A 5 AM Breakup: A Short Story Of Love And Loss

What the fuck just happened? I stared at my phone screen while buried in my blankets, stunned at what I was seeing. I have reread the email message in front of me at least 15 times.

It was 5 am, and I was awakened by my phone buzzing, alerting me to this email notification. I figured it was just another spam email, but something told me to check anyway. Having read the message repeatedly, I wish it was just spam.

But it wasn’t. The email message I received at 5 am on Tuesday in April was from my now ex-boyfriend, who let me know that he “just couldn’t do it anymore” and was dumping me. He dumped me over email — like the high school-linked email account, not even his personal one.

When I finally registered what I read, I started bawling. 

I started weeping and sobbing and hyperventilating and clenching my blankets for some sort of grip on reality. We had been dating for two years, and I truly thought this would be my forever person. I grabbed my stuffed teddy bear and clutched him tight. Then, I sobbed harder when I remembered how I got this bear.

It was Valentine’s Day of 2019. I was getting ready in my room for a fancy dinner with Logan. I wore a pink sweater and mom jeans with holes in the knees. I put on my favorite perfume and winged eyeliner. I felt so cute and couldn’t wait for him to see me. I imagined what sort of compliments he’d give me. I was checking my phone repeatedly, awaiting his “I’m leaving my house now” text. It seemed like I constantly checked my phone before any date night for that message.

I cried harder into my sheets now, thinking about never receiving that text again. 

“Even though he was always late, at least he showed up,” I thought. Then, I remembered how when he finally showed up, I had cried my makeup off, scared it’d be another night of him canceling at the last minute. I had reapplied it, but the winged eyeliner didn’t look as clean. “Damn it,” I remember thinking. All I wanted was to look perfect for him. I was angry at myself for getting so emotional.

After getting myself together, I remember the pure joy of seeing his little blue BMW pull into my driveway. It was a stick shift, and having a boyfriend who could drive one was so hot. I laughed through my tears, remembering when he tried to teach me how to drive it. It was terrifying, but his knowledge of cars was impressive. He seemed like a genius to me, and I idolized that. I loved going on drives with him and listening to him explain how each gear worked. My stomach felt queasy, thinking I would never be able to sit with him in a car again.

When he arrived for our date that night, I’d never felt so happy to see anyone. 

The anticipation made it so much more exciting. I hopped in his car, and he surprised me with the teddy bear. He gifted it to me as an “apology” for being three hours late. He said his mom had made him do a bunch of chores. He said, “You know how she gets sometimes,” and I nodded because I did and felt sorry he had to deal with her. The least I could do was be understanding of his situation. I would’ve liked a text telling me how late he’d be, but I understood he was probably busy and didn’t have time to send one. He always appreciated how understanding I was, which I liked. I prided myself on it.

My heart sank when I snapped back to my new reality. 

It wasn’t a perfect relationship by any means. I thought back to the many gifts he gave me to say sorry for being late, canceling, or ditching me for his friends. I remembered when he told me he would come to church with me. I paced back and forth that Sunday morning, anticipating his arrival. I wondered how many people would come up to us and ask about him. I prepared my responses ahead of time and practiced how I would introduce him to my church family. I kept checking my watch as it got closer to when we needed to leave. My eyes began to water as I realized what was once again happening, but I kept denying it.

Finally, I felt my phone buzz. Logan sent a text message that read, “Hey, my cousin really wanted me to come sailing with him, so I am gonna go. He leaves for college next week, so this is my only chance to go. I’ll bring you back a seashell to make it up to you. I’ll miss you so much!” And yet again, there I was, forced to understand. The excuses were always laid out so meticulously smooth and subtle that any reaction of anger would make me look crazy.

I knew I would never do anything to hurt him intentionally, and I assumed that feeling was mutual. 

Yet, here we were. Looking down at this pathetic, cowardly email, I understood that was never the case.

That teddy bear in my arms started to feel differently. Maybe I shouldn’t have accepted his “apologies,” or should I say “bribes,” every time. Maybe I should have demanded some respect because that email was proof enough of what little respect he had for me.

But I continued to squeeze the teddy bear in my arms, not wanting to let go. Even though it hurt to date him sometimes, it was nothing compared to the pain I felt at that moment.