A Match Made Up

The front door slammed behind me, its weight sending a shudder through the house. The walls rattled as the photographs hanging along the hallway swayed with the force. I could hear the faint drip of the kitchen faucet, a reminder of the neglect I’d left behind. The coffee table was buried beneath a small mountain of take-out boxes, and more garbage sat in a sloppy heap by the garage door. The house was eerily quiet—thankfully. Usually, when I traveled for work, Jeremy’s friends and coworkers would flood the space, turning it into a chaotic bachelor pad, leaving me to come home to a mess instead of the sanctuary I’d worked so hard to create. I slipped off my heels, setting my suitcase against the wall as I tried to keep the calm atmosphere intact. Moving silently into the living room, I expected to find Jeremy sprawled on the couch, passed out from a long day. Instead, I found a stack of boxes in the corner, several of them taped shut. Packed. What the hell? “Jeremy?” I called out softly, bracing myself for some kind of explanation. I’d meant to come home tomorrow evening, but the contract negotiations wrapped up earlier than expected. I’d been able to catch an earlier flight, landing at LAX just after six instead of the late-night arrival I had planned. I figured I’d surprise Jeremy. We’d grab dinner at the little diner where we had our first unofficial date, then walk along the pier like we used to. A normal Saturday evening for the first time in months. But when Jeremy appeared at the top of the stairs, another box tucked under his arm and his phone pressed to his ear, I knew something was off. He froze when he saw me, muttering a quick goodbye to whoever was on the other end of the line before hanging up. His eyes, the color of honey, shifted to the boxes around the room, his face draining of color. He let out a long breath, his mouth opening, no doubt preparing a lie. But I wasn’t in the mood to listen. “Jeremy,” I said, the words slipping out colder than I’d intended. “What’s with the boxes?” He sighed, avoiding my gaze as he tried to piece together a response. “I’m moving to Boston. They offered me a promotion a few weeks ago. I start Monday.” Monday? As in two days from now? My mind scrambled. My firm has an office in Boston... I could request a transfer. But that would derail my seven-year plan to make partner. And I’d need at least a month to wrap things up before I could follow him. Wait. He said weeks. This had been decided weeks ago, right around the time we booked flights to London for Christmas? “Jeremy, what the actual hell are you talking about?” I let out a hollow laugh, disbelief choking me. He muttered a curse under his breath, shaking his head as if to dismiss the whole thing. “You heard me, Gigi. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” “Harder?” My voice dropped to a whisper. “What do you mean? What’s going on?” “This... this isn’t working for me anymore.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like he was talking about a bad habit, not a four-year relationship. His eyes flicked to mine, full of frustration, maybe even regret, but no trace of love. Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back. I couldn’t cry now. Not in front of him. “Are you... are you breaking up with me?” I asked, the words tasting bitter in my mouth, even though I already knew the answer. “Yes,” he mumbled. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.” Four years. Four years we’d spent together, and this was how it ended? With him casually packing up his life, planning to leave the city—and me—behind? The memories came flooding back in quick flashes. That first night we met, when he’d spilled his beer all over my dress. I’d been furious for all of five seconds, but he’d apologized profusely, and after an impromptu meal at a late-night diner, he convinced me to forgive him. That had been the start of everything. The first date, the second, the third, until we were living together less than a year later. He’d even helped me pick out new furniture—furniture that now looked completely out of place in a room full of boxes. I couldn’t stop thinking about the time we went to Mexico. I’d thought he was planning to propose, but instead, I spent five days locked in the bathroom, sick as a dog, while he enjoyed the resort without me. He’d left for a twelve-hour boat trip, telling me, One of us should enjoy this, Gigi. I’m not a caregiver. I remembered his refusal to volunteer with me at the animal shelter last year, claiming he was allergic to animals. Then I saw him petting the neighbor’s German Shepherd, no reaction. At all. Jeremy had been everything I thought I wanted. But deep down, I’d always known. Always known that he wasn’t the one. I’d told myself opposites attract. That the constant disapproval of my family was normal. I should’ve felt something—excitement, love, butterflies—but instead, I just... didn’t. I should’ve wanted to come home from work trips early, but half the time, I found myself wishing I had an excuse to stay longer. I forced a bitter laugh, the reality of the situation settling in. Jeremy Rhoads, the charming finance bro-turned-doting boyfriend, was dumping me. Me—Genevieve Collins, daughter of a famous director and an A-list actress turned philanthropist. Me, who had graduated top of my class from UC Berkeley Law without the help of my family name. I started to mentally map out how I’d get out of this house, when Jeremy spoke again, his voice cold, distant. “Listen, Gigi. I—” But I couldn’t hear him. Blood was pounding in my ears. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. My hands were trembling, though I couldn’t tell if it was from the shock or the anger. I had to get out. I couldn’t stay in this house, in this space that was supposed to be ours. Not while he was still here, not while this was still happening. I grabbed my keys from the entryway table, my fingers numb, tears slipping down my cheeks as I walked out of the house, out of his life. I shoved the keys into the ignition, took a slow, steadying breath, and drove away. I didn’t notice the rented moving truck parked by the curb until I was already gone.