My Goodbye Was Hidden in a Ring

The spotlight at the concert's song request segment danced between me and my boyfriend, Ethan, then settled right on me.

I clutched the diamond ring in my pocket. It was the signal I'd pre-arranged with the organizers. During the request segment, I was going to propose to Ethan.

I held the mic, looking at Ethan beside me.

Just as I was about to speak, he snatched the mic right out of my hand. Then, he turned and handed it to Ashley, his assistant, who was sitting beside him.

"This is Ashley's first concert, Keira. Why don't you let her have the song request?"

Before I could agree, Ashley had already picked a love song.

Ethan started applauding.

I forced a bitter smile. Ethan didn't know this was the last chance I was giving us. I'd planned it all out: if the proposal failed, I'd leave this city.

The singer on stage paused for a few seconds, awkwardly cleared their throat, and started warming up the crowd again.

My best friend, Louise, was already fuming.

"What's wrong with Ethan? Last time you guys went to see the New Year's fireworks, he brought Ashley. Your birthday party? Ashley was there. And now the concert?"

Louise stopped mid-sentence.

"Keira, I didn't mean it like that don't take it the wrong way."

I gave a weak laugh. She wasn't wrong. Ethan really did bring that assistant, Ashley, everywhere, always claiming it was "to handle work stuff whenever needed."

Louise lowered her voice:

"Everyone's already at the restaurant, the balloons are all set up. And then Ethan pulls a stunt like this, it's driving me crazy!"

She paused, "So, are we still waiting for him?"

I forced a smile. "Louise, no need to wait."

My fingertips touched the diamond ring box in my pocket, pressing painfully against my skin.

One carat.

I'd spent ages choosing the style. Back then, while Ethan was napping, I'd wrapped a string around his ring finger three times, then took it to the jeweler to get the size right.

For today, I'd contacted the concert organizers two months in advance and recorded a three-minute video.

Eight years of memories, all our friends recording heartfelt messages.

The very last frame was me, looking into the camera, saying those words. I'd recorded it seventeen times, just to get one where my smile wasn't shaky.

Ashley's chosen song ended, and applause erupted, mixed with enthusiastic whistles.

It seemed everyone assumed she and Ethan were a couple.

Ethan turned to glance at me, as if just noticing I wasn't clapping.

"What's wrong?" I said it was nothing.

When the concert ended, the crowd surged out.

He walked beside me, naturally reaching out to cup my shoulder, shielding me from the crush of people.

"Still sulking? Is it really that big a deal, just a song request?"

He looked down at his phone, texting, his tone casual.

"I'll book a private venue for you sometime. You can pick as many songs as you want."

"Sometime," "next time," "later." His three go-to excuses.

"Ethan." I stopped.

He didn't, walking a couple more steps before turning back.

"We agreed. Eight years, you'd give me a commitment. It's been eight years now."

He stuffed his phone back into his pocket, glanced at me, and smiled. That familiar "here we go again" smirk.

"What's the rush? I'm juggling a bunch of projects right now.

Once the new year settles, I'll properly plan our wedding."

New year, another postponement. He'd said the same thing three years ago.

That was the first time I'd brought him home to meet my parents. The plane tickets were already booked.

The day before we were supposed to leave, his secretary said there was an urgent bid they had to rush. He canceled the tickets.

Back then, he'd said, "What's the rush? Meeting your parents is bound to happen sooner or later."

I flew alone, carrying two thoughtful presents. My mom asked where he was, and I just smiled, saying he had an urgent business trip.

The car pulled into the driveway and stopped. He turned, his thumb gently brushing my earlobe. The touch was light.

"I'll buy you that bracelet you liked tomorrow, as an apology. How about it?"

I tilted my head, avoiding his hand. He froze.

"Ethan, stop trying to smooth things over. I don't need it anymore."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, hitting the steering wheel.

"Alright, you're upset again. Go get some sleep, you'll feel better tomorrow."

He then glanced at his phone, muttering to himself, "Ashley says she left something at the concert, I'll go back and help her find it."

I calmly nodded. "Okay."

I got out of the car. Closed the door.

He stared at me from the driver's seat for two seconds, seemingly sensing something was off. But then his taillights flashed, and he drove out of the neighborhood.

I went upstairs alone.

Walking into the living room, his jacket was draped over the back of the sofa, the faint scent of cedarwood still clinging to the collar.

The sliding door to the balcony was half open. A line of words was carved into the railing.

He'd used his keys to carve it the day we moved in, crooked and messy, even scraping a small strip of paint off the railing.

"Keira, one day I'm going to marry you."

Back then, he'd just secured his first round of funding, full of youthful vigor, and had spun me around in the empty living room.

"Once I build my career, I'll give you the most magnificent wedding."

I believed him. And waited eight years.

The first year, he said the company was just starting, wait a little longer.

