My Fiancée and I Ended Our Engagement, Then Became Roommates

When my ex-fiancée told me she no longer felt up to the fight for our relationship, we were sitting on an overstuffed maroon sofa, one of the many pieces of furniture we’d gotten for free from a Buy Nothing Facebook group. The breakup wasn’t a result of any major incidents or wrongdoings, and she didn’t like it any more than I did. We’d just outgrown each other, and in turn, our shared space. I would have never suspected that the two months we lived together after breaking up would become one of the holiest periods of my life.

When we first toured the apartment, we were enamored by the brightness and warmth of its corner location the second we walked in. We’d excitedly return to check it out three times before moving in, once bringing a pizza and eating it cross-legged on the kitchen floor. Truthfully, the building had the vibe of a renovated sleazy motel from the ’60s and was full of other units we’d dismissed as drab, but we loved our apartment and never felt cramped. 

This was the apartment where I landed my first-ever journalism gig, where I received the news that my cat was dying on the same day my estranged sister called me from jail, and where our relationship status went from dating to engaged to planning a wedding. Suffice it to say, we both had a healthy dose of character-changing events over the years. And as we changed, the glow of our relationship and our home dimmed, too.

While we broke up on the couch we somehow managed to load on top of my tiny Kia Soul, I felt the last spot of brightness leave the home we’d both loved. We were best friends, but that alone wasn’t enough to sustain a marriage. 

“So,” I said with a deep breath and fear of the answer. “What’s next?”

We broke up in February with a lease signed through the end of July, and none of the options for going our separate ways were clean. No matter what, an immediate split would harm one of us financially, emotionally, and mentally. More importantly, we weren’t ready to say goodbye to each other yet — we desperately wanted to build a sustainable friendship out of the wreckage.

We decided to keep living together until there was a clear path forward. We had felt more like friends than romantic partners for at least a year already, so part of it felt natural — though it ultimately meant putting our personal healing on hold.

Within a week, I realized nothing I was holding on to with my spouse would be a problem with a friend. If a friend makes you feel uncomfortable about your appearance, for example, it’s a minor infraction. A spouse spends enough time with you for patterns to matter, and the implications of how they’ll treat you for your whole life weigh heavily on every interaction.

We grew fond of ordering food and playing Tetris, often listening to Jim Croce or John Prine mixes. Our evenings, previously filled with silence or deafened by television, came alive with trash talk, jokes, and conversation. Many of the days immediately after the breakup were better than months or even years prior.

Our home was less clean — but I took it as a sign of healing, since previously my partner would clean when anxious or sad. Splitting chores, too, came with much less nuance after we broke up. We both happily did our part and accepted when one of us needed another day or two to get around to them. 

Of course, we also cried and had difficult conversations. We had to be up-front about everything we needed to heal and move on. If you’re going to live with your ex, you need to be willing to say and hear things like, “You’re still treating me like we’re in a relationship and I need it to stop.” 

Often, we walked on eggshells, overstepped a new boundary, or lashed out at each other, but sharing the pain and sadness behind those infractions made it easier to move on. Light seemed to be re-entering our home, little by little.

“Everything has been so easy lately,” she said roughly halfway through our two months together. “It makes me wonder if we’re doing the right thing.” 

“I think there’s a little burst of energy that comes along with a breakup because of the unknown possibilities of the future,” I responded. “If we got back together, all of those things that don’t matter as friends anymore would matter again and we’d use up all that energy in therapy.”

She agreed, though it was a hard realization for us both. I’m sure it would have been much easier for us to get back together and keep our dual-income lives, but sometimes (perhaps often) the harder option is the right one.

We stuck it out so we could salvage a unique partnership on whatever level was still available. Healing ourselves within the same environment where we were hurt was nearly impossible — it’s hard to waste a day on the couch, cry for hours, or start dating other people when your ex is still there. Everyone needs something different after a breakup, but it’s usually something that benefits you, not a unit.

We were feeling the pressure of wanting to move forward, but we willingly put that need on hold while we tended to a different question: How do we heal us?

Early one morning, we packed the plants and pet food we couldn’t leave in the car overnight and walked our yellow lab downstairs where he would become “hers.” The sun was beginning to rise as I watched her drive away until I couldn’t see the car anymore, frequently changing positions to peek around a tree or stop sign. 

Then, I walked back up to the apartment to cry for a little while — this time alone — before opening the blinds and windows to let the light in, and beginning to think through my healing and future.

Midway through her 18-hour drive, she called me. We talked about how our sadness felt more like the feeling of saying goodbye to a good friend after a long visit than losing a soon-to-be spouse. We’ve talked every day since, actually, and will forever push each other to find a brighter home.

For two more months, I lived in the space that used to belong to both of us and began my own healing journey. I sold off the vast majority of our possessions, gave away what I couldn’t sell, and moved away in whatever would fit in my tiny, beat-up car.

I’m back in Michigan with my family now and living here for the first time as an adult after moving away 14 years ago. Regardless of where I end up next, however, I’ll always remember the magic that took place within the space we shared and how bright it felt the first time we walked in. I’ll be looking for that feeling wherever I go.