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I knelt on one knee for the ninety-ninth time, holding a diamond ring to propose to Susan Lane, my girlfriend of eight years. Amid perfect music, roses and candlelight, her phone lit up with "Simon Shaw"—the white moonlight she cherished for over a decade and the one who ruined all my hopes. I grabbed her wrist and begged hoarsely not to leave me, but she pushed me down, saying Simon had a fever and I was being unreasonable. Eight years of love and ninety-nine proposals were ruined by his trivial sickness and bad moods. Watching her leave without a glance, my eight-year devotion turned to ashes.