Valentine’s Day was supposed to be dinner and nothing else. I’m Briar, 28, deep in an EMT course, and I left that restaurant thinking my life had just fallen apart. I had no idea the night was about to get much stranger.My name’s Briar. I’m 28. This happened on Valentine’s Day, and I’m still mad about the tiny heart-shaped butter pats.For context: I’ve been in an EMT course for months. It’s not a “cute little class.” It’s the first thing I’ve wanted this badly since I was a kid.I quit my job because my boyfriend, Jace, insisted.”Briar, you’re burning out,” he said. “Let me handle rent while you focus. Two months and you’re certified.”I pushed back. “What if something happens?”

Jace was smiling too hard. He drank half his wine in 10 minutes. I poked at my pasta because my stomach felt like it was tumbling down stairs.Halfway through, he set his fork down.”Briar… I don’t think I’m in this the way you are.”I blinked. “Are you serious?”He nodded, calm. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel excited anymore.”Four years. Reduced to “not excited.””Not excited,” I repeated.He sighed. “I don’t want to fight.””I’m not fighting. I’m asking what you mean.”He glanced around like other couples might overhear. “I just don’t see a future. I thought I did. I don’t.”I laughed, sharp. “You told me to quit my job.My hands started shaking. “You begged me to focus. You said you’d support me until I finished.”