Dominic and I had been together for just over five years, engaged for the last eight months. Our relationship progressed at a comfortable pace: we moved in together after two years, adopted our cat, Beans, at three, and got engaged last summer. The proposal was simple, a Saturday morning hike where he nervously fumbled the ring box out of his pocket. I said yes immediately.
About three months ago, Dominic started making odd, hesitant comments when we discussed wedding plans. “That’s a lot of money for just one day,” he’d say, or, “Do we really need to invite all those people?” I brushed it off as pre-wedding jitters. Then he started going out more with his work friend, Paul. When he’d come home, he seemed distant, always checking his phone.
Last Friday, I planned a date night to reconnect. The dinner was a disaster. He was distracted, and when I brought up finalizing our honeymoon, he dropped the bomb: he wasn’t sure if he was ready for marriage. I was stunned. Five years together, and now he wasn’t sure? He blamed stress and conversations with Paul about his brother’s messy divorce. The ride home was silent.
The next morning, he went to watch a game with Paul and some work friends at a sports bar. A few hours later, my best friend, Lena, convinced me to get out of the apartment. I was pulling into our apartment complex later when I got a text from Kyler, one of Dominic’s coworkers. Are you okay? Things got weird at The Rusty Nail.
I called him. He sounded uncomfortable but finally revealed what happened. The guys had been giving Dominic a hard time, and when Paul asked if he was ready to be with one woman forever, Dominic expressed his doubts. When Paul asked what was holding him back, Dominic—apparently drunk—said something like, “If she were prettier, I’d be more excited about marrying you.” Then he laughed it off like it was a joke.
I sat in my car, crying, for twenty minutes after that call. The man I had loved for five years had publicly joked about my appearance being the reason for his hesitation. When I finally went inside, Dominic was passed out on the couch. I took Beans into the bedroom with me and locked the door.
The next morning was Dominic’s standard apology breakfast: coffee and bacon. When I confronted him, his face fell. He claimed he was drunk and being stupid, that the guys were ragging on him and he’d said something dumb to shut them up. His defense of “guys being guys” only made things worse. I couldn’t stay in the apartment with him. I packed a bag and went to my brother Elliot’s place.
On Monday morning, I got a call from Valerie, Dominic’s mom. We’ve always gotten along well. She sounded upset, saying Dominic had called her the night before and there was something important I needed to know. She asked if we could meet.
I was sitting in my car outside the coffee shop, wondering what else there could possibly be, when my phone buzzed with a text from Dominic. Whatever my mom tells you, please remember that I do love you. I just got scared and made terrible mistakes.
I put my phone away, took a deep breath, and sat down across from Valerie. Her eyes were red-rimmed. After some awkward small talk, she got to the point. Dominic had called her Sunday night in a complete emotional meltdown. While she acknowledged his fears about commitment were real, there was something more immediate causing his behavior.
“Maria,” she said. I nearly choked on my coffee.
Maria was the new project coordinator at Dominic’s company. Valerie explained that Dominic had developed feelings for her over the past few months. Nothing physical had happened, according to him, but there was an emotional connection that had him questioning everything about our relationship.
I sat there, mentally connecting the dots. Maria had started around New Year’s. By then, Dominic had already been acting different. When I asked Valerie why she was telling me this, her eyes welled up. She explained how Dominic’s father had left her for a coworker, and she didn’t want to see history repeat itself, with me left in the dark. The comment at the bar suddenly made more sense—not just drunken stupidity, but a subconscious attempt to sabotage our relationship so he wouldn’t have to make the hard choice himself.
On my way to Lena’s apartment, where I decided to stay, Dominic’s sister, Karina, called. She asked what was happening, then she accidentally revealed something important. “Is the meeting about Maria?” she asked. The name hit me like a truck. Karina quickly backpedaled, urging me to hear her mom out.
That night, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. This is Maria. I know you blocked Dominic. Can we meet? There’s more to the story that you should know.
