The Fiancée He Took for Granted

The day I received the notice that my company wanted to transfer me overseas, I told my fiancé, Ethan Holloway. I made sure he understood one thing: the job was across the Atlantic. "Do you want me to go, Ethan?" He sat on the couch without even looking up. "Up to you." I gave a bitter smile at how little he seemed to care. I knew he'd say that. Ethan never got involved in anything that had to do with me. When a male coworker harassed me, I asked Ethan what he thought I should do. "Up to you." On our first anniversary, I asked if he wanted to celebrate. "Up to you." Even when I asked if he wanted to marry me, he'd only glanced at me. "Up to you." For the longest time, I thought that was just who he was. Until the day I saw his messages with his ex-girlfriend, Sophie Wren. Sophie told him she'd joined Hinge and was ready to start dating again. His response? "Don't. Don't start dating. Delete the app, please, Sophie. You know this is going to drive me insane." Reading those words suddenly reminded me of something I'd once said to Ethan. I'd told him that if he didn't treat me better, I'd break up with him and marry someone else. His answer back then had been simple. "Up to you." That was the moment I finally understood. He hadn't been respecting all my decisions. He simply didn't care. He didn't care who I was with. He didn't care if we ended up living on opposite sides of the world. He didn't even care who I married. So when he said "Up to you" again this time, I looked at him and nodded. "Okay." Fine. If everything was really "up to me," then I'd make the choice myself. I'd accept the transfer. And I'd leave him for good. ... I turned and walked into the bedroom, opened my laptop, and pulled up the relocation offer from our HR director, David Warren. It had been sitting unanswered in my inbox because I'd originally planned to turn it down. Not anymore. I opened the email and typed two words. I accept. Then I hit send. David replied almost immediately, clearly thrilled. "That's great! The Paris office really needs someone with your experience to build out the team. I'll have the travel team start booking everything. Departure date is the fifteenth—two weeks from now. Does that work for you?" The fifteenth. My chest tightened when I saw the date. That was the exact day Ethan and I were supposed to go to City Hall and get married. Just last month, I'd happily looked up available City Hall appointments online, picked a date that didn't conflict with either of our work schedules, and sent Ethan a screenshot. I'd asked if that day worked for him. His response had been the same dismissive phrase. "Up to you." I'd even filed for our marriage license two weeks in advance. Everything was ready. All that was left was for the two of us to walk through those doors together. Yes. That was how he'd been all these years. Whenever I faced a major decision in my life, he refused to be part of it. No matter what it was, his answer was always the same. "Up to you." Once, a male coworker harassed me at a work dinner. I'd hidden in the restroom and texted Ethan, asking if he could come pick me up. "Up to you." "You need me there, I'll come." On our first anniversary, I'd asked if he wanted to celebrate together. Again— "Up to you." He never got jealous of the men around me. Never interfered. Never got emotional. My friends envied me. They said I had all the freedom of being single while still having a boyfriend. At first, I'd thought the same thing. I thought he understood how to give me space. I thought his refusal to interfere with my choices meant he respected me. But as time passed, I only felt more exhausted. And whenever someone asked what was wrong, I couldn't explain it. I even started wondering if I was too sensitive. Then, little by little, I understood. I was exhausted because, for someone who was supposed to love me, Ethan was always too calm. So calm it bordered on indifference. He didn't care if I got caught in the rain. He didn't care what men I spent time with. He didn't even care whether I married him. Because he didn't care, every "Up to you" came so easily. As far as Ethan was concerned, whatever happened to me was my problem. The person he truly cared about was his ex-girlfriend. Sophie. They'd started dating in high school. They dated, broke up, got back together, then broke up again. The cycle lasted seven years. Eventually, Sophie moved to London for grad school, and they slowly lost touch. But now she was back in New York. I remembered exactly how Ethan had reacted when Sophie told him she'd created a Hinge profile. The man who was always impossibly indifferent toward me had completely lost control. He'd even called her on the spot to confront her. "Don't. Delete it. I'm serious." He didn't want her anywhere near another man. He interfered with every decision she made and cared about every tiny detail of her life. But with me? "Up to you." Because he didn't care. Nothing I did mattered to him. Still, maybe "Up to you" wasn't such a bad answer after all. At least now I didn't have to explain why I was going to Paris. I took a deep breath and replied to David. "The fifteenth works." I put down my phone, opened the bedroom door, and went into the living room to get some water. Ethan was holding his iPad, his brows drawn together as if he were dealing with something difficult. I stood nearby with my glass. "Busy with work?" He didn't look up. His fingers flew across the screen. "Not work. There's an issue with Sophie's new apartment. Her landlord won't deal with it, so I'm telling her what to do." There was a trace of concern in his voice. Almost too subtle to notice. Sophie again. And the worry and tenderness in his eyes were things I'd never once seen when he looked at me. I took a sip of warm water and pushed down the hurt. "Oh. Well, good luck with that." Then I turned, went back into the bedroom, and shut the door behind me. The sounds outside disappeared.

