Loving Her Was My Only Mistake

My girlfriend was always mixing up my name with her ex's.

While she cooked, she'd call out without thinking: King Mike, grab the bowls and chopsticks, dinner's ready.

The birthday gift she gave me came with a card that read, Happy birthday, my darling Mike.

Even in our most intimate moments, she'd whimper softly against my ear, "Mike, can you go a little easier."

After being called by the wrong name a thousand times over, my initial irritation had worn down into resignation.

All I could do was turn her face toward mine, hold her gaze, and say it again and again: "I'm Edgar James. Not Mike."

In time, before she said my name, Samantha would pause for two seconds, thinking.

Then she'd get those two syllables right: "Edgar."

I thought she'd finally broken the habit.

Until later, when her idealized love, Mike Fox, joined the same company we did.

After that, on the gift card at the company year-end party, she wrote Mike's name instead of mine again.

The red roses delivered to the office listed Mike as the recipient too.

Even during the proposal, kneeling in front of me, the name she called was

"Mike, will you marry me!"

The I do jammed in my throat, stuck halfway, neither up nor down.

The excitement drained out of me all at once.

And suddenly I thought: what a complete waste of time this was.

When Samantha realized her mistake, her face went blank for a beat.

She scrambled to her feet to call out to me, but even then she stalled for two seconds before speaking.

"Edgar, I"

The irony spread through my chest.

Even at a moment like this, she still had to think before she could say my name.

I knew what she wanted to say.

It was just habit, or maybe she was too nervous.

Three years together, and I was sick of hearing it.

I stepped back, out of reach of her hand.

"There's no need to say it."

"Let's break up."

"No"

Samantha started to say something more.

But the coworkers nearby had heard the commotion and were gathering around.

When they saw the proposal, the place erupted.

"Oh my God, Director Mason actually proposed herself, and at the company retreat, no less!"

"Mike, so this is what's going on between you and Director James? Why didn't you ever tell us?"

I turned around and only then saw Mike standing a short distance away.

A tree by the path had blocked me completely from view.

From far off, it really did look like Samantha was kneeling in front of him.

Mike's eyes went wide with surprise, and in the next second, delight and disbelief rose in them.

The coworkers crowded around him, cheering and egging him on, pushing him forward toward Samantha.

Someone passing by yanked hard at my arm.

"They're in the middle of a proposal, what are you doing standing in the way like a third wheel?"

I stumbled.

Someone stepped on the cuff of my custom trousers, and the pin on my shirt snagged on something, tearing a hole clean through the fabric.

I shoved my way out of the crowd, a wreck.

When I lifted my head, the two of them were already ringed by circle after circle of people.

Mike, in his white shirt, stood at the center like a groom waiting for happiness to descend on him.

And I was just like everyone else around them, an extra in the crowd looking on at their joy.

Across the crowd, I met Samantha's eyes.

Her expression was complicated.

I saw her mouth open, as if she wanted to explain.

But seeing Mike so happy he'd broken into tears, she swallowed every word.

Smiling, she slid the engagement ring meant for me onto his ring finger.

I pulled my lips into a bitter curve. I didn't make a scene, didn't demand answers.

I just turned around in silence and walked away from the celebration that should have been mine.

The sky had darkened, and the wind off the river cut to the bone.

I walked across the bridge alone.

I couldn't stop the memory that kept surfacingthe rush I'd felt when I accidentally stumbled onto Samantha's proposal plan.

The stylist had been booked a month in advance. The suit and dress shirt were ordered through a personal shopper.

I usually spent a few hundred dollars on clothes at most, but I'd gritted my teeth and dropped three months' salary.

When the day finally came, I was so wound up I didn't sleep a wink.

I leaned back against the headboard, unable to stop picturing the look on Samantha's face when she proposed.

She was always so composed, so self-possessed. I wondered if she'd stumble over her words, or if the tips of her ears would go red.

But whatever happened, I would take the ring, pull her into my arms.

And then I'd say it, loud and clear:

"I do!"

If the sunset over the river hit just right.

If the light poured over us the way it did in the movies, gilding our silhouettes in gold.

And if some passerby happened to capture the moment.

I'd make it the cover of our wedding album, hang it in the most eye-catching spot in the home we'd build together.

The more I imagined it, the harder it got to keep the smile off my face. A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

"Honk"

A car horn dragged me back to reality.

Now I stood in a shirt torn ragged, dusty shoe-prints stamped across it.

Walking alone under the night sky.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Samantha.

Edgar, I'm sorry.

I stopped walking.

But let's just go along with it for now. Mike already said yes in front of everyone. Don't make things awkward for him.

I'll explain to everyone later that it was a Truth-or-Dare penalty.

Just a few lines. I stared at them for a long time.

But I wasn't surprised.

