During the party, our friends started teasing, asking when Brandon and I were finally going to get married.
I looked at him, a smile playing on my lips.
He just went silent, awkwardly changing the subject.
The friend who'd asked the question shot me an embarrassed, apologetic look.
My smile didn't waver. I just took a sip of my drink.
I'm a procrastinator, but not a crippling one. And in that moment, I decided. I was done waiting. I was letting Brandon go, and in doing so, letting myself go free.
The awkward moment passed quickly, and the party roared back to life. I laughed and joked along with everyone else, genuinely happy for the two people at the center of it allmy best friend, Natalie, and her fianc.
The teasing had started because, halfway through the night, Natalie's boyfriend had dropped to one knee and proposed. With her ecstatic "yes," Brandon and I became the last unmarried couple in our circle.
During a round of party games, Natalie slipped into the seat next to me and quietly squeezed my hand.
I gave her a reassuring smile.
Of all our friends, Brandon and I had been the first to get together. Everyone assumed we'd be the first to walk down the aisle.
But that was six years ago. And we were still just boyfriend and girlfriend.

By the end of the night, only Brandon, Natalie, her new fianc Tyler, and I remained.
Natalie pulled me into a tight hug, whispering in my ear, Amanda, whatever you do, don't settle for less than you deserve.
I hugged her back, my voice light. I won't.
After we waved them off, I turned to get into Brandon's car.
He was staring at his phone, not even looking up. Hannah's working late at the office. Her phone died, so she can't get a ride. I'm going to pick her up.
Okay, I said, my hand already in my purse.
The moment he'd said Hannah, my fingers had instinctively opened the ride-share app. As if on cue, a car was confirmed just as he finished his sentence.
He finally looked up at me. You had a bit to drink tonight. Get home safe and rest up. I'm leaving now.
Mhm, was all I said.
As his car pulled away from the curb, I took a few quick steps back to avoid breathing in his exhaust fumes.
A moment later, my phone buzzed with a voice message from him.
Normally, I would have fumbled for my earbuds, eager to hear his voice. Tonight, I couldn't be bothered. I just let the app transcribe it.
I'll head back right after I drop her off. Don't overthink it.
That was new. He'd never bothered with reassurances before when he ditched me for Hannah.
I typed back a single reply: OK
The chat bubble showed he was typing then it disappeared. He sent nothing.
I didn't really care.
Ever since I'd made my decision, a strange sense of peace had settled over me. Before, the thought of HannahBrandon's childhood friendhad me tied in knots of anxiety and insecurity. She had turned me into someone I didn't recognize.
I'd lost count of the number of hysterical fights we'd had about her.
And every time, he'd just watch me with those cold, detached eyes.
When are you going to stop? I see Hannah as a sister. Her parents trusted me to look after her, that's all.
I gave her a job at the company because she's qualified. Stop being so paranoid.
If that's what you want to believe, there's nothing I can do.
The same lines, over and over. I could recite them by heart.

I went home but didn't wait up for Brandon. I just went to sleep.
As expected, he never came home.
I knew he wouldn't.
A message pinged on my phone in the morning.
Hannah's power went out last night. I stayed to help her fix it, got late. Didn't want to wake you.
Another ping.
I got a room at a hotel, didn't stay at her place.
He was always so brazenly honest about it, never hiding anything about Hannah. He seemed to think that as long as he told me the facts, he'd done his part.
My phone buzzed again.
Booked us a table at that restaurant you love. Dinner tonight.
That was his classic move. An explanation, followed by a treat. Whether I accepted his peace offering or not, he would consider the matter closed. As long as he felt he'd explained himself, I was expected to drop it.
So many times, I'd tried to push, to scream that we needed to actually talk things through, but the look in his eyes always said the same thing: he just didn't get it. He saw me as a petulant child throwing a tantrum.