We met at a little breakfast place near the park. She looked different than I remembered from the company party—less polished, more human. She seemed incredibly uncomfortable, fidgeting with her coffee cup. The conversation revealed two major bombshells.
First, Maria had no idea Dominic had feelings for her. According to her, they had worked closely on a project, occasionally texting about work, but nothing that crossed any lines. She showed me their text history: mostly work stuff, occasional memes, nothing romantic. She even had a boyfriend of three years.
The second revelation was about Paul. Apparently, he’d been the one deliberately stirring things up. Maria had overheard him at work encouraging Dominic to “explore his options” before settling down, specifically mentioning her as someone who “gets Dominic” better than I do. She explained that Paul had been telling everyone Dominic was having cold feet, making jokes about him being trapped.
By the end of our meeting, I felt strangely calm. Maria wasn’t the villain; she was just a bystander caught in Paul’s manipulation and Dominic’s weakness. Before we parted ways, she said something that stuck with me: “You seem like someone who knows their worth. Don’t let anyone make you question it.”
I left that meeting with a new perspective and a plan. This wasn’t just about Dominic and me anymore. I texted Karina and asked her to help arrange a family meeting at her apartment. She agreed immediately.
The first twenty minutes of the dinner were excruciatingly awkward. Finally, Valerie broke the silence, stating that we were there to address what had been happening. That opened the floodgates.
I shared what I’d learned from Maria, watching Paul’s face shift from confusion to defensiveness. He tried to interrupt, claiming he was just “looking out for his friend,” but Karina shut him down. Dominic mostly sat in silence. When directly addressed, he admitted Maria had just been friendly, but he’d built it into something else because he was scared of turning into his dad.
When I brought up the joke at the bar, Dominic looked genuinely ashamed. He admitted it had nothing to do with Maria; it was just him being a coward. Paul was giving him a hard time about being “whipped,” and instead of standing up for our relationship, he’d said something horrible to seem cool.
That’s when I quietly said I didn’t think the wedding was happening anymore. The room went silent. Dominic started to protest, but I cut him off. I explained that this wasn’t just about Maria or the joke. This was about him not being honest with me or himself. I deserved someone who was certain about me.
The conversation continued for hours. There were tears, heated words—especially between Karina and Paul—and difficult truths. Around midnight, we reached the inevitable conclusion: the wedding was off. Our five-year relationship had run its course.
It’s been three months since that dinner. Dominic moved out of our apartment within a week. It was surreal separating five years of shared existence into “his” and “mine.” I ended up in a smaller one-bedroom across town, with a tiny balcony where I’ve started growing herbs.
The engagement ring sits in my dresser drawer. Dominic said I should keep it. I haven’t decided what to do with it yet.
He and I have spoken a handful of times, mostly about practical matters. The situation with Maria got awkward, and she requested a transfer to a different team. The biggest surprise came last month when he texted, asking to meet. He looked different—thinner, with dark circles under his eyes.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” he said, and my heart did a weird little stutter before he clarified, “a therapist.” He explained he’d been examining his relationship with his father, his friendship with Paul, and the way he treated me. He didn’t ask for forgiveness; he just wanted me to know he was working on himself.
Maintaining relationships with his family has been one of the strangest parts. Valerie texts me weekly. Karina and I have breakfast every other Sunday. They’ve been careful to respect my boundaries.
As for me, I’m rediscovering parts of myself that got lost. I’ve resumed hiking on Saturday mornings, something I’d stopped because Dominic complained about early wakeups. My therapist suggested I take our canceled honeymoon trip anyway—by myself. The idea terrified me at first, but the more I thought about it, the more appealing it became.
So that’s where I’m headed next week: to a honeymoon cottage, solo. I’ve packed three paperbacks and downloaded some podcasts. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I’m starting to believe there will be something. Last month, we were debating reception songs. Now, we’re dividing up kitchen appliances. Endings are rarely clean or perfect. Most of the time, they’re messy and sad and complicated. But maybe there’s hope in that.