I Walked Away After Seven Letdowns

The seventh time Claire Fisher bailed on our marriage license appointment, I finally cut her out of my life—for good.

From then on, if she was at a party, I wasn't.

When she was scheduled to perform at our college's anniversary celebration, I made sure to leave early.

The moment my company announced a collaboration with hers, I resigned without a second thought.

Even on Christmas Eve, when she showed up at my parents' house with gifts, I slipped out with a half-hearted excuse about "visiting a friend."

I blocked her number. Deleted her from my contacts. Burned every bridge and salted the earth behind me. No calls. No texts. No social media.

I didn't reach out. She couldn't reach me.

Simple as that.

For the better part of my life, I was hopelessly in love with her—waiting on her, caring for her, putting her first in every way that mattered. I gave her all of me without ever holding back.

But after the seventh time she left me sitting alone at the City Hall, something inside me broke.

I was done.

If that meant spending the rest of my life alone, so be it.

Better that than sitting in an empty apartment, listening to the silence, holding on to hope for someone who never planned to show up.

The Seventh Time's the Last Time

I sat at the marriage registration desk in the City Hall, waiting for Claire. Again.

I waited so long that the place started to empty out. Desks creaked as the staff packed up, keys jingled, and someone let out a tired yawn.

At first, when I called, she just said she was tied up at work and told me to hang tight.

Two hours later, her phone went straight to voicemail.

I called again. And again. Busy signal. Again.

The form in my hand was now a crumpled mess, damp with sweat from how tightly I had been gripping it.

"Sir," a voice finally broke through. "We're closing for the day. Are you still planning to file for a marriage license?"

I blinked, my thoughts snapping back to the present. I shook my head, the corner of my mouth barely twitching.

"No. Thanks," I replied quietly. "I'm done."

I stepped outside. The cold air hit my face like a slap.

Behind me, two clerks chatted as they left.

"I think I've seen that guy before," one whispered. "Always comes in alone. Wants to get married."

"Oh yeah," the other said, recognition dawning. "I remember him. He's the one who waits and waits, but no one ever shows up."

I didn't say a word. My face stayed frozen, blank as stone.

But inside? I was bleeding.

My heart felt like a worn-out cloth—thin, unraveling, leaking pain with every beat.

I stared at the ground, and I couldn't even meet my own eyes in the glass door's reflection. My feet moved before I could think.

Seven times. Seven times I waited for her at that same office. And every single time, she never showed.

I was just about to call a cab when Claire came running. Literally.

She jogged up, breathless, her coat flapping open and her hair bouncing with each step. A smile played on her lips, a little sheepish.

"Zach," she panted, "I'm so sorry. Work called last minute. I came as fast as I could. Hope I'm not too late?"

I stared at her. My lips curled up—barely. And not from happiness.

Last time, it was a work emergency.

The time before that? Also work.

And before that? You guessed it.

Same script, different days.

I didn't even bother calling her out anymore. I just shook my head.

"You are late," I said. "They just closed."

She frowned and glanced at her watch, as if she couldn't believe it. "Seriously? They clock out on the dot every time. Can't even wait one minute?" She scoffed.

Then, she grabbed my hand and pressed it to her chest, dramatically. "I ran the whole way, I swear. Traffic was a nightmare. I'm so out of breath I could collapse."

I stared at her blankly. My chest was tight, my throat burning with emotion I didn't want to show.

But I wasn't a fool, nor was I blind.

There was not a single drop of sweat on Claire. Her forehead was dry. Not even a smudge of dampness.

I bit the inside of my cheek, the truth sitting heavy in my gut. Still, I asked the question I had been swallowing for too long.

"If you really ran all the way here, why aren't you sweating?"

Her smile froze for a split second.

She frowned, and the look in her eyes changed. Sharp. Accusing.

Her tone shot up like a whip. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? Do you think I'm lying? That I wanted to miss this? After everything I did to get here? God, Zach, how heartless can you be? You think I'd fake being late just to avoid marrying you?"

There it was. The deflection. Turn me into the villain. Make a scene.

However, the more she yelled, the more it looked like she was trying too hard to look innocent.

I massaged my temples. My head throbbed. I was done.

"Whether you're lying or not, Claire… only you know best."

I turned and walked away.

Her voice followed me like a cold wind down the back of my neck.

"Fine! Go! But don't come crawling back this time! Stop begging me to marry you, Zach. Let's see how long your little tantrum lasts!"

I didn't turn around. Didn't say a word.

But my bottom lip was bleeding from how hard I bit it.

I had barely made it halfway across the parking lot when my phone buzzed—a text.

'So, Zach, no marriage again today, I take it? What a shame. Oh well, can't wait to see you try for the eighth time!'