Betrayed by the Man I Almost Married

The second night of the holiday weekend, Eugene's phone line went dead. Four hours. Not a ring, not a pickup, nothing.

Eight years together, and every time we were apart—even briefly—he'd never once gone silent like that.

I was sick with it, convinced something had happened to him.

Eighty-three messages. Not one answered. I didn't sleep.

The next morning, Eugene finally called back. His voice was tired, edged with irritation.

"My phone crashed last night, I just saw your calls. What's with the eighty-something messages? I'm a grown man, it's not like I vanished."