July 12th, 2023
The phone rang at dawn. Still half-asleep, Natalie heard Victor’s hoarse, nervous voice through the receiver:
“Natalie… I… There’s something I need to say…” He hesitated, as if searching for words. “I’ve thought it through… I’m not ready. Not ready to marry. I’m lost. I don’t even know what I feel for you now.”
She froze. Her pulse roared in her ears. “Are you serious?” she managed. “A week before the wedding?”
“There won’t be a wedding,” he stated flatly—rehearsed, deliberate.
“What?” she breathed.
“I want a fresh start. My career, my goals. You… you’ll find happiness. You deserve better.”
A click. He’d hung up.
Natalie sat motionless. Then, as if sleepwalking, she rose, fetched a bottle of whisky from the cupboard, and drank straight from the glass. No chaser. No taste. No thoughts.
And then… she screamed until the walls shuddered.
They’d lasted four years. It had felt like love. Real love. A chance meeting—she’d brought her laptop to the repair shop; he fixed it. When returning it, he asked for her number. Two days later, a date. She said yes. And so it began.
Six months in, he confessed: he wanted to move abroad. Better opportunities, he claimed.
“Will you come with me?” he’d asked, half expecting refusal.
She went.
Left everything—job, friends, family. Because she loved him. Because she believed. Because he was her world.
He went first, to “settle in.” Met her at Heathrow—no flowers, no smile, no light in his eyes.
“Aren’t you happy?” she whispered.
“Just tired. Stress.”
He took her not to a flat but a hostel, to a curtained-off bunk.
“I thought you’d rented a place—”
“I did,” he muttered. “Ran out of money. Can’t find work.”
She hugged him. Said they’d manage. And she worked—not in her field, but wherever would take her. Cleaned, scrubbed, walked dogs. Took any odd job.
She even got him hired. Pleaded with a client. They gave Victor a chance.
Things improved. They found their footing. Rented a proper flat. Dreamed of a future. A family.
But Victor never lasted anywhere. Quick firings. Natalie carried them both. Back to hostels, back to scrambling. She worked. He “found himself.”
“Vic, enough,” she finally snapped one night. “Two years of this. We had lives back home. Here, it’s just survival. Let’s go back.”
He nodded silently. A month later, they were home.
Natalie returned to her old job—welcomed with open arms. Victor got a trial position through connections. He passed. Grinned like a schoolboy.
Two weeks later, he proposed: “Let’s register at the council?”
She glowed. They planned the wedding. She stayed with her parents; living together beforehand was unthinkable.
“My parents don’t believe in cohabitation,” she explained.
“But you flew across Europe with me,” he smirked.
“I told them I was visiting a friend. They never knew.”
He laughed. She dreamed.
Then a new project swallowed him. Two weeks without a word. Until he realized—he didn’t miss her.
“I was going to marry her…” he thought. “But why? Forever? Is that what I want?”
He made the call.
After that morning, Natalie took sick leave. Spent a week in bed. Cried. Starved. Didn’t live.
Then came the anger.
“Confused? Doesn’t know his feelings?” she hissed at the empty room. “And me? Who followed him abroad? Worked double shifts? Couldn’t even say it to my face. Coward.”
First pain. Then resolve.
“Good riddance!” she told herself. “He left me—not the other way around. Better this way! A runaway groom? His loss! I know now: I matter most. No more sacrifices. Only forward. Only me.”
She stepped outside. The city bloomed. Spring hummed in every step. For the first time in ages, Natalie smiled. 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 plead.
“Enough,” she repeated. “He was a lesson. Thank you for that. I’m stronger now. Clever. Beautiful. My whole life ahead. Just keep walking. No looking back.”
Months later, she boxed up his gifts, photos, trinkets—every reminder. Carried it to the bins.
“Time for a clear-out,” she told her mother, smiling.
And Victor?
He’s just… living. Last I heard, still job-hunting.
Lesson learned: Love shouldn’t cost you yourself.