The third year, he said they were in an expansion phase, he couldn't get away.

The fifth year, he said it would be soon, definitely next year.

The eighth year.

I stood on the balcony, my fingertips tracing the carved words. The peeled paint had already developed a thin layer of rust.

The ring box in my pocket was hurting me so much. I took it out and opened it. The one-carat diamond shimmered in the faint light filtering in from the living room.

I couldn't wait for him to propose, I thought. So, I would.

I'd spent three months preparing, mustering all my courage.

Contacting the organizers, recording the video, ordering the ring, troubling Louise and our friends to decorate the celebration restaurant.

And all I got to do was touch the mic.

The lock clicked. I quickly put the ring back.

Ethan walked in, tossing his car keys onto the shoe cabinet. He raised an eyebrow when he saw me staring at the carving on the balcony.

"What's so interesting? Come on, let's go to bed."

I didn't move, just asked him, "Did you find Ashley's thing?"

"Yeah." He walked past me, starting to unfasten his watch.

"Ethan," I called him. "Let's break up."

His movements stopped for a beat, then he let out a scoffing laugh.

"You're going to get like this over a song request at a concert?"

"It was her first time seeing a live show, what's wrong with letting her have it?"

"Am I not allowed to have any other women around me besides you?"

His tone was helpless. "Alright, I already said I'd book a private venue for you next time. Go to sleep, I have to meet investors tomorrow."

With that, he continued towards the master bedroom.

I watched his retreating figure and spoke calmly:

"There's a party at the Walsh family home next week. Something will be announced publicly."

"After that announcement, we're done."

Ethan stopped, turned around, and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Keira, let me be clear." His tone switched from nonchalant to cold.

"I won't fall for your family trying to pressure me into marriage.

Are you that desperate to get married?

What do you mean 'we're done'? Are you threatening me? Or playing hard to get?"

I didn't reply. He didn't know this party had nothing to do with him.

The Walsh family was announcing that I was giving up my heir apparent status to join an eight-year national-level confidential project.

From then on, I would live under an assumed name, never appearing in public.

The party was the Walsh family's official statement to the world. To let everyone know that Keira, as a person, was no longer to be watched or her whereabouts questioned.

But he, of course, assumed I would always revolve around him. His temper flared, his voice dropping, which made it more intimidating than a shout.

"What crazy ideas have your friends put in your head now? Does it have to be this year? Right now? Do you have any idea how busy I am?"

Busy, he certainly was.

Too busy having 40-minute "work FaceTimes" with Ashley late at night.

Too busy remembering Ashley's coffee order, but he'd forgotten I was allergic to shrimp.

Too busy having a balloon wall set up for Ashley's birthday, and posting "Happy Birthday to our team's youngest!" on Ins.

His time, his thoughts, his attentiveness C they all had a destination. It just wasn't me.

"I'm in the final stretch of a project right now, I have three sets of investors to meet by the end of the year, and I can't afford any missteps." He rubbed his temples. "Why are you pulling all this now? What exactly do you want?"

"Just calm down and think about what you're doing." He threw out his words and turned to leave.

"Ethan." He stopped.

"Yes, I am playing hard to get." I looked at his back. "So, will you marry me?"

Ethan didn't turn around. He was silent for a few seconds. "Get some good rest."

He walked into his study and closed the door.

A layer of bitterness spread in my heart. Even though I knew the answer, I still asked the question. Perhaps, after eight years of my youth, I still couldn't completely let go.

But this was the last time.

Late at night, I sat on the edge of the master bedroom bed and pulled open the nightstand drawer.

A stack of papers lay quietly inside, their edges yellowed and curled.

Two years ago, I'd printed them out, screenshot by screenshot, from online wedding inspiration boards: venues, floral arrangements, invitation fonts, vow templates.

That day, I'd excitedly brought them to show him. He was on the phone, mouthed "I'll look later," and waved his hand at me. Two years had passed, and that "later" never came.

My phone vibrated. Louise's voice was still indignant:

"They've taken down all the restaurant decorations. Keira, the concert thing, the more I think about it, the angrier I get. You prepared for three months, and he just "

"Louise, it's fine. I'm leaving anyway."

The other end was silent for a long time.

"Are you sure? Eight years of feelings, and another eight years if you go. When you come back everything will be different."

"Yes."

"You're not even going to explain it to him?"

"Louise, there's nothing left for me to say to him."

Louise didn't speak again. After a while, her voice grew thick with emotion.

"I'll keep the restaurant banner then, just in case "

"Louise."

"Hmm."

"Throw it away."

Day four of the silent treatment.

Ethan left early and came home late every day, heading straight for his study.

Occasionally, we'd bump into each other in the living room; he'd look at his phone, I'd watch TV, neither of us saying a word. Under the same roof, we were like two estranged roommates.

