Passcode to the Past

I always thought my boyfriends phone passcode was my birthday.

Until today, on my actual birthday. I unlocked his phone to open Amazon, wanting to sneak a peek at the surprise he had ordered for me.

There was indeed an ordera beautiful cakebut the delivery address wasnt mine.

Before I could process it, a Snapchat notification popped up on the screen.

"I got the cake and the gift. Thank you for always remembering."

The sender's name was Chloe. Chloe Miller. His first love.

In that single second, my mind went completely blank.

It turned out his passcode had never been set for me.

I quietly handed the phone back to him, my throat feeling like it was clogged with ash.

"You got a message."

Ethan took the phone. He casually flipped it over and placed it face down on the table.

"Its not important."

He walked over to me, placing his hands on the back of the sofa, trapping me gently in his arms.

"Today is your birthday, babe. Nothing is going to ruin this for us."

He leaned down, his lips inches from mine. But just before he could kiss me, I turned my head.

His lips brushed against the stray hairs near my ear.

The air in the room froze for a long, silent second.

"It was from a girl named Chloe," I said, my voice eerily calm.

"She said thank you for remembering her birthday."

Ethans arms went stiff.

He slowly straightened up, his mouth opening slightly, but no sound came out.

I just stared at him.

"You saw it?" he finally asked.

"Your passcode is my birthday. Of course I could open it."

I paused, correcting myself.

"No, wait. Its your exs birthday. We just happen to share the same day, don't we?"

The color drained from Ethans face.

He took a step back.

"Elena, its not what you think. Chloe and I are ancient history. It was just her birthday, and I happened to"

"Happened to order a cake to her doorstep? Happened to pick out a thoughtful gift?"

I stood up. My knees felt weak, but I gripped the armrest of the sofa to steady myself.

"Ethan, do you even hear yourself right now?"

He fell silent for a few seconds. When he looked up at me again, his eyes held that familiar, desperate look he always got whenever we had a fight.

"We were together for six years. Some habits are just hard to break overnight. I admit, I still check up on her occasionally, but were just normal friends"

"Do normal friends remember exact birthdays and pre-order cakes and gifts?"

That shut him up.

"Since you never actually let her go," I looked directly into his eyes, "why did you even ask me out?"

Ethan frowned, looking slightly offended by the question.

"I truly wanted to build a life with you."

"Truly?"

I repeated the word, tasting the bitter irony.

"Your version of 'truly' is secretly sending birthday gifts to your ex behind my back?"

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated.

"Can you not be so stubborn? Its just a birthday gift. Its not like I cheated on you."

Staring at him, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit me.

"Just leave," I said.

"What?"

"I said, leave."

Ethan stared at me, dumbfounded.

He probably thought this was just another one of our typical arguments. He thought he would make a soft apology, I would back down, and wed make up like we always did.

"Elena," he said, softening his voice. "Its your birthday. Stop making a scene."

"Im not making a scene."

I walked to the front door, grabbed his brown loafers from the shoe rack, and placed them on the floor.

I had bought those shoes for him. They were our anniversary gift from last year.

He stood frozen in the living room.

"Just because of this? Youre kicking me out?"

"Yes. Just because of this."

"Elena, be reasonable! Nothing happened between Chloe and me. If it makes you that unhappy, I wont contact her again. Is that enough?"

I stood up straight and looked at him.

"Do you really think the problem is just whether you contact her or not?"

"Then what else is it?"

My mouth opened, a thousand words rushing to the tip of my tongue, but in the end, only one sentence came out. "Just go. I don't want to talk to you right now."

He took a deep breath.

"Fine. Maybe you need some space to cool down. I'll come back when you're feeling better."

I didnt answer.

He opened the door and walked out.

I leaned against the closed door for a long time.

Then, I heard a faint sound from the hallway.

Thinking he had left, I peered through the peephole.

Ethan was sitting on the floor, leaning against the hallway wall, one leg bent, staring intensely at the phone on his lap.

I turned away and walked back into the living room.

I went into the bedroom and pulled open his closet.

One by one, I took his shirts off the hangers, folded them neatly, and packed them into a storage bin.

When I reached the bottom drawer of the nightstand, my hand froze.

There was a photo album inside.

I recognized it.

It had been at the very bottom of his suitcase when he first moved in. I had stumbled upon it while helping him unpack, and he had nervously snatched it away, claiming it was just some old, boring photos.

