1. The Breakup
Samantha sat by the frosted café window. Outside, the winter air danced with flurries of snow, blurring the streetlights into soft halos. The café buzzed with chatter, clinking cups, and the faint hum of Christmas music—a cosy cocoon where time seemed to pause.
Samantha watched Eric at the counter, his shoulders hunched as he handed his card to the barista. The café buzzed with warmth and chatter, a stark contrast to the chill she’d felt since stepping out into the December air. She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm her fingers, which still felt frozen despite the cosiness inside.
Eric turned toward her, two bright red paper cups in his hands. His steps were slow, hesitant, as though each movement was weighed down by something unseen. Samantha couldn’t help but smile. It was just nerves, she told herself. Proposing was a big deal, after all.
Today was their ten-year anniversary. This had to be the day.
Samantha adjusted the wide belt of her oversized jumper, tugging it snug around her waist. Her leggings shimmered faintly in the café's dim light, tucked neatly into knee-high boots. Beneath it all, she wore the new lingerie she'd bought—pink with delicate black flowers. She’d planned everything meticulously: her makeup, her nails, even the waterproof mascara for the tears she hoped would fall when Eric finally proposed.
He’d been acting strange lately, secretive and distracted, but she told herself it was the kind of nervousness that came before a big surprise. She smiled faintly at her reflection in the window—rosy cheeks, soft curls brushing the shoulders of her white cardigan.
She wanted to look perfect for him, for the moment she’d dreamed about for years.
Eric returned with their drinks, his fingers brushing hers as he placed her cup on the table. She noticed the tremble in his hand.
"Caramel chocolate with cream on top," he said, his voice unusually soft, avoiding her gaze. "Just how you like it."
“Thank you,” Samantha said, her smile faltering slightly.
Eric sat across from her, fidgeting with the cardboard sleeve of his cup. His leg bounced under the table, tapping against the worn tile floor. He glanced at the door, then at her, then back down at his drink.
“Sam,” he began, his voice hesitant. He cleared his throat, his adam's apple bobbing visibly. “We, uh...we need to talk.”
Her stomach tightened. She leaned forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. This is it, she thought. He’s nervous because he’s about to propose.
“We do?” she said, her voice light, though her fingers gripped the cup tighter.
Eric nodded, his gaze fixed on the scratched wood of the table. He inhaled deeply, as if summoning courage. “Yeah, um...I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and…” He trailed off, his fingers tearing at the edge of the cardboard sleeve. A small piece fluttered to the floor.
“You’ve been thinking?” Samantha prompted, her voice tinged with both curiosity and unease.
“I—yeah. I mean, you’re amazing. Perfect, really. I can’t even believe how lucky I’ve been to have you in my life.”
Her smile faltered further, the anticipation in her chest twisting into something colder, heavier. “Eric, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
He finally looked at her, his brown eyes wide with hesitation. But they darted away almost instantly. “It’s just that…I’ve been feeling like—like maybe there’s more we could explore, you know? Together, or...not together.”
“Explore?” The word hung in the air like a stone sinking into deep water. “What do you mean?”
He swallowed hard, his leg bouncing faster. “Like...an open relationship. I’ve been reading about it, and I think it could be good for us.”
Samantha froze. The chatter around her faded to a dull hum, the Christmas music an unrecognisable blur. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I know how it sounds,” Eric said quickly, his hands raised as if to ward off her reaction. “It’s not about...what you’re thinking. It’s about freedom. Growth. For both of us.”
Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “You’re saying you want to sleep with other people.”
“No, it’s not like that,” he stammered, his face flushing crimson. “I mean, not just that. It’s about...exploring new things. Together, maybe.”
“Oh my God,” Samantha said, her voice cracking. Her grip on the cup tightened, the whipped cream now melted into the chocolate—a sticky, ruined mess. “You’re serious. You’re actually serious.”
Eric leaned forward, his hands splayed on the table. “Sam, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just—”
“Who is she?” The question came out sharp and biting.
“What? No one! There’s no one, I swear—”
“Bullshit.” Samantha’s voice was low, but the force behind it made Eric flinch. “You wouldn’t be saying this unless there was someone else.”
“It’s not like that, Sam. I swear.” He ran a hand through his hair, the neat style now completely dishevelled. “I just...I didn’t know how to bring it up. I thought we could talk about it. See how you feel.”
“How I feel?” She laughed bitterly, shoving her chair back with a screech. “I feel like I just wasted ten years of my life on a man who doesn’t even want me anymore.”
Heads turned as she stood, but Samantha didn’t care. Her heart pounded, a furious drumbeat against the walls of her chest. The air in the café felt stifling, suffocating.
Eric reached out as if to stop her, but she pulled away. “Sam, please. Don’t do this here. Let’s talk—”
“Talk?” Her voice rose, sharp and trembling. “You mean so you can convince me to be okay with you screwing other people?”
Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him. Without another word, she turned and stormed out of the café, the cold winter air slapping her face like a wake-up call.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it. The snow fell heavier now, clinging to her hair and coat as she stumbled down the street, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Her world wasn’t just shattered—it was obliterated. Everything she thought she knew, everything she’d planned, was gone, scattered like snowflakes in the wind.