From the second Samantha called out the wrong name, I'd known exactly what she would do.

Just like on Valentine's Day, when the dozen red roses she'd had sent to the office landed in Mike's hands by mistake.

When I went to take them back, she pressed my hand down, gently.

"Sorry, Edgar. I wrote the wrong recipient by accident."

"Just let Mike keep them. Taking them back in front of this many people would embarrass him."

A message popped up in the retreat group chat.

Director Mason's treating everyone to an engagement dinnermeet in the second-floor restaurant of the hotel!

Not a last-minute decision. Part of the proposal plan.

Since she'd proposed to the wrong man, then everything would just go along with the mistake and go to Mike.

That was always how Samantha did things.

Someone had snapped a photo of the table.

The hotel's top-tier banquet spread. The main dish was king crab.

I'm allergic to shellfish. Samantha could never seem to remember that.

But it happened to be Mike's favorite.

Maybe this was fate steering her back onto the right track.

I closed the message and pulled up the ride-hailing app instead.

Whatever happened, I chose to walk away.

I went back to the apartment alone.

I pushed open the door, and the first thing I saw was the couple's photo on the cabinet by the entryway.

My steps stalled for a beat.

Samantha hated having her picture taken. It had taken me forever to wear her down for this one.

I remembered the day we moved into this place, holding the photo and pacing around, trying it in every spot.

Samantha watched me, indifferent.

"It's just a photo. What does it matter where you put it?"

I turned and shook my head at her, dead serious.

"No. I want it to be the first thing everyone sees the moment they walk in!"

The spot on the entryway cabinet, close to the door, was the place I'd chosen after careful thought.

Open the door, and the hallway light would fall on it first.

A little proclamation of just how happy the person who lived here was.

It was also my only comfort coming home after working late into the night, all so I could put down roots in this city.

But was I really happy?

I picked up the frame, running my fingers over it inch by inch.

Even in a couple's photo, Samantha still wore that cold, composed, doll-pretty face.

The dozens of photos my coworkers had dumped into the group chat flooded back into my head all at once.

In every single one she was leaning into Mike's arms, smiling with a softness I'd never seen on her.

Maybe the only one who'd ever felt happy was me.

I flipped the photos face-down on the cabinet and turned to start packing.

Clothes, shoes

My hands stilled only when I got to the ties.

The one lying most prominently in the organizer box was the birthday gift Samantha had given me last year.

I thought about it, then dug out every gift we'd exchanged over the years.

Since I'd decided to break up, there was no reason to keep any of it.

The first year, the second year.

Every gift we gave had its match in return.

Only the third year was missingSamantha's anniversary gift and her Valentine's gift to me.

Because she'd filled in the wrong recipient, they'd all been delivered to Mike instead.

I sent Samantha a message.

The things I gave you, I've already thrown out. What you gave me is in the bedroom cabinet.

Do whatever you want with it.

By the time I finished packing everything, there was still no reply in the message thread.

I opened the group chat. They were still going strong, only just now wrapping up.

Mike had posted on social media.

You say he's someone you're settling for, an obligation, that you have no choice. It's okay. I'll wait for you as long as it takes

No comments, no likes. This was posted for me alone to see.

I liked it, shut off my phone, grabbed my suitcase, and headed for the door.

Whatever the two of them wanted to become after this had nothing to do with me anymore.

The moment I opened the door, I came face-to-face with Samantha, breathless.

The instant she saw me, she seemed to let out a breath of relief.

The next second, her brow furrowed again, her tone edged with reproach.

"Why come back all of a sudden without a word? I was running around frantic looking for you."

I didn't answer. I only found it laughable.

Frantic, really.

So frantic she'd finished a whole meal, walked Mike through the entire proposal, and only then found the time to come looking for me.

Samantha squeezed her way inside.

Under the indoor lights, she finally saw the suitcase in my hand.

Her expression changed.

"It's this latewhere are you going?"

I looked at her, my face blank.

"Moving out. I'll come back later for the rest."

Hearing that, Samantha didn't rush to keep me. Instead, impatience flooded her in an instant.

Just like before, when she'd called me by the wrong name and I'd lost my temper, and she'd promised over and over that she didn't love her ex anymore.

She drew a deep breath, forced her patience, and pulled the proposal ring out of her pocket.

"Enough. I swear I love only youis that good enough?"

"Today really was an accident. And I only treated my coworkers to dinner because the deposit was already paid and I didn't want it to go to waste."

As if it were nothing more than grabbing some cheap barbecue at a roadside stand with coworkers, she soothed me halfheartedly.

"I explained everything to Mike, too. Look, I even got the proposal ring back."

"Let's just leave it here."

Samantha seized my hand and, without so much as asking, slid the ring onto my ring finger.

But it was far too loose.

The moment I lowered my hand, the ring slid straight off and rolled right to Samantha's feet.

