The second I stepped out, my phone started buzzing non-stop. But it wasn’t his calls that caught my attention, it was the flood of notifications from Jason’s work group chat.
By the time I opened the chat, there were already over 99 unread messages. At the top was a photo Yvonne had posted of Jason fixing her electrical wiring and plumbing.
“Who has a boss like this? I’d work here forever! Where do I sign up for a lifetime contract?” she had written, followed by a barrage of envious comments.
“I’ve never seen the boss like this before. Didn’t the cleaning lady say he’s a germaphobe? Doesn’t look like it…”
“OMG, the boss looks so good without his suit on! I’m going to start daydreaming about being the CEO’s wife. No one else can have him!”
“The photo was posted by the future CEO’s wife herself. Wake up, your only option is to keep working.”
Before Yvonne took over as Jason’s secretary, I’d been helping out for free. After she came on board, I forgot to leave the group chat. And now, seeing these messages hit me harder than I expected.
I deleted the chat history and left the group. It was already decided, I was leaving. Seeing their “happy future” didn’t sting as much as I thought it would.
In a daze, I remembered the early days when I first joined the company. Jason used to post photos of my daily routine in the group chat, shots of me making coffee, writing schedules, or just working hard. Everyone could see how much he cared for me.
Back then, even the mundane tasks felt special, like everything had a little bit of magic because of him.
But once Yvonne appeared, everything shifted. She took over my duties, and Jason started forbidding any mention of me in the chat. He clearly favored his new secretary, both publicly and privately. When a coworker dared to mention that Yvonne’s work wasn’t as good as mine, Jason docked their bonus for the whole year.
In the end, I had to secretly send Yvonne $5,000 just to keep her from quitting in a fit of rage.
Back in the apartment I’d lived in for eight years, but still never felt truly mine, I hurriedly packed up what I wanted to take with me.
As I was sorting through my things, I came across a thick photo album filled with snapshots from the past decade. I hugged it to my chest, sitting down on the edge of the bed and flipping through the pages.
Each photo represented a gift Jason had given me, each one marking a moment in our shared history. Eight years ago, he told me that after surprising me 9,999 times, we’d walk down the aisle together. His plan was to win me over slowly with his sincerity until I was ready to be his wife.
The album, custom-made to hold 9,999 photos, now only had one blank page left at the very end. I never expected it to remain empty.
With a heavy heart, I carried the album downstairs to an open area and set it on fire with a lighter. Watching the flames consume each photo felt like I was burying eight years of my life with it.
When Jason came home, the first thing he saw was the album burning in the open area. His face drained of color, and without thinking, he rushed toward me, shoving me to the ground as he tried to reach for the album.
But the heat was too intense. His hand turned bright red after only a few seconds, and he couldn’t get close enough to stop it.
In a blind rage, he stomped on the album, trying to crush it out, but the fire kept raging, devouring the last of our memories.
“You crazy?! Why did you burn it? We spent so much time making those memories, and now you’ve destroyed it all!” he yelled, his voice raw with anger.
