The Day I Stopped Waiting for His Proposal

On our third anniversary, Samuel Vance did something he'd never done before. He invited me out for a murder-mystery party game.

I thought it meant something.

The last scene of the game was a proposal. He dropped to one knee and held out a prop ring.

Millie Harding, will you marry me?

My eyes went hot and I nodded, my hands shaking.

Then Patsy Baxter, sitting in the corner, pulled off her mask and leaned in with her phone up.

"I can't. It's just a game and she's actually crying. Somebody's desperate to get married."

One of the other players clapped Samuel on the shoulder. "You win. This round's on me."

I stared at the ring in my hand and slowly opened my fingers.

Samuel set down his character card, his voice easy. "They said you couldn't tell the game from real life. I actually vouched for you."

I looked at the prop cards scattered across the table and gave a small, tired laugh.

"You're right. I can't tell the difference."

"This round, I'm out."

"Millie Harding, can't you take a joke?"

I'd barely pushed through the glass door when Samuel's voice came from behind me.

The early-autumn night was cool. I stopped walking.

He caught up in a few quick strides and stood in front of me, his brow faintly creased.

He reached up and straightened the collar of my coat where the wind had knocked it askew.

The gesture was as natural as ever, with that gentleness that was his alone.

"Everyone came out to have a good time. You walk off with a face like that, what are my friends supposed to think?"

His tone was even. No blame in it.

I watched his hand leave my collar.

That same hand, a moment ago, had held the ring for the bet perfectly steady.

"Samuel, today is our third anniversary."

He blinked.

"I know." He sighed and reached to take my hand. "Isn't that why I brought you out to celebrate? The game was Patsy's idea. She said the more people, the more fun."

"Patsy's idea?" I stepped back from his hand.

His hand froze in midair.

"There you go again. Patsy just got back from overseas. Everyone got together to welcome her home, and we celebrated the anniversary at the same time. What's the harm?"

"She's young, she talks without thinking. You're going to be her sister-in-law. Why hold it against her?"

Heels clicked behind me.

Patsy came trotting out, wrapped in Samuel's suit jacket.

"Sam, is Millie mad at me?"

She caught the hem of his jacket, her eyes rimmed red.

"I really was only joking. I didn't know Millie couldn't take a joke."

Samuel patted the back of her hand, his voice going much softer.

"It's fine. She's just been under a lot of pressure at work lately. Her mood's off."

He turned back to me, and his tone returned to normal.

"All right, Millie, you've made your point. Come back inside. The ring's just a plastic prop. If you want one, I'll take you to the counter tomorrow and you can pick out a real one."

"Consider today my debt to you. Just don't leave everyone standing there with nowhere to go."

I looked at him quietly.

Watched him keep Patsy tucked behind him.

Three years ago, when we'd first gotten together.

He took me to meet his friends, and one of the guys made a crude joke, teasing me about my short skirt.

Samuel turned on him right there.

He took my hand and walked out without looking back, his face cold the whole way.

That night, under a streetlight, he held me tight and said, "From now on no one gets to hurt you. Not even me."

But now, to make Patsy smile, he'd put my dignity on the betting table with his own hands.

"There's no need." I slid my hands slowly into my pockets and said it.

Samuel frowned. "No need for what?"

"No need to buy a ring." I looked into his eyes.

"Samuel, I'm not making a scene. I've just stopped seeing the point."

I raised a hand toward the street, and a taxi pulled over.

I opened the door and got in.

Samuel stayed where he was, watching me through the window.

In the rearview mirror, he lowered his head to light a cigarette and turned to listen to Patsy.

My phone lit up.

A message from Samuel.

Stop standing out in the wind. Go home early.

Patsy's going to IKEA tomorrow. Go with her and help her pick out some furniture. She just moved and doesn't know a thing about it.

My fingertip hovered over the screen. In the end, I didn't reply.

The taxi was halfway there when my phone buzzed.

Hello, is this Ms. Millie Harding?

Speaking.

This is Wanderlust Travel. About the couples' aurora tour to Iceland you booked, departing next week. We need to do a final check on the visa paperwork, so I wanted to ask when Mr. Samuel Vance's employment verification letter will be sent over?