I hadnt pushed him.

Everyone has a past. So do I.

I figured he would share it with me when he was ready.

Clearly, he never planned to.

I sat on the hardwood floor and opened the album.

On the first page was a photo of Ethan and Chloe, smiling radiantly.

On the second page, they were at the beach.

On the third page, they were laughing in a restaurant.

I flipped through it, page by page.

Every single photo was of them.

Vacations, dates, quiet everyday moments.

The album was meticulously preserved. Every photo was slid into a protective plastic sleeve, without a single crease on the corners.

At the very end, tucked behind the last sleeve, was a ring.

A delicate, simple silver band.

I slid it out and held it up to the light.

Engraved on the inside were five letters: "CHLOE".

I put the ring back and shut the album.

It was only when my hand touched the cover that I realized I was shaking.

Ethan and I had been together for five years. In all that time, we had taken fewer than ten photos together.

Every time I raised my phone for a selfie, he would always turn his head or block the camera with his hand.

"I just dont like taking pictures," hed say.

He had said it for five years, and for five years, I believed him.

It wasn't that he hated pictures.

He just hated taking them with me.

I threw the album into the storage bin. The lid closed with a heavy, hollow thud.

I stood up. My knees ached, probably from sitting on the cold floor for too long.

I dragged the heavy bin to the front door and threw it open.

Ethan was still sitting there.

Hearing the door open, he scrambled to his feet, a flicker of hope crossing his face.

He probably thought I was letting him back in.

Then, his eyes fell on the storage bin.

"You..."

"Take your things and leave."

His hopeful expression shattered.

"Elena, please, just calm down"

"I am incredibly calm."

"Then where am I supposed to go?"

"Thats your problem."

I leaned against the doorframe, looking at him coldly.

"Oh, by the way, I saw the album. You kept it in perfect condition. The ring is beautiful, too."

Ethans face went dead white.

"You went through my things?" his voice was raspy.

"I found it while packing up your stuff. In my apartment. Do you really want to argue about privacy right now?"

He fell silent.

"I admit... I havent completely forgotten her," he whispered.

"But I truly wanted to build a real future with you, Elena. Just give me some time"

"You want to build a future, but I don't."

Ethan stood frozen. His hands hung limp at his sides, his fingers twitching slightly.

"You..."

"I'm closing the door now."

I took a step back and shut the door in his face.

He knocked softly from the other side.

"Elena, I'm sorry."

I didnt say a word.

"I know Im a jerk. Everything you said is true. I shouldn't have hidden those gifts from you, and I shouldn't have kept those photos. But I do love you. I really do."

I slid down and leaned against the door, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"You can kick me out, but can you at least listen to me for one minute?"

"Go ahead," I said, my voice hollow.

"Chloe and I were together for six years. She was the one who broke it off. It took me a long, long time to get over itor at least, I thought I was over it."

"Then I met you. You felt like the right person. You were different from her. You were mature, sensible, and you never made unnecessary drama"

"So you thought I was easy to fool."

"No! I mean, being with you felt comfortable and safe. I thought time would heal everything. I thought as long as I built a quiet, good life with you, I would eventually let her go completely."

"But did you ever stop to think," my voice cracked, "that I am a human being too? Why do I have to be the collateral damage while you try to heal?"

"Elena..."

"Just go. It's late."

The hallway went dead quiet.

I checked my phone's smart-lock camera feed.

He was dragging his storage bin into the elevator.

I walked over to the sofa and lay down.

Five years.

I still remembered the night we met at a friends birthday party.

He was wearing a simple white tee, sitting in the corner with a drink, barely talking.

A friend introduced him as an architect who had just wrapped up a massive project and was running on pure exhaustion.

I was working as an acquisitions editor at a publishing house back then, living in my own world of words.

He added me on Snapchat.

The next day, he asked me out for dinner.

On the third day, he gifted me a hard-to-find book I had been wanting for months but couldn't bring myself to buy.

At the time, I thought he was the most thoughtful man on earth.

Falling into a relationship with him felt natural, like water flowing downstream.

He had told me his last breakup was messy and that he might need some time to adjust.

I told him it was fine. I said Id wait.

Over the five years, we had our share of petty arguments.

But every single time, he was the one who apologized first.

He would buy my favorite pastries, or take care of the dishes without being asked.

