Cruel Kindness

On my twenty-fifth birthday, I sat in the private room at the restaurant we'd booked, my fingers absentmindedly stroking the velvet box in my pocket. It was the fifth year of my long-distance relationship with Mark Collins. The balloons and cake were all set up in the reserved room, and I gripped the ring box in my pocket, my palms sweating. When Mark pushed the door open, there wasn't a trace of a smile on his face. "Cindy Lynn, let's break up." He tossed his coat on the couch, his tone entirely flat. I stood frozen, nearly dropping the ring box from my hand. "What did you say?" My voice trembled as I heard it. "I said we're breaking up," he looked at me, his eyes completely cold. "After all these years of long distance, I'm just tired." "Tired?" I took two steps forward, reaching for his arm, "We won't be long distance anymore. I've already applied to transfer to your city for work!" He stepped back, avoiding my touch. "It's not necessary anymore." He pulled out his mobile phone, the screen lit up, "I already like someone else." I clearly saw the screen—Mark Collins' Moments, posted half an hour ago, with a photo of him and a girl in a white dress, captioned: "From now on, for the rest of my life, please take care of me." My heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand, the pain making it hard to breathe. "When did this happen?" My voice was painfully hoarse. "It doesn't matter anymore." Mark bent down, grabbed his jacket with sharp efficiency, and said, "I've already paid for the private room. You can eat by yourself." "Mark!" I rushed forward to block the door, tears finally falling, "Our five years together—you say it doesn't matter?" He frowned, impatience creeping into his voice. "Cindy Lynn, don't make such a scene." He pushed me away with his hand—not too hard, but enough to crush my last bit of hope. "Feelings can't be forced—if you don't like it, you just don't." The moment the door closed, I slid down the wall and sat on the floor. That velvet box in my pocket dug into me uncomfortably. When I opened it, the tiny diamonds on the silver ring setting flashed sharply under the warm yellow light. The candles on the cake weren't lit yet, and the "Happy Birthday" on the balloons felt cruelly ironic. I don't even remember how long I cried sitting there on the floor. My phone suddenly started buzzing like crazy — it was my mother calling. "Cindy, come back quickly! Your dad, he... he fainted!" My mother's sobbing felt like a sharp knife piercing my already shattered heart. I almost stumbled out of the restaurant, with only one thought in my head — go home. On the way, I shakily called Mark. "Mark, my dad fainted and is in the hospital now. Can you please..." "Cindy, we're already broken up." His voice cut me off, cold and heartless: "Your family's problems aren't my concern." The call got hung up suddenly, the busy signal ringing sharp and loud in my ear. I called again, but it said the phone was switched off.