Chapter 2: Walking Away for Good

That’s when it hit me—she was just restless. Looking for a reason to move on.

Once I saw that, I felt hollow. Every second at work was torture. That afternoon, I used that blind date as an excuse to leave, but really, I just went home and sat on my couch, lost in thought.

Was there anything left in this cold city for me, besides Elise? Nothing.

Once I made up my mind, everything felt clearer. I put my apartment up for sale and paid off the remaining mortgage. Sold everything that reminded me of Elise. What I couldn’t sell, I threw out. No hesitation.

When it was all done, I went back to the office and handed in my resignation.

Elise’s eyes went wide. Then she got that smug look and snapped, "Mason, you’re not some college kid anymore. How can you be so childish? You really think the company, or I, can’t survive without you? Just because we broke up, you’re quitting too?"

"What about your mortgage? You really think this through? So immature. Good thing we broke up, or else…"

I cut her off. "Elise, I agree—let’s keep this simple. My quitting isn’t about you. My family’s got me set up with someone back home, and I’m moving out of town. It just doesn’t make sense to stay."

I made sure to emphasize "back home"—throwing her outsider line right back at her.

She froze, eyes flashing, then turned angry. She tried to talk me out of it, warned me about burning bridges, told me coming back wouldn’t be easy. I just nodded, dropped my badge on her desk, and walked out without looking back.

She acted like I couldn’t possibly move on without her. But I was already gone—mentally, emotionally, everything.

On the flight home, I ran into Jamie Torres. Turns out, we were both from the same state, just different towns. She was heading back for a family emergency. I told her I’d quit, was moving home for good.

As soon as I landed, I hugged my parents and told them about the breakup. They didn’t press for details—just pulled me in close. My dad gave me a big squeeze on the shoulder, and my mom whipped up my favorite casserole that night. No lectures, just the comfort I needed.

I thought that would be the last I’d hear from Elise. But the very next day, she called.

"Mason, I feel awful. I want that hangover soup you make."

I was quiet for a long time before finally sighing. "Elise, we broke up. If you want soup, ask your housekeeper or order in. Please don’t call me. If you want, I’ll send you the recipe."

She hung up before I could finish.

I couldn’t tell if she was actually drunk or just looking for an excuse to reach out. Either way, I knew we were over.

But that call was just the beginning. For days, Elise kept calling—asking about her clothes, what brand of candles I used to buy, little things that used to matter.

Every time, I’d pause before answering. I really did love her—enough to remember all her preferences. Back before she hired a housekeeper, when I didn’t have my own place, I basically lived at her apartment. Did the chores, the shopping, the cooking—felt almost like we were married.

That illusion kept me hoping we’d last. But by year three, things started cracking. Elise got pregnant, then miscarried. I only found out from some hospital discharge papers I found in her laundry. When I asked, she blew up—accused me of snooping, said I had no respect, told me to get out.

So I left, bought my own place. Maybe that’s when the unraveling really began.

Back in the present, Elise called again, this time asking about soda crackers. I’d had enough.

"Elise, we’re done. You can just Google whatever you need now. The housekeeper knows where things are. These calls are just wasting my time."

I finally drew the line. Like she’d said, we were both at the age where people expect you to settle down. She didn’t want to marry outside her world—but someone else would.