My alarm woke me right on time the next morning. Nothing in the kitchen had been touched. Everything looked exactly the way it had the night before. Normally, I'd already be in there making breakfast for Ethan. He had acid reflux, and anything too spicy or acidic could trigger it. But that morning, I didn't go into the kitchen. I went into the bathroom and put on some light makeup instead. Ethan emerged from the bedroom with his hair a mess. When he saw that I was already dressed and ready to leave, he frowned. "You didn't make breakfast? You know my stomach can't handle just anything." I pulled a pair of heels from the shoe cabinet by the door. "I've got an early meeting. I don't have time. Order something or have some toast." He stood there without moving. Clearly, he hadn't expected me to dismiss him so casually. Before, even if I had a 102-degree fever, the second he complained about his stomach, I'd drag myself out of bed and make him plain scrambled eggs. "Delivery is garbage." His expression darkened, irritation obvious in his voice. "You can't even throw something together real quick?" I slipped on my shoes and straightened, meeting his eyes. "I said I don't have time. You want something home-cooked, make it yourself." The words came out sharper than I expected. I braced myself for the guilt that always hit whenever I pushed back. But this time, there was nothing. Just silence inside me. And God, what a relief that silence was. I opened the door and walked out, leaving a stunned Ethan behind. At the office, I started handing off my work. The Paris branch across the Atlantic would be a completely new challenge, and I needed to organize and archive every project file I had here. I spent the entire morning in conference rooms coordinating with department heads. I barely had time to drink water. It wasn't until lunch that I finally checked my phone. Two notifications were waiting. The first was from Ethan. "Pick up my suit from the dry cleaner on your way home." The second was a charge notification. I'd set up spending alerts on our joint account. We'd originally opened it for household expenses—utilities, groceries, everyday necessities. The statement showed a $600 charge from a high-end private chef service. The note read: Custom low-acid meal. No citrus or tomatoes. I stared at the transaction for a long time. That morning, Ethan had complained that delivery was unhealthy and insisted I should cook for him. By lunch, he was perfectly willing to spend $600 on a private chef. But I already knew the meal wasn't for him. It was for Sophie. After work, I didn't stop at the dry cleaner. I went straight home. Ethan had beaten me there. He was sitting on the couch, speaking quietly into his phone. "Drink the soup while it's hot. I specifically told the chef not to use cilantro. I know you're allergic. I remember everything about you. Stop worrying about work. Your health comes first. Don't stay up late. Take care of yourself, okay?" I stood in the doorway and silently listened to him say those things to another woman. I couldn't help remembering what he'd said when I'd had stomach problems. He'd barely looked at me. "You're an adult, Grace. Learn to take care of yourself." How ironic. A mocking smile touched my lips. Hearing the door, Ethan quickly ended the call and turned toward me. His gaze immediately dropped to my empty hands. "Where's my suit?" I changed into slippers and tossed my bag onto the couch. "Forgot it. Go get it yourself." His face darkened instantly. "Forgot it? I specifically texted you this morning to remind you, and you're seriously telling me you forgot? You know I have an important industry gala this weekend." I stopped and turned to face him. "I did forget." "My job keeps me busy too. I don't have room in my head for every little errand you give me. If the suit is so important, why didn't you pick it up yourself? The dry cleaner is two blocks from your office." Ethan stared at me in disbelief. Like he didn't recognize the woman standing in front of him. "What is wrong with you today? You're acting like a completely different person. I just asked you to pick something up on the way home." I couldn't be bothered arguing anymore. I walked straight into the closet and pulled out a large suitcase. Starting today, I would slowly remove everything that belonged to me from this apartment. I opened the closet. I pushed aside the ties, shirts, and watches I'd bought him, then took out my own clothes one by one, folded them, and placed them in the suitcase. Ethan appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame. "What are you doing? Spring cleaning?" Without looking up, I stuffed several winter pieces into compression bags. "Sorting seasonal clothes. Getting rid of some things I don't wear anymore." "Up to you. Just don't mess up my files." There it was again. "Up to you." He didn't even offer to help. Ethan yawned and started walking away, then suddenly stopped. "Oh, right. You're coming to the gala with me this weekend. You're my plus-one." My hands paused. Then I shoved a coat into the suitcase. "I'm busy. I have to work this weekend." Ethan turned around, a warning look entering his eyes. "I said it's an important industry event. You have to go. Don't start with me right now." I straightened and looked at him coldly. "And I said I'm busy. You want a plus-one, find someone else."

