My Proposal Was a Joke, I Walked Away

Chapter 2

Roman stared at me for a second before laughing. He looked like he thought I was playing some kind of joke.

"Lillian, stop kidding yourself. You kept this letter for 10 years. How could we possibly break up?"

He opened it and glanced at the words. "We're going to get married. It's just not happening right now. Give me a little more time."

A little more time?

The 20-year-old me never imagined those few words would cost me 10 long years.

Celine leaned in, curious to see it, and Roman handed the letter straight to her without hesitation. I saw the letter I had treasured for a decade end up in Celine's hands while she laughed and teased him.

"Rome, I never knew you had this much game. You really knew how to write sweet words back then. You should write me such a letter sometime."

Roman didn't turn her down. He only said he couldn't remember what he had written all those years ago.

But I remembered every word. Whenever I started wondering if we would actually have a future together, I would take out that letter and read it again. Then I would tell myself that Roman would propose on the next big day or my birthday.

I had waited through every special occasion, only to be disappointed over and over. Tears blurred my eyes once more.

Roman and Celine stood there with their arms around each other, still laughing and talking about that letter.

While no one was paying attention, I turned around and walked away.

I submitted a request for an overseas assignment at work. I would leave in three days.

I returned to the apartment where we had lived for eight years. It was close to Roman's office, only a 5-minute walk away. But for me, getting to work meant a two-hour commute every day.

When I pushed open the door, everything looked exactly the same. Even the leftover fried chicken in the fridge was still there.

Roman loved fried chicken. He'd always complain when he couldn't get what he wanted. I used to worry that eating too much takeout wasn't good for him, so I spent over a month studying recipes. I tried different marinades, coatings, and frying techniques more than 100 times.

But every time, Roman would take one bite, frown, and shake his head. Since throwing away food felt wasteful, all those leftovers ended up in my own stomach.

Yesterday, I had finally made a batch that he actually liked.

Thinking about Roman's "test" today, my throat tightened, and I felt sick. I took the fried chicken from the fridge and threw it straight into the trash.