On Valentine’s Day, I Performed CPR on a Homeless Man – the Next Day, a Limo Arrived at My House with My Name on It

On Valentine’s Day, I Performed CPR on a Homeless Man – the Next Day, a Limo Arrived at My House with My Name on It

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

Something happened.

“I don’t think I’m in this the way you are.”

He took me to a candlelit restaurant that looked like it came with a complimentary engagement ring. Roses. Soft music. Couples doing intense eye contact. The waiter called us “lovebirds,” and I almost evaporated.

Jace was smiling too hard. He drank half his wine in 10 minutes. I poked at my pasta because my stomach felt like it was tumbling down stairs.

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Halfway through, he set his fork down.

“Briar… I don’t think I’m in this the way you are.”

I blinked. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not fighting. I’m asking what you mean.”

He nodded, calm. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel excited anymore.”

Four years. Reduced to “not excited.”

“Not excited,” I repeated.

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He sighed. “I don’t want to fight.”

“I’m not fighting. I’m asking what you mean.”

“You said you’d support me until I finished.”

He glanced around like other couples might overhear. “I just don’t see a future. I thought I did. I don’t.”

I laughed, sharp. “You told me to quit my job.”

“I didn’t force you.”

My hands started shaking. “You begged me to focus. You said you’d support me until I finished.”

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He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not saying I regret supporting you. I’m saying I can’t do it anymore.”

If he wanted to end things, I couldn’t force him to stick around.

“So you waited until Valentine’s Day, in public, to tell me you’re done.”

“It’s not like that.”

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