I didn't go to the industry gala that weekend. Instead, I spent those two days listing more than half of my belongings on Facebook Marketplace. The coffee machine I'd carefully picked out. The row of thriving succulents on the balcony. The expensive ergonomic chair I'd bought for the home office. Anything I couldn't take with me, I sold cheap. Buyers came by one after another to pick things up. Luckily, Ethan wasn't home, which saved me from having to explain anything. As the once-cozy, crowded apartment slowly emptied out, I felt lighter than I had in years. On Monday afternoon, an urgent legal contract came up that required Ethan's signature. My company had an ongoing project with his architecture firm, and the contract was currently moving through legal review. So I had no choice but to go to his office myself. The moment I stepped into the lobby, I sensed something was off. The receptionist avoided my eyes, her expression strangely uncomfortable. "Ms. Mitchell, you're here to see Ethan? He's... he's in the conference room upstairs." She handed me a visitor badge. I nodded, took the documents, and headed straight for the second floor. The upstairs conference room had floor-to-ceiling glass walls. The moment I rounded the corner, I stopped. Ethan stood in front of the projector with a laser pointer in his hand, explaining the plans displayed on the screen. And sitting directly in front of him, in the most prominent seat at the table, was Sophie. A pile of scattered documents lay in front of her as she rubbed her hair in frustration. Ethan stopped speaking, walked over, and pulled the pencil from her hand. His tone was stern, but there was unmistakable affection underneath it. "This is the third time you've gotten this calculation wrong. I told you yesterday, you can't just eyeball the load-bearing wall thickness. Redo it. No cutting corners." Sophie pouted and looked up at him. "I was up past midnight revising the drawings. My brain's fried. Can't you just do it for me?" Ethan kept a straight face and lightly tapped her forehead with his knuckles. "No. Your project, your responsibility. You don't get it done, you're not leaving tonight." But despite what he said, he pulled out the chair beside Sophie and sat down. Then he took a sheet of scratch paper and walked her through the calculations step by step. Sunlight fell across his profile. He looked so gentle. I'd never seen Ethan look that gentle before. I stood outside the glass wall and watched them quietly. I wasn't jealous anymore. I was just tired of auditioning for a role that was never mine. My fiancé was playing both mentor and protector for another woman. Meanwhile, as Ethan's fiancée, I couldn't even get basic concern from him. A few designers passing nearby noticed me and started whispering. "That's Ethan's fiancée, right? Looks intense. No wonder he never brings her up." "Sophie's more his type, don't you think? Sweet, soft-spoken. You can tell he actually cares about her. He's practically mentoring her one-on-one." "I mean, everyone knows Sophie's the one that got away. If she hadn't left for London, there wouldn't even be a Grace Mitchell in the picture." I heard every word. I didn't storm into the room and cause a scene. I didn't turn around and run either. I straightened my collar, pushed open the conference room door, and walked in without hesitation. The door swung open with a bang, cutting through the low conversation. Ethan looked up. The second he saw me, his brows pulled together, and he instinctively shifted away from Sophie. "What are you doing here? This is a work area. Who told you that you could just walk in?" I approached the table and dropped the contract in front of him. Not loudly. But firmly enough to demand attention. "Legal needs your signature urgently. You weren't answering your phone, so I had to bring it over myself. Mr. Holloway, please review it and sign if everything looks good. I'm in a hurry." Ethan glanced at the contract, his expression souring. He pulled out his phone. Sure enough, several missed calls from me were on the screen. Sophie spoke from beside him. "Grace, don't blame Ethan. He was helping me with the data just now and had his phone on silent. It's my fault, really. I'm so slow, I held him up." I turned toward her. I gave her a cold smile. "Sophie, you are quite slow, aren't you? Load-bearing wall calculations—that's freshman-year stuff. And you still need the head of this firm to walk you through it step by step." I paused. "I have to say, the hiring standards here really have dropped." Sophie's face went white. Her eyes immediately filled with tears. Ethan shot to his feet and stepped in front of her. "Grace Mitchell! What the hell are you saying? You don't know the first thing about this work! Get out!" I watched him scream at me to defend another woman. And the last trace of bitterness inside me disappeared. I didn't even want to cry. Because I didn't care about Ethan anymore. I held out the pen, my voice perfectly flat. "Sign it, and I'll leave." Ethan glared at me before angrily scrawling his signature across the page. I gathered the documents and walked out of the conference room without another word. The gossip continued behind me in the hallway. I didn't care anymore.