Eight years ago on Valentine’s Day, my boyfriend of four years, who I planned to marry and love forever, was waiting outside my work with a huge piece of my favorite cake. We went back to my place, watched Requiem for a Dream (widely regarded as one of the most depressing films ever made), and broke up. Seven years on, I still joke that Requiem for a Dream was the reason he dumped me, since from my perspective, everything was totally fine until that point. I was devastated and didn’t understand what had happened, asking if he liked someone else, if he was bored, the usual questions — he said no, not really, he just didn’t feel the same anymore. I told myself I must have missed the signs, and privately suspected he’d cheated on me with that woman from his work.