We're only two days out from the visa submission.

Watching the streetlights slide backward past the window, I felt something stick in my throat.

The couples' aurora tour. Two weeks ago, I'd put it together as a surprise for our third anniversary.

To land that glass-dome aurora hotel with the perfect view, I'd stayed up three nights straight.

When I sent Samuel the itinerary,

all he wrote back was: Whatever you set up is fine with me.

I'd told myself he was just busy with work, so I handled all the little details myself.

The only thing missing was his employment verification letter.

I'd chased him for it three times, and every time he said, I'll have my assistant deal with it tomorrow.

And still, the paperwork wasn't there.

Ms. Harding? Are you still there? the agent asked gently.

I'm here. I closed my eyes. I was about to say I'd push him for it.

Then a message popped up.

It was Samuel.

*Oh, Millie, there's something I want to run by you.*

*That Iceland trip, give my spot to Patsy.*

*She's been going through a breakup lately and she's in a bad place. This is a good chance for her to clear her head.*

*You put together a really detailed plan, didn't you? Take her along and show her a good time. I'll take you myself another time.*

The words on the screen were like a dull blade, dragging back and forth across my chest.

I hung up with the agent, drew a deep breath, and called Samuel.

He picked up fast. The background was noisy, like a bar.

What is it? Still angry? There was a thread of impatience in his voice.

The Iceland trip. I booked that glass hotel six months in advance. It only sleeps two.

I know that.

That's why I said I won't go, and Patsy can go with you instead. Two girls sharing one room, it works out perfectly.

Millie, be reasonable. Patsy can't sleep at all, night after night. The doctor says she's showing signs of mild depression.

The northern lights aren't going anywhere. You can see them anytime. Don't be so selfish.

Selfish?

For this trip, I'd scrimped and saved for most of a year. I'd given up a training program that would have gotten me promoted.

And in the end, that was what he called selfish.

From beside him came Patsy's sugary voice: Sam, does Millie not want to go with me? It's okay, I can just stay home by myself

Don't be silly. He covered the mouthpiece, but his voice still leaked through.

Then he came back to me: All right, it's settled. Send Patsy's passport number to the travel agency tomorrow.

He hung up before I could say anything.

The dial tone droned in my ear. I took the phone away.

Then I called the agent back.

Ms. Harding, about Mr. Vance's paperwork

No need to wait for it. I cut her off.

Change the couples' booking to a solo one.

The agent paused. Um, if you make that change, you'll lose the couples'-package discount, and the hotel may charge a cancellation fee.

That's fine.

Watching the night beyond the window, my voice went calm too.

All right, Ms. Harding, one moment please.

Your change to a solo booking is complete. Have a wonderful trip.

I pushed open the apartment door, and a faint, familiar scent drifted toward me.

Patsy's.

By the shoe cabinet, a pair of high heels lay where they'd been kicked off.

Also Patsy's.

I stepped around them and walked into the living room.

A pink knit cardigan had been tossed on the couch.

On the coffee table sat two mugs.

One was the dark gray Samuel always used; the other was pink, printed with a cartoon cat.

At the bottom of it, the dregs of an unfinished iced latte.

I stood in the living room and looked at the place I'd lived in for three years.

When we first moved in together, Samuel's friends kept clamoring to come over for a housewarming.

He turned every one of them down.

With his arm around my shoulders, he said into the phone, "My girl's shy around strangers. No outsiders in the house from now on. This is where she feels safe."

Back then, I thought this was a home that belonged to just the two of us.

But somewhere along the way, Patsy had a key too.

"She just got back from abroad and has nowhere to stay. She'll crash here a few days."

"She's scared of the dark. Don't lock the bedroom door at night, so it's easy for her to find you."

"Her stomach's bad. Go easy on the spice when you cook."

Later, Patsy moved out, but the traces she left behind spread through the place like a vine, crawling into every corner of the home.

Samuel even gave her the spare key. His reason: if she ever had an emergency, she'd have somewhere to go.

