When My Love Was Rated, I Said No

Chapter 4

Before Grant left for work, he threw one more instruction over his shoulder.

"We're helping Clara move today. Be at Henley Tower by three. My car doesn't have enough space, so book a mover through MoveMate."

The door shut behind him.

I stood alone in the middle of the living room.

The exhibition page was still open on my phone. Beneath the title, "Blue Isle's Farewell Exhibition: Limited Engagement Only," one line of red text pierced my eyes:

You have canceled your reservation.

I stared at those words for a long time. Then I slowly crouched down and buried my face in my hands.

My shoulders were shaking, but I could no longer tell whether it was from the fever or something else.

At three o'clock, I arrived at Henley Tower on time.

Clara stepped out of the elevator. The moment she saw me, she gave me a bright smile.

She was always like that. Whenever she smiled, her eyes curved with the smug sweetness of a cat who knew exactly how charming she was.

"Evelyn, thank you so much for helping."

Behind her, Grant was pushing two large suitcases. Fine beads of sweat had gathered across his forehead.

He had never been willing to walk one extra step for me.

But for Clara, he could move furniture, push heavy luggage, and work up a sweat without complaint.

I walked over and reached for the storage bin in Clara's hands.

Grant suddenly spoke. "Let Clara carry it."

I froze.

Grant came over, took the bin from me, and handed it back to Clara. "She has a fever. Don't catch it from her."

So that was why.

For one brief second, I had almost thought he was worried about me.

But I was wrong.

He was worried about Clara. He was worried that Clara might catch what I had.

His girlfriend of seven years was less worthy of protection than a friend he had known for one year.

I stood there and watched Grant load all of Clara's things into the car.

I watched him buckle her seat belt for her.

I watched him remind her to open the windows and air out her new place when she arrived.

Clara sat in the passenger seat and waved at me through the window. "Evelyn, aren't you coming with us?"

Before I could answer, Grant spoke for me. "She'll take a bike-share."

The window rolled up. The car pulled away.

I stood alone in the shadow of Henley Tower.

That afternoon, I followed behind in the cold wind on a bike-share, trailing the car I had helped make the down payment on.

The wind blew against my burning skin, but it brought me no relief.

I pedaled as hard as I could. The wind blew my tears sideways, all the way into my ears.

By the time I reached Clara's new apartment building, Grant had already carried all the luggage upstairs.

I locked the bike and looked up at the building. The sunlight stung my eyes.

Then my phone lit up with a new notification from the relationship scoring app.

System notification: Evelyn Hayes, your tasks are behind schedule today. Five points deducted.

I stared at the notification.

Then I laughed.

I laughed until my whole body trembled. I laughed until tears streamed down my face.

After seven years, what had been deducted was not just points. It was my love, my passion, and the courage that had once made me throw myself forward without ever looking back.

Little by little, he had taken it all from me until the balance finally hit zero and there was nothing left for him to take.

After the move, Grant drove Clara to check in at her new firm.

I went home alone.

The moment I opened the door, I stopped. There was a box on the coffee table.

A sticky note was taped to it. It was Grant's handwriting.

Seventh anniversary. I was supposed to get you something.

I walked over and opened the box. Inside was a pair of smart wristbands.

The product description read: "Couple Sync—a smart bracelet that monitors heart rate, temperature, and sleep quality in real time. Partners can view each other's data anytime and build a shared health profile together."

I held the wristbands in my hands, my fingers ice-cold.

This was Grant's seventh-anniversary gift. There were no roses, no ring, and not even an "I love you." All he had given me was a more precise system for monitoring my data.

From now on, even my body temperature, my heartbeat, and the number of times I turned over in my sleep would all be visible on his phone at a glance.

And then he would score them.

My hands began to shake. Not because I was touched. Because I had finally understood one thing.

In Grant's eyes, I had never been a person who needed to be loved. I was only a data source that needed to be managed.