
“And yet you flew abroad with me,” he smirked.
“I told them I was visiting a friend. Never admitted the truth.”
He laughed. She dreamed.
Then he got sucked into a new project. Two weeks without a call. Without a text. And then it hit him—he didn’t miss her.
“Was I really about to marry her?” he thought. “Forever? Is this what I even want?”
He made up his mind. Called.
After that morning, Sophie took sick leave. Spent a week in bed. Crying. Not eating. Barely living.
And then came the anger.
“So he’s confused? Doesn’t know how he feels?” she whispered to the empty room. “And what about *me*? The one who followed him to another country? Worked double for him? Couldn’t even say it to my face. Over the phone. Ran away. Coward.”
First came the pain. Then—the resolve.
“Good riddance!” she told herself. “*He* left *me*—and that’s even better! The groom ran off? Then *he* lost, not me! Now I know—I come first. No more sacrifices. Only forward. Only me.”
She stepped outside. The city was in full bloom. Spring hummed in the air. Sophie walked—and smiled for the first time in ages. The sun shone just for her.
Yes, the memories lingered. The tears. The unanswered questions. But she didn’t call. Didn’t beg. Didn’t ask.
“Enough,” she repeated. “He was a lesson. Thank you for that. I’m stronger now. I’m smart, beautiful, the world’s ahead of me. I just have to keep walking. No looking back.”
A few months later, she gathered all the gifts, photos, little things that reminded her of him. Packed them in a box. Tossed it by the bins.
“Time for a proper clear-out,” she told her mum with a smile.
And Oliver?
He’s just… out there. Word is, he’s still job-hunting.