I used to think, "well, no relationship is perfect."

I had even started looking at wedding rings, thinking we were finally ready for the next step.

I guess I didnt need to worry about that anymore.

I rolled over, facing the back of the couch.

Draped over the cushions was his gray hoodiethe one he had casually thrown there yesterday.

I had planned to wash it, but I had returned home too exhausted from overtime and forgot.

I grabbed the hoodie, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it hard onto the floor.

I unlocked my phone, opened our chat, and took a deep breath.

"Ethan, lets end this. Don't contact me again."

I hit send.

Then, I held down his profile picture and blocked him.

The next morning, my alarm woke me up at 7:15 AM, just like any other day.

I shut it off and sat up on the sofa. It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened the night before.

The apartment felt visibly emptier.

His slippers were gone from the entryway.

I took a shower, got dressed, and headed out for work.

The subway was packed. I was squeezed against the glass door, my face practically pressed against it.

My phone buzzed.

It was my colleague, Lily Porter.

"Happy belated birthday, Elena! Yesterday was crazy busy and I totally forgot. Let me make it up to you! Dinner tonight?"

I replied with a quick "Sure!" and added a smiley face.

When I got to the office, I booted up my laptop.

There were over thirty unread emails in my inboxmostly manuscript submissions and editorial feedback.

I went through them one by one, replying and setting priorities.

Work is a wonderful distraction. It keeps your brain too busy to ache.

By the time I left the office, the sky was pitch black.

I walked out of the high-rise building, wrapping my scarf tighter against the biting wind.

And then, I saw him.

Ethan was sitting on the concrete steps outside, cradling a massive bouquet of red roses wrapped in elegant white paper. It looked expensive.

The moment he saw me, he stood up.

"Elena."

I stopped in my tracks but didn't walk any closer.

He stepped toward me, holding out the flowers.

Tucked inside the bouquet was a pink card that read "Happy Birthday".

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Ive been thinking about us all day. We cant just end things like this."

"I made myself very clear last night."

"You did, but I wasn't ready to listen."

He nudged the flowers closer to me.

"Just take them first."

"I don't want them."

His hands froze in mid-air.

"Can we go somewhere and talk?" he pleaded.

"No. I already have dinner plans."

"With who?"

"None of your business."

His face darkened slightly, but he quickly forced that pleading look back onto his face.

"Elena, I know you don't want to see me right now. But at least give me a chance to explain."

"You explained everything last night."

"No, I didn't. My mind was a mess last night, I was just talking nonsense. Ive had time to think today, and I know exactly where I went wrong."

I stared at him.

"The problem is that you love someone else. You admitted that yesterday. What else is there to say?"

He choked on his words.

I walked right past him, heading toward the subway station.

He scrambled to catch up, walking alongside me.

"Where are you having dinner? Let me drive you."

"No."

"At least take the flowers. I went to three different florists to get these."

I stopped and turned to face him.

"Ethan, yesterday you sent a cake and a gift to Chloe. Today, youre trying to give me flowers. Do you really not see how pathetic this is?"

His face flushed red.

"I talked to her. I told her we can't contact each other anymore."

"You told her that?"

"Yes. I texted her this morning and made it clear. We are done. For good."

I looked at him, and suddenly, a bitter laugh escaped my throat. The cold wind carried the sound away.

"So you think just because you cut her off, everything can magically go back to the way it was?"

"I know its not that simple, but I will do whatever it takes"

"You say you love me," I interrupted. "What exactly do you love about me?"

His mouth opened, but no words came out immediately.

I waited for a few seconds.

"What do you love about me, Ethan?" I asked again.

"You're amazing," he said quickly.

"Youre sensible, you know how to run a home, and being with you makes me feel grounded. Youre always understanding about my crazy work hours, and you never throw tantrums. Your cooking is incredible, and you keep our place so clean. You..."

He went on and on.

It was eye-opening. In his eyes, I was just a great domestic partnersomeone who cooked, cleaned, and didn't make a fuss. I was the perfect "wife material."

It wasn't about passion. It wasn't about love. It was about convenience.

"So, because I was understanding and tried to save money, I deserved to be lied to?"

He stopped talking.

"Because my cooking is good, Im supposed to be your personal chef? Because I kept the place clean, Im supposed to be your free housekeeper?"

"Ethan, did you want a girlfriend, or did you just want free domestic labor?"