I spent all day cooking for my GF and went to work. When she called, she asked for pizza. I said, “But I cooked your favorite meal.” She smirked, “I already threw it away.” But what hurt most was I didn’t know she had been cheating on me for months.
I stood there in the cold storage room of the diner I worked at, phone still in my hand, heart somewhere near the floor. I had just gotten off a ten-hour shift, after waking up early to prep a meal that took hours — roasted garlic chicken, her favorite risotto, even baked those little lava cakes she always raved about. And just like that, it was in the trash.
Along with whatever future I thought we had. I didn’t say much back. Just hung up.
I think part of me went numb. Or maybe I was too exhausted to feel anything else. I clocked out silently and drove home slower than usual.
It wasn’t until I stepped into the apartment and smelled the faint hint of rosemary and garlic that I really let myself feel it. That’s when the silence hit harder than any words ever could. The plates were still on the counter, untouched.
I saw the food, perfectly plated, sitting next to a crumpled Domino’s box. The contrast was laughable. Like my effort versus what she actually wanted.
I didn’t even cry. I just picked up the plates and put the food in containers, maybe out of habit. Maybe because throwing it away myself felt like letting her win.
She was out — didn’t say where, didn’t bother to lie about it either. I didn’t text, didn’t call. I just sat on the edge of the bed we shared and stared at the floor, wondering when I became the guy who could be discarded as easily as dinner.
It wasn’t just about the food. You know that. It was everything else.
The long drives to pick her up after late nights out, the way I covered her rent one month when her job cut her hours, the way I remembered her brother’s birthday when even she forgot. I never asked for anything back. Maybe that was my mistake.
I kept giving, thinking one day it would mean something. Two days passed. She acted like nothing happened.
She even had the nerve to ask me if I wanted to go out for drinks with her and her friends. I didn’t answer. I was still stuck on her words — “I already threw it away.” I couldn’t shake it.
Not just the food, but the ease in her voice. Like I was nothing. Like I never meant anything.
So I did something that surprised even me. I packed a small bag, just the basics. Left a note that said, “Gone for a while.
Don’t wait up.” And I drove. I didn’t know where I was going at first. But something in me wanted to go where I hadn’t been in years — my hometown.
A little place called Willowsend, two hours north. The kind of town people left and never looked back. I had left at 19, chasing bigger dreams.
But that night, I wanted small. I wanted quiet. I wanted something real again.
I pulled into my mom’s driveway at 1 a.m. Lights were off, but her porch light still flickered like always. I knocked soft, but she opened the door within seconds.
Must’ve heard the car. She looked tired, but happy. “Took you long enough,” she said, hugging me tighter than I expected.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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