When I objected, he just frowned and gave me that helpless look.

"Millie, don't be so petty."

I walked into the bedroom and pulled the gray suitcase out from under the bed.

I opened the closet and folded my clothes one by one, laying them into the case.

The skincare on the counter, the jewelry in the drawer.

I packed carefully, unwilling to leave behind so much as a single strand of hair.

Halfway through, my phone rang.

A video call from Samuel.

I answered and turned the camera toward the white wall.

"You're home?" Samuel's face appeared on the screen, KTV lights flashing behind him.

"Mm."

"Why didn't you make dinner? Patsy said she's been craving your seafood stew."

He tugged at his tie, that usual ordering tone in his voice.

"Go make a pot now. I'll bring her back in about half an hour to eat."

I looked at that entitled expression on the screen.

"There's no seafood in the house," I said flatly.

"Then go buy some at the supermarket downstairs." Samuel was getting impatient.

"Millie, what is with you today? You've had this attitude ever since we left the murder-mystery party. Patsy was just joking around. Are you really going to hold a grudge this long?"

At the edge of the screen, half of Patsy's face leaned into view.

"Millie, I'm sorry. If you really don't feel like cooking, forget it. Ordering takeout is just as good."

Samuel quickly held the phone farther away and turned to her. "What takeout? Takeout isn't clean. She's sitting at home doing nothing anyway."

Sitting at home doing nothing.

I'd worked late at the office all day, skipping lunch just so I could clock out on time for our third anniversary.

To him, I was nothing but a nanny on standby.

"I'm not making it," I said into the microphone.

Samuel froze, as if he hadn't expected me to refuse so flatly.

"Millie Harding, you really have to pick a fight with me right now, don't you?"

His voice went cold.

"Fine. You won't make it, I'll take Patsy out to eat. You'd better not regret this."

The call cut off.

I tossed the phone onto the bed and shoved the last few pieces of clothing into the case.

The moment I zipped it shut, the room looked empty.

I went to the entryway and pulled up the smart lock's settings.

I entered the admin password.

"Fingerprint number 02 deleted."

Behind me, the lock clicked shut on the keypad door.

I wheeled the suitcase toward the elevator.

The elevator doors slid open, and I came face to face with Samuel and Patsy, just about to step in.

"It's the middle of the night. What are you throwing a fit about this time?"

Samuel's eyes dropped to my suitcase, his brow knitting tight.

Half-hidden behind him, Patsy leaned out and clapped a hand over her mouth in pretend shock.

"Millie, are you running away from home? Just because I said I wanted seafood stew earlier?"

She tugged at Samuel's sleeve, her voice pitched to sound wounded.

"Sam, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have asked for anything. Please, go smooth things over with Millie."

Samuel patted the back of her hand, telling her not to worry.

Then he stepped forward and blocked my way.

"Millie, you've been running this same act for three years. Aren't you tired of it yet?"

"Every time you get mad, you pack your bags, and every time you come crawling back on your own. You think this is fun?"

I looked at him.

In three years, I had packed my bags exactly twice.

The first time was when he forgot my birthday and took Patsy to a concert.

The second time was when he lent Patsy the money we'd been saving together for a house so she could start her business.

Both times, he'd stopped me at the door.

First silence, then a sigh, and finally he'd take my hand and tell me to stop acting up. And once I softened, he'd carry on as if nothing had happened.

"I was in the wrong, but Patsy's situation is special."

"Stop making a scene. I've sent you twenty grand. Go buy yourself a bag."

He thought this time was the same, that I was just using it to force him to back down.

"Put the suitcase back."

When I said nothing, his tone eased a little.

"I was partly to blame today too. I shouldn't have joked about proposing. I've got the day off tomorrow. I'll take you to the counter and let you pick out a real diamond ring. Happy now?"

He reached out to take my suitcase.

"Patsy's stomach is really hurting, and every restaurant out there is closed. Just go back now and get the stew going, and we'll call it settled."

I moved my suitcase away from his hand.

His fingers closed on empty air, and his face darkened at once.

"Millie, I'm giving you a way out. Don't push your luck."

