I assumed he had simply fallen out of love. Our relationship ended with little drama—just a quiet drifting apart, or so I believed. He stopped returning my calls, and I told myself he must be going through something, maybe burnout from his grueling hours behind the cashier’s counter.

But weeks later, I spotted him on the road, and everything I thought I knew shattered. He was behind the wheel of a luxury sports car, the engine purring like something out of a dream. Clad in head-to-toe designer brands, he looked more like a celebrity than the man I used to share takeout meals and late-night worries with.

His transformation was nothing short of shocking. Gone was the tired cashier who used to complain about double shifts and rent due dates. In his place stood someone polished, confident, even flashy—completely unrecognizable in both posture and presence.

When we finally came face to face again, there was no trace of warmth or nostalgia. He looked right through me, eyes cold. And then, without a word, he tossed a $100 bill in my direction like I was a stranger—like I meant nothing.

I stood there stunned, not just by the money, but by the clear message it carried. Whatever life he was living now, it had no space for who we used to be.