“Don’t ever look at my phone,” she said. So when I saw her phone staring up at me from our bed, I knew I had to answer it.

This is the year of the ring. What else could I say about our relationship other than that? I was sure of it.<br><br>“You know, we’ve never done it,” she said, hugging me with her arms around my waist. “I never got proposed to.”<br><br>My heart skipped a beat. I had been barely holding on for the past few weeks. I had bought the ring six months ago, and I was convinced she would end things if she saw the ring. She had told me before that she didn’t believe in it, that she didn’t need a man to give her a ring to give her his life.<br><br>“Is that so?” I said, squeezing her closer to me. “What’s a proposal like?”<br><br>“I guess you’ll never know,” she said.<br><br>I told myself that this was for the greater good, that she wanted to be proposed to, even if she didn’t want to be proposed to. I would happily do it for her.<br><br>The moment was perfect, though. Dark room, lit only by candle, a gentle summer breeze, and our sleeves against each other. I got down on my knees, pulled the ring out of my pocket, and slid it on her finger.<br><br>“Will you marry me?” I asked.<br><br>She looked at me, surprised, then smiled and said yes. She got down on her knees and hugged me. We cried, then laughed, and most importantly, kissed. We sat in the room for hours, just staring at each other, grinning at each other. That night, we did what was expected of us.<br><br>The next morning, she was different. She didn’t wear makeup anymore. She didn’t paint her nails. She didn’t love me anymore. She still said she did, but the look in her eyes was gone. She was gone. And I knew that I had done it to her, that I had given her the life she never wanted, but that I was happy to have her be happy.<br><br>One night, while she was busy cooking, I was walking around the house when I saw the phone. I tried to ignore it. I had seen it before, but never thought anything of it. She kept it in a drawer, along with her old phone, but I assumed she had gotten a new phone because the old one was broken. Now, I wasn’t so sure. I tried to convince myself it was her phone, that it was nothing, but I couldn’t. I picked it up and looked at the screen.<br><br>“What the fuck?” a woman said behind me, a voice that was familiar, but not familiar. It was a voice I had heard before, but one that I had never heard.<br><br>I turned to see her standing there, a look of shock in her eyes, but also one of realization. She walked up to me and ripped the phone out of my hand.<br><br>“Why the fuck would you do that?” she asked, looking at the screen. “Did you answer it?”<br><br>I didn’t answer. I was speechless.<br><br>“Exactly what did you do?” she asked.<br><br>I still didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say.<br><br>“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asked, holding up the phone. “I told you not to touch my phone. You know how important this is.”<br><br>“Is that your phone?” I asked. “You said that it was broken.”<br><br>“It is,” she said. “But this is my phone.”<br><br>I didn’t understand. I didn’t know what was happening. I looked at the phone, and I saw a phone call. My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t know what to do.<br><br>“Exactly what did you do?” she asked again, her voice softer, almost sad.<br><br>“I think I might have answered it,” I said.<br><br>Her face fell. She looked at me in horror, and in that moment, I knew that I had done something terrible.