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Dear Ex (MT), For five years, you’ve wanted closure. To you, I disappeared without warning. One day I was there, and the next, I was gone. To me, it wasn’t sudden at all. It was twelve years of disappointment that slowly piled up until I could no longer carry it. We were together from JC to university, and then through the years of working abroad. Twelve years. Everyone thought we would get married. Honestly, so did I. Year after year, I asked you the same question. “When are we getting married?” And year after year, your answer was always another version of “not yet.” “Next year.” “Let’s wait until we’re financially stable.” “Let’s wait until I reach 1.5 million.” There was always another milestone. Another target. Another reason to postpone the life we were supposedly building together. I knew how important that financial goal was to you. I remember you once telling me that if I ever got pregnant before then, we should abort the baby. I never forgot those words. On my 29th birthday, I made a promise to myself. One last chance. The year before, you had hinted about proposing. I held onto that hope. I thought maybe this would finally be the year. But it wasn’t. And later that same year, I found out I was pregnant. I remember sitting there in complete shock. Devastated. Confused. Heartbroken. I sent you a message and asked, “When would you be ready to have a child?” You replied, “It’s too early for us.” That answer told me everything I needed to know. The very same day, I made an appointment for an abortion. The clinic required a counselling session beforehand. I still remember sitting there crying uncontrollably, feeling completely alone. The counsellor encouraged me to talk to you. But I couldn’t. I was living abroad with no family around me. I was already carrying more pain than I could handle. And deep down, I didn’t want to hear the word “abortion” come from your mouth. I couldn’t survive hearing you choose financial goals over our child. So I kept it from you. Maybe that was unfair. But it was the only way I could protect the tiny piece of my heart that still wanted to believe you loved me. I told myself it wasn’t that you didn’t love me. Maybe it was just bad timing. Maybe one day things would be different. After the abortion, I returned to my apartment in the UK. Physically, I recovered. Emotionally, I never did. The guilt was unbearable. The grief followed me everywhere. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t look at myself without wondering about the life that could have been. I wasn’t ready to see you. So I made excuses. I said I wasn’t feeling well. I said I was busy with work. I said I was travelling. But the truth was that something inside me had broken. I knew I couldn’t continue. I resigned from my job, used my remaining annual leave, took mental health leave, and started planning my exit from the country as quickly as possible. Before leaving, I wrestled with one question every single day. Should I tell you? Should I meet you one last time and tell you everything? Or should I disappear? Part of me desperately wanted you to know. Another part knew that if I saw you again, I would fall apart completely. In my final month in the UK, we still met occasionally. From the outside, everything looked normal. But inside, I was already gone. Every time I looked at you, I thought about our unborn baby. Every smile hurt. And after seeing you, I would go home and cry for hours. For so many years, I had imagined a future with you. I thought you would be my husband. I thought you would be the father of our child. I thought we would be a family. Instead, I was grieving that family alone. When I returned to Singapore, I sent you a breakup message. Then I changed my number. Deleted my social media. Cut every possible connection. I heard you tried reaching out to my family. I simply told them we would never be getting back together. Nobody knew about the baby. Nobody knew the real reason. Nobody knew the weight I had been carrying all these years. Today, you followed my Instagram. And through mutual friends, I heard that you’ve never really moved on. That you’ve been searching for closure. The truth is, the baby was the closure. The baby that I wanted. The younger version of me was angry. She would probably still ask you the same question she asked for years: Did you ever truly want to marry me? But I move on now. I’ve made peace with things I once thought would destroy me. I no longer need answers. And I no longer hate you. I just hope you’re happy. I hope you’ve achieved the financial goals that meant so much to you. I hope you’ve found the life you were waiting for. As for me, I finally stopped waiting.