My Boyfriend's Anonymous Post

My fingers glided over the phone screen, stopping on a customized necklace in the shopping cart. The chain was engraved with "Eight-Year Promise," a gift I had prepared for the eighth anniversary with Yale Shawn. We had walked together from the college campus to the workplace, endured the hardest early days of our startup, and in just half a year, we were about to have our wedding. As I habitually refreshed the social platform, an anonymous post suddenly stabbed like a poisoned needle, catching me completely off guard. The poster's profile picture was all too familiar—it was Yale Shawn's usual landscape photo. The post was short, but every word cut deep: "Over ten thousand likes, and I'm breaking up with my girlfriend of eight years." Right below, there was a line adding, "I've met someone who truly understands me — my subordinate, Vivian Lincoln. She's so much better than my current girlfriend." My fingers holding the phone went ice cold in an instant, the words on the screen blurring and then sharpening before my eyes. Eight years of our relationship— in his eyes, it had turned into nothing more than clickbait, a gamble on a breakup. I forced myself to stay calm and clicked into the comments under the post. Yale Shawn was replying to commenters there, every word overflowing with praise for Vivian. "Her cooking is amazing; she makes me homemade bento every day." Reading that, I remembered how I'd learned countless recipes from tutorials to cater to his taste, yet I never got such clear-cut praise. He always said "not bad" or "it's okay." Turns out it wasn't that he disliked home-cooked meals—he just didn't like me. "She comes from a good family and has a gentle personality, unlike some people who always carry this strong sense of superiority." The phrase "some people" hit me like a slap in the face. My family was indeed better off than Yale Shawn's. When he started his business, I not only gave him my own savings but also convinced my father to invest. I thought this was the confidence we'd built standing side by side, but to him, it became my 'overbearing superiority complex.' I started obsessively comparing myself to Vivian Lincoln. I'm independent and capable, handling everything at work on my own; Vivian seems gentle and obedient, fitting his standard of 'tenderness.' I'm good at planning for the future, keeping our life organized; but he thinks I'm too controlling and that Vivian is more 'considerate.' Doubt crept through my heart like vines—I had to find out if all of it was true. I called assistant Tina, trying to keep my voice calm: "Help me check on Vivian Lincoln, the new hire in the marketing department, and send me her information." Tina hesitated for a moment but still said, "Okay, Ms. Scott, I'll send it to you right away." After hanging up, I leaned back on the sofa, the scene of Yale Shawn recruiting Vivian Lincoln flashing through my mind. He said at the time that although Vivian lacked experience, her attitude was sincere—she was a talent who could be shaped. I didn't think much of it and even helped him arrange a mentor for Vivian. Now that I think about it, the way he looked at Vivian Lincoln back then had a different kind of warmth. What bothered me even more was that Vivian's starting salary was two thousand dollar less than other newcomers in the same role. At the time, Yale Shawn said it was because she lacked experience, and I just accepted it. But if they'd already been involved, could this have been Vivian's way of flirting on purpose? It wasn't long before Tina sent over the details. Vivian Lincoln, twenty-four, graduated from a second-tier university, and had interned for six months at a small company before. Everything looked fine on paper, but the unease inside me kept growing. On our eighth anniversary, I left work early and reserved a table at the Western restaurant we always went to. I wore the first dress he ever gave me and put on some delicate makeup; the customized necklace was set on the table.