Louise, seeing I was in low spirits, dragged me out for dinner.

"Don't wallow. I booked a private room, you can cry or curse all you want."

We arrived and sat down. Before the food even came, laughter drifted from the next private room. It sounded very familiar.

Louise's face changed. "Maybe we should switch "

I shook my head.

Ashley's soft voice came through.

"Ethan, I still feel terrible about the concert. The mic was for Keira, and I was so thoughtless."

"Maybe I should apologize to Keira myself?"

"What does it have to do with you?" Ethan's voice was flat. "I gave it to you, you just took it."

He'd defended her in front of an entire table of people. Yet, when I used to visit his company, he would always deliberately keep his distance, saying there was "too much gossip."

One friend curiously pressed, "But Ethan, I heard Keira had something planned that night?"

A brief silence.

"I knew she was going to propose. Someone tipped me off over a month ago." Ethan's voice was still nonchalant.

Louise looked up at me sharply. I clenched my fists.

"You knew, and you still gave the mic to Ashley?" The friend was clearly surprised.

"What else was I supposed to do? The more she tries to corner me into making a statement like that, the more I refuse to let her get her way."

"Usually, when she throws a fit, I'll humor her. But with something like marriage, I need her to learn that throwing a fit won't always get her what she wants."

The friend sighed. "But seriously, Keira's been with you for eight years, it's understandable she'd be eager for a title."

Ethan was silent for a few seconds.

"Of course I'll marry her, but not because she's forcing me."

"When I marry her is up to me."

Another friend lowered their voice. "Honestly, Ethan, Keira just loves to make a scene. She always has to go for a big spectacle, making things difficult for you."

"Exactly. Ashley is so much more sensible and hassle-free, she never gives you any trouble."

Ashley spoke up, her voice a little coy. "Oh, don't say that about Keira maybe she just loves Ethan too much."

"After all these years, she's not getting any younger."

That last sentence, "after all these years," carried just the right amount of pity in her tone.

Ethan said nothing, and a shared laugh of understanding rippled through the room.

Louise's hand reached over and tightly gripped mine. Her fingertips were trembling. I patted her hand, picked up my bag, and stood up.

"Louise, let's go."

I pushed open our private room door and walked past theirs. The sound of clinking glasses and Ashley's sweet laughter drifted out.

It was drizzling outside. The streetlights flickered on, one after another, illuminating a long, wet road. I walked forward, not looking back.

The invitation to the Walsh family banquet arrived in Ethan's hands. The wording was formal: "The Walsh family cordially invites you to an important family announcement."

He flipped the invitation over, flicking it. "Important family announcement."

Ha. The Walsh family had some connections in the circle, hosting a respectable banquet to publicly announce their daughter's engagement, forcing him to compromise in front of everyone.

Keira wouldn't do something like this, but her best friends and Keira's parents might.

Ethan carelessly set the invitation aside and opened his phone.

Five days. Keira hadn't sent him a single message.

In past arguments, she'd usually find an excuse to contact him by the third day, asking if he'd eaten or if his jacket had been dry-cleaned. This time, nothing.

An inexplicable irritation welled up in his chest, but he forcefully suppressed it. He wasn't worried. She could throw her fit. She was always the one to back down in the end, wasn't she?

His friends discussed in their SnapChat group: "Ethan, are you, the groom-to-be, going to the Walsh family engagement party? Lots of people have received invitations, it's quite the affair."

He scoffed, typing, "Yeah, I'll go. Just a little late. Let her feel what it's like to be waiting anxiously."

He imagined Keira waiting for him at the banquet, repeatedly looking at the door, trying to maintain her composure under the gaze of friends and family.

He even felt a hidden sense of satisfaction. She needed to learn a lesson. After all this fuss, he'd still be the one to sort things out.

On the day of the banquet, he didn't rush out.

First, he got a haircut and changed into a dark gray casual suit. Not formal attire, he wanted everyone to see that he was "just dropping by," not part of their plan.

Messages from his friends started coming in rapidly.

"Ethan, the Walsh family's setup is huge! Two rows of cars parked outside, flower arrangements everywhere."

"Keira is all made up today, absolutely beautiful."

Another added, "Keira's looking Ethan, if you don't show up soon, I'm afraid someone might steal your wife!"

The group chat exploded with laughter.

He looked at the messages, a corner of his mouth twitching unconsciously. In his suit pocket was the invitation. He'd picked it up after reading it, not even realizing he'd carried it with him.

A friend urged again, "Ethan, are you coming or not? Things are starting here, Keira's parents are on stage!"

He slowly started his car and replied with a voice message: "What's the rush? What's the point of starting if I'm not there?"

His car had just pulled out of the parking lot. Another friend called, his voice clearly puzzled:

"Ethan the Walsh family party doesn't seem to be an engagement. It's a farewell party."