I listened to him without the slightest ripple of feeling.

So it turned out letting someone go was this simple.

I took the spare key from my pocket and set it lightly on the fire hydrant beside us.

"Samuel. These three years, sorry to have troubled you."

My voice was soft, like a gust of wind that could scatter at any moment.

"No need to buy the ring, and I won't be making any seafood stew again. If Miss Baxter's stomach hurts, you can learn to cook for her yourself."

Samuel froze.

He stared at the key as if he still hadn't caught up.

"What's that supposed to mean?" His eyes narrowed, a warning creeping into his voice.

"You want to break up? Millie, think this through. You walk out that door now, and don't ever think about coming back."

Looking at that confident face of his, I suddenly found it a little funny.

I stepped around him and wheeled my suitcase out of the elevator.

Samuel just stood there and let out a cold laugh. "Fine. Let's see how long you can keep up the tough act."

After the elevator doors closed.

The phone in Samuel's pocket suddenly chimed with a text alert.

He pulled it out lazily and glanced down.

"Mr. Vance, the companion on your two-person aurora trip has been canceled. Your refund will be processed within three business days."

The train tore through the dark, the lights outside blurring into a long ribbon of glow.

I leaned back against my seat and looked at the messages on my phone.

I'd finished the paperwork to leave the company yesterday. HR approved my resignation without any fuss.

My destination was Ashford, nearly two hundred miles away.

There was a design firm there where I'd just been hired. The pay was a little lower than before, but it came with housing.

I opened my phone, blocked Samuel Vance's contact, and deleted it.

Three days later, Ashford.

I was sitting at my new desk, sorting through the client files in front of me.

The screen lit up. An unknown local number.

I silenced it right away.

That made six unknown numbers today.

I knew who was behind them.

Because half an hour earlier, Patsy Baxter had sent me a text.

Millie, stop hiding. Sam's back from his trip, and when he found you gone, he lost it.

Please just come home. He's thrown all my things out.

Looking at that message, I could picture the exact look on Samuel's face right now.

Three days ago, he'd assumed I was just going to stay at a hotel for a few nights.

The next morning he'd flown out of town to close a deal.

He was certain that by the time he got back, I'd have come home on my own, meek as ever.

The phone buzzed again. This time it was Samuel's buddy, Maurice James.

I picked up.

"Where the hell did you go?" Maurice's voice was thick with worry.

"Sam's losing his mind. He turned the whole place upside down, and now he's searching everywhere for you."

I kept the phone tucked against my ear, my hands still tapping at the keyboard.

"I'm not his anything anymore, Maurice," I said flatly.

"No way, you're actually serious?" Maurice sucked in a sharp breath.

"Sam thought you just went to crash at a friend's for a few days. He even said once you cooled off, he'd buy you the newest bag out there."

"Come on, you know Sam. All bark, soft underneath. When he saw you'd taken the mint plant, his eyes went red."

"His eyes went red because Patsy Baxter got him worked up, more like."

I cut Maurice off.

"Maurice, do me a favor and pass this along. I left the key. I deleted my fingerprint. From now on, leave me alone."

I hung up and added Maurice's number to the block list too.

Samuel's panic had come too late, and it was too cheap.

After work, I walked the streets of Ashford alone.

Passing a flower shop, I bought a bunch of sunflowers.

Life without Samuel made even breathing come easier.

I no longer had to time my day around getting home to cook.

I no longer had to carefully step around Patsy Baxter's landmines.

And I no longer had to move myself to tears over an empty promise.

Back at my place, I put the sunflowers in a vase.

I was about to go shower when my phone lit up again.

This time it was an email.

Sender: Samuel Vance.

Millie Harding, aren't you full of yourself now.

Quitting, changing your number, moving. You think that's enough to get away from me?

You have three days. Crawl back here. Otherwise, don't blame me for what happens next.

I looked at that email, dripping with threat.

He was still up there looking down on everyone.

He thought he could do what he'd done for three years, bring me to heel with a few harsh words.

I didn't reply. I dragged the email straight into the trash.

Then I powered off the phone and went to sleep.