Ex-Girlfriend's Downfall

After three years together, Laurel always kept me at arm's length. She claimed her upbringing was strict and that intimacy would have to wait until marriage. However, at Curtis's art exhibition, I was confronted by dozens of provocative portraits of Laurel in various poses, painted from when she was 18 to 25, immortalized on canvas.

Fury surged through me, and I nearly tore the paintings to shreds. But Laurel stopped me. “Do you even know what these are? They're art. You're such a small-town guy, out of touch with reality.”

I called my mom and canceled the engagement ring I had been planning to use to propose to Laurel. “I agree to the Robertson-Rivera match,” I told her.

As soon as I hung up, Laurel caught up with me. “Jamari, why are you walking so fast? Weren’t you going to take me to meet your parents today?”

That had been the plan, but she had dragged me to Curtis Wagner’s art exhibit instead. Now, I saw no reason to introduce her to my family.

“My parents just told me they're busy today,” I said nonchalantly.

Laurel's face showed her displeasure. “Are you still mad, Jamari? Just because of something so trivial, you’re not taking me to meet them?”

“You know what, never mind. I wasn’t too keen on meeting your middle-class family anyway,” she scoffed. “Besides, I have to accompany Curtis to a charity gala tonight.”

Just as I was about to respond, Curtis joined us. “Is something wrong between you two?”

Laurel gave me a dismissive look. “What could possibly be wrong? Someone’s just overreacting.”

Curtis glanced at me with a barely concealed smirk. “You don’t mind, do you, Jamari? Laurel and I are just friends.”

Friends? I forced a bitter smile. It was laughable. We had been together for three years, yet she avoided intimacy with me while posing nude for countless portraits for someone she called a friend.

Laurel laughed lightly, “Curtis, no need to be so careful. Whatever decision I make, Jamari never questions it.”

I was speechless. My tolerance of Laurel had become second nature. I could never turn down her demands. But now, this tolerance had become indulgence, and there was no place for me in her heart.

With that, the two of them walked off arm in arm, not even giving me a backward glance. Watching them stung, and I couldn’t help but wonder what five years of emotions had amounted to.

My phone buzzed, and I saw a message from my mom with a picture of Catalina Robertson, Hassan Rivera’s daughter. “Catalina is studying abroad,” she wrote. “We’ll have the wedding overseas as a gesture of goodwill, and you can settle there afterward.”

“Alright, I’ll go with your plans,” I replied.