My name is Connor, I’m 31, and I’m what you’d call a “stable” guy. I have a good job in project management, I’m saving for the future, and my idea of a wild night is staying up late to perfect a sourdough starter. For the last two and a half years, I’d been with Jade (29F).
We connected instantly through mutual friends. She was… electric. Lively, impulsive, the undeniable center of every gathering. I’m more relaxed, but her vibe was captivating, at least initially. She was the bright, chaotic comet, and I was the solid ground she orbited. It felt like a good balance.
Year one went well. We traveled, we hosted dinners, we blended our lives. Year two, however, issues began to emerge. The balance started to feel less like an orbit and more like a tether.
She’d vanish for entire weekends with “her girlfriends.” She began attending music festivals without even asking me along. She formed new connections with a whole crowd of people who embraced that “live once, no regrets” attitude. I tried to be supportive. I’m not a controlling guy. But I started to feel less like a partner and more like a… home base. A place she’d return to recharge before her next adventure.
The discussion that altered everything occurred four months ago. It was an ordinary Thursday evening. We were eating supper at my apartment.
“Hey,” I said, scrolling through my email. “My cousin’s tying the knot in October. It’s in Vermont. Want to come as my date?”
Jade chuckled, a sound that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “October? Connor, that’s like… five months from now. Who even knows what our situation will be?”
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean? We’re a couple.”
She put down her wine glass and gave me that look—the one that was part-affection, part-pity. “I mean, let’s face it, Connor. This has been enjoyable, but I’m not… I’m not prepared to commit yet.”
“Commit?” I was confused. “We’ve been a couple for more than two years. We live at each other’s places. What do you think this is?”
“Yes, and it’s been wonderful,” she said, as if that settled it. “But I’m 29. I want to explore, encounter others, live life experiences. I don’t want to be… anchored. I don’t want to be planning ceremonies and such.”
A cold feeling was starting to form in my stomach. “So, what exactly am I to you, Jade?”
She paused to consider, took another drink of wine, and then delivered the line that would redefine my entire future.
“You’re reliable,” she said, as if giving a compliment. “You’re secure. You’re the type of man I’ll choose when I’m set for all that… committed material. But at the moment? You’re sort of… just a stage. A stage I’m on as I discover what I truly desire.”
Just. A. Stage.
I stared at her. “A stage,” I repeated.
“Don’t feel hurt,” she said, reaching over to pat my hand, a gesture you’d give to a child. “It’s not about you. I’m simply not finished enjoying life yet. When I’m around 32 or 33, I’ll be set for the full committing phase. Wedding, children, all of it.”
“And… you expect I’ll just be here?” I asked. “Just… hanging around?”
She shrugged, a perfect, careless motion. “Why not? We mesh well. I just have to work this out of my system first.”
The off-hand harshness of it was breathtaking. It was like I was a streaming series she could put on pause, go watch something else for three years, and then resume whenever she felt like it.
I looked at her as she smiled, proud of her “honesty.” And in that moment, something in me didn’t break; it set. It became cold, hard, and clear.
I gave her a small, tight smile. “Glad to understand my position.”
“See? Don’t overreact,” she said, visibly relieved. “I’m just keeping it real. Most men would value that.”
“You’re correct,” I said, picking up my fork again. “I do value the realness. Thank you.”
She grinned, believing she’d managed it smoothly. She immediately resumed browsing her phone, checking out some influencer’s Bali adventure, already somewhere else.
That evening, I reached a choice. If I was merely a stage, a stand-in for her real life, then I’d behave that way. No scenes. No pleading. No emotional ultimatums. Just logical, quiet changes.
I began that very weekend.
UPDATE 1: Three Months On
So, following that… revealing supper chat, I shifted to strategy mode. Not payback strategy. Existence strategy.
If I was just a stage in Jade’s world, then she, in turn, turned into merely a minor note in mine.
First, I ceased putting effort into the partnership. I didn’t do it in a childish, “I’m-ignoring-you” manner. I just realistically stopped. I stopped organizing outings. If she wished to spend time, fine. If not, fine. I stopped buying groceries for her apartment. Why fill her pantry if I’m just a temporary installment? I stopped interacting with her social circle. Why build ties with folks I’d never encounter again?
