I had been in a relationship with Fabian for five years, but he never proposed.
When I asked him about it, he coldly said that if I insisted on marriage, we should break up.
I packed my suitcase and moved out without looking back.
In a private room at a bar, he casually held a beautiful girl and said nonchalantly, "Just wait, she'll regret it sooner or later."
But all he got was the news that I had been proposed to and was about to get married.
He ended up being the one who regretted it first.
At my wedding, he pleaded with tear-filled eyes:
"I won't allow you to be with anyone else. I haven't agreed to you getting married."
I slowly peeled his hands off me and leaned into my new husband's embrace:
"What does my marriage have to do with you?"