I Loved Him for Seven Years Until He Broke Me

Julian Cole stepped out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist. Water still clung to his firm, sculpted body, but the sight only made my stomach turn. A wave of nausea hit me, and before I could stop it, I gagged, my eyes watering from the force of it. Julian quickly grabbed a tissue and handed it to me, his hand moving to my back as he gently rubbed it. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked. "Are you still not feeling well after the procedure?" His voice was soft, full of concern. It made my skin crawl. "I'm fine." I forced the nausea down and managed a faint smile. "Could you get me a glass of water?" Julian let out a small laugh. "Of course, sweetheart," he said. "Forget a glass of water. If you wanted the stars, I'd find a way to bring them down for you." He sounded just like he always had. But something inside me felt unbearably heavy. When I looked at his handsome face now, it felt false. After I drank, the warmth settled my stomach a little. Julian took the half-finished glass from my hand, drank the rest without a word, and set it back on the nightstand. This was our seventh year together. I had been the one who pursued him first. Back in college, Julian had lost his first love in a plane crash. She had died at eighteen, at the very peak of her youth. When he was at his lowest, lost and broken, I had been the one who stayed by his side and helped him through it. Over two thousand five hundred days together, I had never once imagined he would betray our marriage. Maybe those photos and those ambiguous messages meant nothing. Holding on to that fragile hope, I spoke again. "Darling, I left my phone in the car. Can I use yours for a moment?" I watched his face closely, searching for the slightest change. Julian picked up his phone without hesitation and was about to hand it to me. Then he paused. He pulled it back. He reached out and gently touched my head instead. "Be good," he said softly. "The doctor told you to rest. It's late. Don't use your phone tonight." He had never minded before. He had even registered my fingerprint on his phone himself. But I had trusted him. I had never once checked it. If I hadn't accidentally seen that message from a strange woman today, I might still be living in the illusion of his loyalty. That small hesitation shattered the last bit of hope I had left. When had he started guarding himself against me? I watched him grab the car keys and head downstairs to get my bag. Only then did I finally break down. People always said that after seven years, love entered a dangerous phase. They call it the seven-year itch. Many couples never made it past it. Back then, Julian had laughed it off. "That's just an excuse people use for their own lack of responsibility," he had said. I still remembered the boy he used to be, bright and full of confidence, promising me with absolute certainty. "Elena, we'll make it through seven years, then another seven, and another after that. We'll grow old together. We'll have a full house." Because those memories were so beautiful, the way they shattered now hurt all the more. My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. I placed a hand over my empty abdomen. There would be no second seven years. There would be no child. My face felt cold, just like my heart. Julian came back upstairs with my bag and immediately noticed something was off. He leaned in and touched my cheek. "Sweetheart, why are you so cold? Have you been crying?" He pulled me into his arms, his body warm against mine. "How do you feel now?" he asked. "Better?" I pushed him away. "You're holding me too tightly," I said. "I can't breathe." He froze, looking flustered, like a child who had done something wrong. "I'm sorry, sweetheart…" Before he could finish, his phone started vibrating nonstop. I cut him off. "Maybe it's something urgent from work," I said. "You should take it." But I knew better. It wasn't work. It was the other woman. She was flooding his phone with messages. The moment Julian looked at the screen, something in his expression changed. It turned unfamiliar. His brows furrowed, as if he were facing something difficult to handle. "It's okay, darling," I said gently. "Work comes first." His eyes filled with emotion. "You're always so understanding, Elena," he said with a smile. "I couldn't ask for a better wife." I lowered my gaze, hiding the faint trace of mockery in my eyes. Julian grabbed his coat from the hanger and headed toward the door. Just before leaving, he turned back. "Sweetheart, I'll finish up as quickly as I can and come back to you." That night, he never came home.