She didn’t pick up on it right away. She was too occupied “enjoying herself.” Every weekend brought a fresh escapade. Vegas getaways. Boat gatherings. Music festivals. She’d share Instagram stories of herself, captioned “Thriving” or “Living my best life.” And while she was “thriving at her peak,” I was silently reconstructing mine.
I began enrolling in that carpentry course I’d long desired. I wanted to learn to build something permanent.
I joined a trekking crew that gathered Saturday mornings—precisely the time she was usually just getting home or recovering from her nights out.
I started offering my time at a nearby teen hub, instructing youngsters in simple programming. I hadn’t coded for fun in years. It felt good.
I reconnected with former pals I’d ignored, the “boring” married ones that Jade found so dull. Turns out, they weren’t dull at all. They were just… happy.
But the major step? I began searching for a home.
I’d been putting money aside for years, always with the vague idea of “us.” But if I wasn’t holding off for us anymore, why not put it toward my tomorrow? I found an excellent renovation project in a pleasant, tree-lined area. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a spacious yard. It required a ton of fixes, but it held great potential.
I submitted a bid without bringing it up to Jade. Why would I? She was at Coachella when I finalized the purchase. I remember the text she sent me from the desert, a blurry photo of a neon tent.
Jade: [Image] Miss u! (kinda) 😉
Me: Enjoy. Looks fun.
I began the upgrades immediately. My “things to handle” on the weekends were no longer excuses. They were my new life. I spent my past weekends removing outdated cupboards, sanding surfaces, and applying coats of paint. I shared nothing on social platforms about it. This was for myself, not for display.
The trekking crew was where I encountered Arya. She’s 28, a pediatric nurse, and she adores pets and corny humor. We connected over our shared disgust for raisin-filled trail mixes and our love for even worse wordplay. We were just pals at the outset. I was, after all, still officially with Jade, even if Jade viewed me as just a stage.
But Jade was ramping up her “enjoyment era.” She began uploading pictures with unfamiliar men. Nothing outright unfaithful, but certainly… boundary-testing. Men’s arms draped over her shoulders at a club. Faces close together at a “friends” brunch. Captions like, “Creating moments with fresh faces!”
Her friend Brittany noted on one, “Go for it, girl! Embrace your freedom before getting locked in!”
Jade responded precisely: “Lots of time to be dull later! 💖”
Dull. That’s what committing… with me… symbolized. Dull.
All right. Point taken.
The instance that shifted it all for me arrived in month three. Jade was at yet another event—Burning Man, this time. I was at the teen hub, teaching Python fundamentals, when one of the students’ mothers arrived to collect him. She stood by the door, watching.
“You’re excellent with them,” she remarked with a warm smile. “Do you have children of your own?”
“Not yet,” I replied, helping a kid fix his syntax. “One day, though.”
“Your partner’s fortunate,” she said. “Men who are skilled with kids, who are patient… they’re uncommon.”
I nearly chuckled. My “partner” was presently in the Nevada wilderness, likely under the influence of something, and clearly had no desire for kids or anything “dull” like dedication.
That evening, I reached a verdict. I messaged Jade.
Me: Hi. We ought to chat when you’re back.
Jade: Oh no, seems weighty. What’s up?
Me: Simply a discussion we must have. Enjoy the rest of your trip.
She returned three days later, tanned from the desert sun and visibly drained. She dropped by my apartment (I still hadn’t mentioned the house).
“So, what’s this major discussion?” she asked, flopping onto my couch. “You’re not going to pop the question or anything, right?” She laughed, as if that would be the most absurd thing in the world.
“No,” I said, sitting in the chair opposite her. “In fact, I wanted to express gratitude.”
“Gratitude?” She looked confused.
“I wanted to thank you,” I said, my voice calm and even. “For that talk we had a few months ago. The one where you told me I was ‘just a stage.’ It made things incredibly clear for me.”
“Oh.” She sat up, uneasy now. “Connor, I didn’t intend it negatively…”
“I understand. You intended it truthfully. You wish to enjoy yourself now and commit later. I honor that. But I’ve chosen that I don’t wish to be anybody’s stage. So, let’s conclude this neatly.”
Jade stared at me. “Hold on. What? You’re… you’re ending it with me?”
“I’d say we’re ending it mutually,” I replied. “You desire freedom. I desire to be appreciated. Everyone wins.”
She was stunned. This was not the expected outcome. I was meant to linger. I was the reliable one, the one who was supposed to be ready when she finished enjoying her 20s.
