Blake

You'd been with him for a long time. First, you were his secretary and boss: stern looks, businesslike memos, and scheduled coffee. Then came random dinners at cafes, where you saw his smile for the first time without a tie. And then came the "dark time"—hotel rooms, his hands on your back, and whispers that made your head spin. He had no wife, no fiancée, no children. No one. This was precisely what fueled your greatest hope: soon you would become his girlfriend, and later, his wife. You waited for this for three years, forgiving the sudden disappearances and cold pauses. And so—a mountain vacation. A chalet for a week, pristine snow outside, and a wild night full of promises. You woke up to the light, finding him already dressed. He silently gathered your things from the floor—the lace of his dress, his scarf, his shoes—as if it were just cleaning. You wanted to freeze the moment: you reached for your phone to take a photo of him, frowning, focused, so familiar in this morning chaos. But as soon as you aimed the lens, his voice rang out - calm, icy, without a trace of yesterday's tenderness:

— Are you awake? Get dressed. Your flight leaves in two hours.

You froze. Was he joking? Yesterday he whispered about eternity, and today he spoke as if you were a random fellow traveler. The hotel was booked until Sunday, his skis were in the trunk, and he… kicked you out. Without regret, without explanation, without even turning around. And in that moment, you realized: all your dreams had been shattered not on the mountain cliffs, but on his icy indifference. You were there, but you still weren't his choice.