The air went quiet for a beat.

Watching the stunned look on her face, I laughed, dripping with irony.

"Another accident? Filled in the wrong size when you ordered the ring?"

When that ring had been on Mike's finger, it fit like it had been made for him.

For once, Samantha looked a little guilty.

She picked the ring up, cleared her throat a few times, covering the awkwardness on her face.

"It was an accident. I'll have someone resize it later."

"Don't bother."

I cut her off coldly.

"When I said we're breaking up, I meant it. Let's just end it here."

Samantha paused, then slowly set the ring back in its box.

She closed the lid, and the flicker of guilt on her face was already gone, replaced by that same flat, unbothered look.

"Edgar, I told you I'd have it resized."

She looked at me the way you'd look at a child throwing a tantrum over nothing.

"Blowing this up into a breakup, storming out of the house every time over these little thingsit's really getting old."

My breath caught.

In that instant I remembered the night of the project's victory dinner, when I'd won a week of paid vacation in the raffle.

I'd been over the moon.

Over the moon for the three months I'd gone without a day off, for the parents I hadn't seen in two years.

But by the time I'd bought my plane ticket and my parents had already booked their own time off, waiting for me to come home for the reunion

HR told me the prize had already been redeemed.

"Director Mason came to claim it. She said you'd authorized it, and it went to that new intern in your department, Mike Fox."

I confronted her, my eyes red.

Samantha barely glanced up before lowering her head again, indifferent.

"Oh. I must have written down the wrong name by accident."

"Then go get it back for me!"

She just kept staring at her phone, so I snatched it from her hand in a fury.

What filled the screen was Mike's photo grid on social media.

A paid trip to a concert is honestly the bestthanks to a certain someone~

It hit me like a blow to the head.

Trembling, I held the phone up in front of Samantha, my vision blurred with tears.

"This is what you call writing down the wrong name?"

Samantha didn't explain. Instead, with a coldness that bordered on contempt, she turned it back on me.

"It's already done. I just maximized the value."

"Rewarding a subordinate now and then reinforces my authority as a leader."

"Edgar, you've been at this company long enough. Can't you look at the bigger picture?"

Her grand, self-righteous excuses drove me out of my mind.

That was the first time I'd ever mentioned breaking up with Samantha.

Not oncenot through the tens of thousands of times she'd called me by the wrong namehad the thought even crossed my mind.

I stayed at a hotel for three days and never got a single message from her softening up.

Only later did it sink in: Samantha was counting on the fact that I loved her too much.

Otherwise, how could I have forgiven her, over and over, for calling me by his name?

I'd even given up a stable job back home the moment I learned she'd broken up with her ex over long distance, crossing a thousand miles to her city to build everything from scratch again.

The day I swallowed my pride and came home, she wore an expression that said she'd expected it all along.

She took the suitcase from me and said flatly,

"Don't make a scene next time. Grow up a little."

Samantha's face in front of me now slowly blurred into her face from that day.

But this time, I didn't want to back down.

I repeated it, firm and certain.

"I mean it. Let's break up."

The door slammed shut with a crack.

Leaving behind only one line.

"You're way too worked up right now. Go cool off on your own!"

I didn't care where she'd gone.

Mike's social media had already popped up in the same instant.

I knew it. I'm still your first choice.

That engagement ring, like it had finally found its rightful owner, was back on her finger.

I gave the post a like.

Then I took one last look at this little apartment I'd decorated piece by piece, and softly closed the door.

The next day at work, the two of them arrived together.

The office broke into a chorus of congratulations.

I ignored it, keeping my head down over my handover work.

Since joining this company, I'd closed deals totaling over a billion dollars.

Next week I'd be promoted to Director, running a department of my own, and I'd never have to work alongside Samantha again.

I stood up with my files, and my eyes met Samantha's.

Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something.

I turned away calmly and walked off in the other direction.

"Rosalind Sullivan, here's my promotion paperwork. Take a look and let me know if anything's missing."

Rosalind from HR flipped through the file, brow furrowing.

"Your department already submitted its promotion form."

"What?"

I froze.

"Director Mason said the intern, Mike Fox, was the main contributor on that project. She requested that the promotion slot go to him, that his probation be waived early so he could step up as supervisor."

Department supervisor. That was my position. Right now.

Samantha was taking my results, my work, and using them to pave a road for her ex.

My phone buzzed.

I looked down. A message from her.

Mike covered for us on that mix-up, and clearing it up is going to be humiliating for him.

Let's just call this our way of making it up to him. Your promotion can wait.

I stared at the screen, a boundless fury churning in my chest.

Fury at how shameless Samantha was.

And even more fury at myself, at how I'd once loved her so hard I lost myself, until she stopped taking my feelings seriously at all.

Not this time, though. This time I wasn't swallowing it.