“But… but we mesh well!” she sputtered.
“We did,” I agreed. “But I’m not keen on being someone’s reserve option for when they’re through with their party phase.”
“You’re exaggerating! I just require time!”
“And I’m giving it to you,” I said, standing up. “Take whatever time you want. Just not on my time.”
She departed upset and bewildered. She shared some cryptic sayings on her Instagram story about “recognizing your value” and “males who can’t deal with self-reliant females.”
Suited me fine. I had a home to upgrade.
UPDATE 2: Two Months On
Following the split, Jade accelerated her “enjoyment” routine, but it felt different now. More… frantic. Her Instagram turned into a non-stop montage of celebrations, journeys, and new acquaintances. Every share seemed to scream, “Look how much fun I’m having! Look how free I am!” It was a tribute to her liberty, but it felt like she was trying to convince herself.
Meanwhile, I immersed myself in the home upgrades and my new habits. The trekking crew turned into a regular Saturday thing. Arya and I became tighter. Still just friends, but solid friends. She had a great eye for design and even assisted me in selecting the tile for the kitchen splash guard. She didn’t find my plans for the future “dull” at all.
Then, Jade initiated the check-ins.
It started with sporadic messages at 2:00 AM.
Awake?
Long for what we shared.
Hope you’re all right.
I didn’t reply. I was occupied. Genuinely. I was often fitting kitchen units at 2:00 AM because I couldn’t sleep and aimed to complete the task.
But her friends were updating her. See, a few of them still tracked my limited social media posts. I’d shared a couple of items—a photo of the Teen Hub Kids’ programming event display, a dawn view from a trekking path, a picture of my first hand-crafted pasta effort (a disaster, but amusing).
Ordinary existence material. But evidently, it irked her that I appeared… okay.
Her friend Camila actually slid into my DMs.
Camila: Jade’s been inquiring about you. She appears down. Perhaps you should speak with her.
Me: She knows how to contact me if she requires something particular.
Camila: She longs for you.
Me: She longs for having a fall-back. There’s a distinction.
Then came the intensification. Jade began appearing where she knew I’d be. The cafe I visited on Sunday mornings. The fitness center I’d joined. She even appeared at the teen hub, “considering volunteering.”
“Connor!” she’d say, feigning astonishment. “Wow. Odd bumping into you here.”
“Hi Jade,” I’d reply, not breaking my stride. “Here to offer time?”
“Yes! I adore children. Want to contribute, you know.”
The organizer inquired about her schedule. Abruptly, she recalled she had a journey booked, and another event, and a “lady’s weekend.” She never returned to offer time.
But the true stunner arrived when she learned about the home. Not from me. From a shared acquaintance who’d assisted me in shifting some heavy furnishings.
The messages arrived quickly, this time with a sharp, angry edge.
YOU BOUGHT A HOME?!
When were you planning to inform me?
I can’t believe you decided that without me. We discussed purchasing a home together!
That final one amused me. We had never, not once, discussed acquiring anything jointly. She had expressly stated she wasn’t prepared to commit to a date five months in the future.
I eventually replied.
Me: I acquired a home for my tomorrow. You clarified you weren’t included in that tomorrow. Why would I discuss it with you?
Jade: BECAUSE WE SHARED 2.5 YEARS!!!
Me: Shared past. Your decision. Recall?
She attempted phoning. I didn’t pick up. I was occupied. Arya was assisting me in setting up a veggie patch in the yard. Turns out she had a talent for gardening and was showing me about paired planting.
That evening, Jade exploded on her social platforms. She shared a lengthy, vague vent about “males who fail to communicate” and “taking huge life steps secretly.” Her pals supported her in the comments, labeling me “sneaky” and “dishonest.”
The irony didn’t escape me. The lady who had declared me “just a stage” was distressed that I’d arranged a tomorrow without her.
But the genuine surprise for her was still ahead.
FINAL UPDATE: One Month Later
Last month was when it all peaked. I’d been residing in my new home for a few weeks. It was still a work in progress, but it was habitable. The veggie patch was beginning to grow. Existence was solid.
Arya and I had begun seeing each other. Officially. We moved gradually, but it felt distinct from the very beginning. She spoke about tomorrow like I belonged in it. She’d make plans for a concert weeks ahead without adding, “if we’re still, like, a thing.” It was invigorating.
