Eighteen Broken Promises, One Way Out

He postponed putting my name on the deed 18 times.

Each time, his mentee Ciera had an “emergency.” Each time, he ran to her.

I watched him give her his prized Montblanc pen—the one he wouldn’t even let me borrow. I saw her post their late nights on Instagram. I ate anniversary dinners alone while he “mentored” her.

Then he bought me a necklace—identical to the one she just flaunted online.

That was when I stopped feeling anything.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I simply packed two suitcases, resigned from our firm, and booked a one-way ticket to London.