Her employment ended my romance with a nurse. She filled an emergency shift, leaving me alone at a dinner reservation. She ignored my calls. She cried when she called me back to say she lost a patient.

She never joined us. We tried planning calm weekends, but her itinerary usually changed last minute. I watched her depart for a 12-hour shift one weekend and never look at me when she returned. She fell asleep on the couch without speaking.

Dated a chef. Instead of appreciating my homemade meals, he would pick them apart. “This sauce is too salty,” or “You overcooked the pasta.” Every meal was a show I would fail. Even when I reheated leftovers, he sighed and said it “looked sad.”

I gave up cooking for him after one humiliating supper. I cooked a dish I knew he liked from an online recipe for hours. He took one bite, put his fork down, and muttered, “This isn’t how it’s supposed to taste.” The end. No gratitude for the effort. I was criticized like a cookery show contestant. I was dating a perfectionist who prioritized eating above me.