Then, Jade’s 30th birthday neared. Evidently, it sparked some heavy reflection. Her Instagram feed changed from celebration shots to motivational sayings about “development” and “fresh starts.”
She messaged me. Hey. I've been reflecting a lot. Can we speak?
I was intrigued, so I consented. We convened at a neutral cafe. Jade appeared changed. Less social butterfly, more… weary.
“Appreciate you meeting me,” she said, wringing her hands. “I know it ended oddly.”
“What’s going on, Jade?”
“I’ve been pondering… what I desire. Truly desire. And… I see I was foolish earlier. I’m prepared now.”
My blood ran cold. I knew where this was going. “Prepared for what?”
“To commit,” she said, looking me straight in the eye. “To get serious. I worked the social stage out of my system. I’m set for the following phase… with you.”
The nerve was astounding. I just looked at her.
“You’re… prepared,” I said. “So, I should just be ready.”
“Connor, we meshed well. You know we did. I just needed space to mature.”
“And what leads you to believe I was simply waiting for you?”
“Because you cared for me,” she said, a little desperately. “I know you did. That doesn’t just vanish.”
“You’re correct. I did care for you. In the past. Then you informed me I was ‘just a stage.’ So, I behaved that way. I took you at your word.”
“I didn’t intend it like that!”
“You intended it precisely that way. You desired to enjoy, celebrate, and live… without me… then choose me when you were finished. Like I was a fallback scheme. A reliable, dull option for after the celebration stopped.”
“That’s not right! You’re just getting back at me! Is that what this is? Is that what the home was for? To wound me?”
“The home,” I said, leaning in, “is about creating my tomorrow. A tomorrow you clearly stated you didn’t wish to join. I believed you, Jade. I took you seriously.”
“I… I saw you with that woman on Instagram,” she stammered, changing tactics. “The nurse. Is this because of her?”
“Arya? Her name is Arya. And no, this isn’t because of her. It’s about me selecting to be with someone who doesn’t view me as something to choose later.”
That struck deep. She recoiled. “I never said ‘choose later’!”
“‘Committing’ with me was what you’d do when ‘finished enjoying.’ Your words. That means I was the reliable, ‘dull’ option for after the celebration stopped.”
“So that’s final?” she said, her eyes filling with angry tears. “Three years shared and you simply… proceed?”
“Two and a half years,” I corrected. “And you proceeded first. You just anticipated I’d remain static while you did.”
She departed, furious, and blocked me everywhere. She shared more sayings about “males who can’t manage maturity” and “sometimes timing matters most.”
Last week was the clincher. I bumped into Jade’s mother at the supermarket. She looked ashamed.
“Connor,” she said, stopping me by the produce. “I’m truly sorry. I learned what occurred. What she told you.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. B. That’s old news.”
“It’s not okay,” she insisted. “I brought her up better than that. Treating you like a reserve plan. I informed her she was acting silly and cruel.”
“She was just keeping it real,” I said with a small smile. “I value that. Truly.”
“She’s… she’s unhappy now, you know,” her mom said quietly. “Witnessing you advance. Acquiring a home. Seeing that nice nurse… it’s consuming her.”
“That’s regrettable,” I said honestly. “But it’s not my concern anymore.”
“No,” her mom agreed, putting a hand on my arm. “It’s not. You handled it correctly. Don’t allow anyone to say otherwise.”
I arrived home to find Arya attempting to make a new sauce, with… mixed results. We’d been alternating cooking, seeing who could amuse the other more with awful dish tries.
“How was your day?” she asked, smiling as she wiped flour on her apron.
“Fine. Bumped into my ex’s mother.”
“Oof. Uncomfortable?”
“Affirming, actually,” I grinned, stealing a carrot. “Now sample this sauce and tell me it doesn’t taste like socks.”
It did taste like socks. We got takeout, relaxed in my new yard, in the home I acquired, with the woman who envisioned a tomorrow including me.
Jade desired me to be a stage in her world—the reliable man she’d return to when the celebrations concluded. Instead, she turned into precisely what she labeled me as: just a stage. One I’d outgrown.
She was correct about one aspect. She wasn’t finished enjoying herself yet. Turns out, neither was I. I just discovered a new meaning of “enjoyment.” One that didn’t require waiting for someone to conclude I was worth committing to.