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h birthday. He told his friend he'd regret marrying me because my middle-class backgroun
a party, serving the very woman
. I was disposable, a placeh
g crazy. I opened a dating app, found a quiet, depen
or a serious partner for mar
e words that woul
u're serious about getting married
pte
Sanch
that only I seemed to hear. My mom had called that morning, her voice laced with the usual "When will Brenton finally propose, Carley
few blocks from our shared condo. I wanted to surprise him for lunch, maybe finally get a mo
who was busy on a call, and headed straight for Brenton's privat
y mother is. She expects someone with a pedigree, someone who fits into our world." The w
amily. They see her as a freelance writer from a middle-class background. Not exactly the future Mrs. Jarvis they
ighed, a sound that ripped through me. "I don't know, man. It's complicated. What if it
n the dark, the shared dreams that now felt like a cruel joke. It wasn't about love for him. It was about status. About what fit, what
Brenton looked up, surprised, then smiled. "Carley! What a surprise." We had lunch. I
im, but my body felt like a stone. Empty. Silent. The words "ordin
s wrong? You've been so quiet all day. Is everyth
reaking up with me? Is that what this is?" He asked it like
ger. "Is it, Brenton? Are we over?" My voice was stead
, Carley. I guess we are." The words were a soft
arity gala tonight. I can't miss it." Just like that. Ten years, and
as just a vast, echoing emptiness where my heart used to be,
lly used. I scrolled through it mindlessly. Then I saw a profile I recognized. Jesse Morrison. A Marine Sergeant, just back from deployment. His profile cle
zy, but if you're serious about getting married... would you consider marrying me?" I adde

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