Without a moment's hesitation, I reported the fraud in Mike's promotion paperwork.

Once it was confirmed the project had been completed by me alone, her paperwork was verified and thrown out in under half a day.

The whole time, Samantha kept sending me message after message. I ignored every one.

I looked at the notification on my computer screen: my promotion application, approved.

The breath I'd been holding finally left me.

I opened my phone. Samantha had sent one last message.

Got it out of your system now? Come home early tonight, and don't drag this out any further. It doesn't look good.

Even now, Samantha still thought I was just jealous, throwing a fit.

I tapped my finger and dropped her into my blocked list.

Then I went straight back to the hotel where I was staying for the time being.

The next day.

After the sales department's morning meeting wrapped up, I was held back alone to go over the details of my promotion.

But when I stepped out of the conference room, the whole office had a different feel to it.

People passing by looked at me like I was something filthy, dropping their heads and hurrying off.

Snatches of conversation drifted over, indistinct.

"That's the guy who was the homewrecker, moving in on someone's girl?"

"He seemed totally normal. You'd never guess he was that kind of person"

A bad feeling crept up on me.

Back at my desk, I picked up my phone.

The work group chat was buried under a flood of messages from Mike.

A certain supervisor, surname James, repeatedly harassed and hit on my fiance.

When he couldn't get anywhere, he maliciously reported my promotion application. How does someone like that deserve to work at this company!

People started guessing right away.

Is it E.J.?

I kept wondering why he was a no-show at Director Mason's engagement party. Turns out he was too jealous to even eat.

Dozens of screenshots, all cropped top and bottom.

Mike had deleted every reply Samantha had sent me, twisting it to look like I'd been harassing her one-sidedly.

To avoid any awkwardness, Samantha and I had never gone public with our relationship.

But plenty of people had been to Mike's engagement party. Whose side they'd take was obvious.

The thing had been snowballing for close to an hour, thousands of messages scrolling past.

And Samantha, the one person at the center of it, still hadn't come forward to deny any of it.

Those chat logs were even taken from her point of view.

I couldn't let myself dwell on it. I typed fast, trying to set the record straight.

A commotion erupted at the office door.

Mike shoved past everyone trying to stop him and strode straight up to me.

Before I could react, a fist drove hard into my face.

"You bastard, going after another man's fiance, and you've still got the nerve to show up for work!"

Searing pain, my head spinning.

I clutched my face, dazed for a long moment before I came back to myself.

My instinct was to hit back.

The moment I raised my hand, a small figure came flying at me, slamming into me hard and knocking me aside.

I caught myself against the edge of the desk, staggering.

When I looked up, Samantha, who moments ago had been hidden in the group chat, was standing firmly in front of Mike, shielding him.

Her eyes were ice.

For a hazy moment, I remembered my first year at the company.

Because I was good at the job and climbed fast, people jabbed fingers in my face and called me a connections hire who'd bought his way up.

Back then Samantha had stood in front of me just like this, her small frame closing me off from all of it, protecting me completely.

Now the blade was turned on me.

Tears slipped down my face.

I looked at Samantha and forced out a bitter laugh.

"You're not going to explain yourself?"

Not just the group chat. This too, right now.

For an instant, her gaze wavered when she saw me.

Then it went cold and resolute.

"Everything my fianc said is true."

"Mr. James, please stop harassing me from now on."

Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried far enough for everyone nearby to hear.

At once the office erupted into deafening chatter.

"Oh my God, the woman herself came down and said it. That's proof, isn't it?"

"And someone like this is supposed to make Director? Whoever ends up under him has to worry about being harassed."

With her backing him, Mike hid behind her and shot me a look of open provocation.

Samantha stepped closer and lowered her voice.

"You took the promotion that should've been Mike's. He's upset."

"Let him blow off some steam. Once he's had his say, it'll be fine. I'll clear your name later, and you'll still get to be Director."

There it was again. "I'll clear your name later."

I scrubbed the tears away hard and, hands trembling, pulled up my chat history with Samantha to prove myself.

But my phone was wiped clean. Even the photo album had been emptied.

In that instant, it clicked.

Only one person knew my phone password and could have slipped out alone during the sales department meeting to get her hands on it.

To let Mike vent, Samantha hadn't just branded me a homewrecker. She'd sealed off every way out.

Nothing was left in my head but disbelief.

The muttering, the insults, buzzed in my ears.

Another message popped up on my phone.

HR: Given the talk in the group chat, upper management intends to suspend your promotion.

The last thread in my mind snapped.

"Enough!"

I heard my own voice, sharp and hopeless.

The room went quiet for a moment.

A thought that had been quietly buried in me came surging up, wild and unstoppable.

I grabbed the mouse, opened the company intranet, and sent in my resignation.

This place, this city, I was done with all of it!