Raina
(Two years ago)
He said at seven that he was going to pick me up.
I had set two alarms for five-thirty so I remember. I curled my hair in soft waves. And even used the fancy body shimmer Camille got me for Valentine's Day.
We were supposed to have dinner at La Vella. The place he reserved only for big moments. And tonight, we were finally going public. No more hiding. No more dodging questions. Just me, him and the world actually knowing what we meant to each other.
I checked the mirror and i told myself to breathe at 6:55pm
I started scrolling through messages to distract myself at 7:05pm
At 7:20, I texted him: "Hey, are you running late?"
At 7:35, I called.
No answer.
No big deal. Traffic in the city could be brutal.
I re-applied lip gloss. Re-fixed my curls.
At 7:48, I called again. Still no answer.
At 8:03, my email pinged.
Subject line: Regarding Our Engagement.
I froze.
That wasn't a romantic subject line. That wasn't an "I'm sorry I'm late" subject line. That was the kind of subject line you send when someone's being terminated from a contract.
I tapped it open with shaky hands.
Raina,
I actually won't be coming tonight.
I have been doing a lot of thinking. I've realized that we want very different things.
It would be very unfair to continue this engagement under these circumstances. I've already informed the necessary parties to cancel our announcement.
You deserve someone who can actually give you more than I am capable of. I'll ensure that you are compensated for any costs or any time this has consumed.
Please respect my decision.
—E
I blinked. Once. Twice.
Then I laughed. A hollow, stunned sound.
This just had to be a joke.
A sick, awkward and out-of-character joke.
I replied:Is this some kind of prank? Are you serious right now?
I stared at the screen.
No typing bubble. No reply.
I called again. Straight to voicemail.
I called five more times. Then ten.
By the fifteenth call, it stopped ringing altogether.
Just beep. Beep. This number is unavailable.
The twenty-third attempt went straight to the recorded voice that sounded too calm for someone whose entire world had just detonated.
Blocked.
He'd blocked me.
No goodbye. No fight. Not even a warning.
Just a cold email. A severed line. A door slammed in the face of everything we'd built.
I didn't cry at first.
I sat perfectly still at the edge of my bed. The sparkle of my engagement ring kept catching light like even it, was mocking me.
I just kept refreshing my inbox. Refresh. Refresh. Like maybe he'd realized it was all a mistake.
But my real mind knew.
This wasn't a prank. Elias didn't do pranks.
The next morning, I drove to his mansion.
Not his penthouse. Not his office. His house. The one with the garden we used to lie in on Sundays. We would count clouds and pretend we were invincible.
I pressed the intercom.
A voice buzzed through. "Yes?"
"Hi, it's Raina Morgan. I need to speak with Elias."
A pause.
Then, "I'm sorry. You don't have access."
My stomach sank. "What do you mean I don't have access? I've been here a hundred times."
"Ma'am, I'm sorry but Mr. Langston's guest permissions were updated this morning. You've been removed from the list."
Removed.
Like I was a temporary folder in his inbox.
Like I hadn't once lived in his arms. Like I hadn't built dreams in his voice. Like I had not imagined growing old with the man whose name I could not even speak now without choking.
"I'm outside. Tell him that."
I gripped the steering wheel hard as I said that.
"I cannot do that I'm afraid. He's unavailable."
I didn't even leave right away.
I sat in the car for an hour, watching the gates. Just waiting for a glimpse. A window. A movement.
Anything to tell me this wasn't real.
I thought maybe he'd come out and explain.
Surely, there was some misunderstanding. Maybe someone else sent the email. Maybe he'd lost his mind.
But no one came.
Not even a damn shadow behind the curtains.
The ring was still on my finger when I finally drove home.
I looked at it like it was cursed.
I thought about throwing it into the river, pawn shop, garbage disposal. Anything to get it off me.
But I didn't.
Because some stupid, desperate part of me still believed he might call. That he might say he was scared. Or sick. Or being forced into something he didn't mean.
I held onto that lie for three more days.
Three long days of silence, of blocked calls, of cold reality slowly creeping into every crack I tried to plaster over.
And then I took the ring off.
Not with ceremony. Not with rage.
Just with tired fingers and a heartbeat I couldn't feel anymore.
I didn't tell Camille until a week later.
I just showed up at her place, mascara streaking down my cheeks, collapsed into her arms, and said, "He's gone."
She didn't ask questions. She just held me while I shook.
I stopped eating. Stopped designing. I barely spoke for weeks.
When I finally left the apartment again, the sky felt wrong. Like it shouldn't have dared to be blue.
That was the day my heart learned something cruel:
That love, when it ends without reason, leaves a hole logic can't fill.
And no matter how many times I rewrote that last email in my head, it always read the same:You were not worth an explanation.
I tried dating again after a while.
Tried letting men take me to nice dinners. Let them compliment my laugh. Let them open car doors and ask me about my work.
But no matter how kind or charming they were, I always saw him in the spaces between.
Not because I still wanted him.
But because I couldn't understand how someone who loved me like that… could disappear.
Now, two years ater, I stood in the elevator of his building, holding a leather folder filled with concept sketches for his penthouse redesign.
My hands were steady.
My heart wasn't.
I'd thought the worst part was the silence.
But I was wrong.
The worst part was standing in front of the man who forgot me… and realizing I never forgot him at all.