Liked My Fiancée’s Hickeys, On Another Man’s Post

My fiancée Mia Larson wanted to take an international trip with her best friend, so I pulled all-nighters for an entire week crafting her the most detailed travel itinerary imaginable. Worried sick about her safety, I made her promise to check in with me daily.

Two days after she left, I stumbled across an Instagram post from her childhood sweetheart Lucas Stewart. The photo showed them locked in an embrace on some Isonian street, holding marriage certificates while gazing into each other's eyes with undeniable passion.

His caption read: [15 years in the making - we're finally married! Thanks for trusting me with forever, sweetheart. Never letting you go again!]

So the "best friend" she kept mentioning was actually Lucas. Suddenly all those times I proposed and she said "I need more time" made perfect sense. She'd been waiting for her true love all along. Fine by me - I'd set her free to be with him.

My entire body went slack as I crumpled onto the cold hardwood floor. Time lost meaning until I finally collected myself, grabbed my phone, and canceled the elaborate proposal venue with numb fingers.

A bitter taste filled my mouth. This would've been proposal attempt number four. The first three rejections always came with flimsy excuses and playful dodges that melted my resolve whenever she batted her eyelashes.

God, I'd been so pathetically lovesick that three "not yets" still had me scrambling to plan a fourth grand gesture.

After hanging up, I yanked open my desk drawer and chucked the engagement ring straight into the trash. Then I shot a group text to the boys: "Drinks on me tonight." They'd helped brainstorm this latest proposal - even canceled, they deserved proper thanks.

At the trendy downtown bar, my friends immediately launched into damage control mode.

"Zane man, don't do anything crazy - just talk to her," one pleaded.

Another added, "Mia went nuclear this time, but are you sure there's not some explanation?"

They couldn't fathom me actually ending things. Not after witnessing my decade-long obsession with marrying this woman.

I drained my whiskey in one go and flashed them a relieved smile. "No misunderstandings here. Tonight we're celebrating my escape from relationship hell and my glorious return to single life."

When they realized I was serious, the mood shifted instantly. Glasses clinked as we toasted to fresh starts, the conversation turning to sports and work gossip.

Midway through our buzz, my phone lit up with Mia's face. I answered on autopilot.

"Zane, where are you?" Her voice was all business. "Dad's sciatica is acting up again. Take some PTO and go take care of him."

I actually laughed. Classic Mia - only reaching out when she needed errand boy services. As an only child, she'd outsourced all family responsibilities to me during our relationship.

Back when I was blinded by love, I jumped at every demand. Now? Not my circus, not my monkeys.

"Can't. Ask someone else," I said flatly.

The entire table gasped. I'd never spoken a cross word to Mia before tonight.

Her shriek made my friends wince: "ZANE! Do you HEAR yourself? I'm literally standing outside right now! Who exactly am I supposed to call?"