But memories are just memories. They don't come back.

After I quit, I went home, it was already ten pm.

The house was dead silent.

Then Jake's name popped up on my phone, with a post directly tagging me in his story.

"Thanks to my awesome mentor for sticking with me all afternoon! To pay her back, I will be taking her to see Drake in concert tomorrow! Stay tuned."

I knew Sarah wouldn't be coming home, after what she had told me.

This had happened way too many times in the three years we'd been married.

I heated up a bowl of noodles and checked my email.

I spotted over a dozen job offers from airlines around the world. I clicked on the one from Air France without a second thought, accepted the offer, and booked a flight to Paris for two days later.

Five years ago, Sarah had a near-fatal accident on a flight to Paris. Ever since then, that city was a no-go zone for her.

She wouldn't fly there, and I hadn't been back either.

Well Sarah, we will probably never see each other again after you hear this.

The next morning, I woke up and started packing.

I was only halfway done when Sarah dragged herself through the door, looking completely exhausted.

She also brought a strong smell of cologne with her.

I choked back a cough.

Sarah's skin was super sensitive; she was allergic to half the stuff in makeup. She hated cologne.

Because of that, I never wore any kind of body spray or lotion.

I'm starting to think she did not hate cologne, she just hated me wearing it.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw me packing. "Did you have a late flight?"

I said, "Something like that."

She seemed relieved, and said, "I have a few things I need to grab. I will see you later."

"Okay."

I didn't even look up from my suitcase.

I'd planned to tell her over dinner that I'd quit my job, putting a final period on our eight-year relationship. But I guess that wasn't going to happen.

Sarah grabbed a red bag and the jacket hanging by the door and rushed out.

CRASH!

The picture frame that had hung on the wall for the past eight years fell to the floor as the door closed behind her.

Glass shards everywhere.

I looked over at the photo. It was from the first concert Sarah and I had seen together. We were holding hands, smiling ear to ear.

She'd promised me that day that no matter how busy she got, she'd take me to at least one concert a year. But ever since Jake showed up, she'd forgotten all about it.

The clock ticked in the empty room.

After a long silence, I cleaned up the glass and tossed the happy photo in the trash with the last bits of my heartache.

By evening, I'd finished packing and collapsed on the bed, exhausted. Then my buddy called.

"What's up with Sarah, man? This is way out of line. You see her story? She's all over Jake in her post!"

"You're not even divorced yet! How can she do that?"

I pulled out my phone.

Sure enough, there was Jake's latest post.

In the photo, he was wearing a Patek Philippe watch and holding the red bag Sarah had grabbed this afternoon.

So that's what she was doing.

Underneath the picture, there was a caption that read, "Been three years since I met the best mentor in the world, glad to be with you, Sarah! Happy Anniversary!"

It hit me then.