After a fight, my boyfriend walked out of my apartment. He never came back.

• My boyfriend was planning to move to New York so we could be closer to each other.
• After a day of fighting, he walked out and never returned.

At 11 a.m. on a cool autumn Saturday, I was eating everything bagels on a Brooklyn bench with my boyfriend. Twelve hours later, I watched his 6-foot-5 frame walk out of my apartment forever.

My boyfriend and I were together for three years, and we spent most of that time dating long distance between New York and Washington, DC. Tired of pining for each other on expensive Amtrak trains or, when we couldn't afford that, cheap buses that always broke down outside Baltimore, we set a date for him to move in with me.

That was until he walked out after a fight and never returned.

We had already planned our lives

I couldn't wait to mix our dirty laundry, to bicker over whose turn it was to pick the hairs out of the tub drain, and to snore next to each other seven days a week.

We'd already shopped for engagement rings and envisioned our life together: a medium-size dog, one or two kids, and a house outside a city. I told my friends and family we were preengaged, a label I used to mean our shared future was about to begin.

That Saturday, a month before move-in day, my boyfriend visited New York to finalize critical cohabitation details like whose name would be on the electric bill, whether he could fit all of his biographies in my bookcase, and when we should host our housewarming party. My boyfriend had other questions.

"What if I don't get a job before I move?" he pondered over breakfast.

"I'll support us with my small but sufficient nonprofit salary! Plus my apartment is rent-stabilized!"

"What if I don't like living in New York?" he lamented over late-lunch tacos.

"Let's try it for a year! You might love it! Pass the hot sauce!"

My exclamations did nothing to reassure my boyfriend, and I was exhausted from shout-speaking like a 4-year-old. He wanted to analyze and overanalyze to mitigate any and all risks. I wanted him to trust me, us, and this next step because isn't love a risk worth taking?

After a few hours of fighting, we took a break. He threw on the flannel PJs he kept at my place and took a nap. I watched "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" for nesting inspiration.

We then continued our discussion in calmer voices, but at some point he stopped speaking. He tossed the PJs on the living-room floor and got back into his jeans and striped hoodie. Without making eye contact he slung his backpack over his shoulder and stomped down the stairs and out the front door.

I knew we processed things differently. He often needed time and space after our fights to cool down, whereas I just needed a cold drink. So I, and the PJs, waited. After a short walk he'd return. It was 11:36 p.m., raining, and where else would he go?

He never came back.

Lesson learned

In the weeks and months that followed I sought to make sense of my pain. I bawled on my therapist's couch and consumed relationship self-help books with titles like "It's Your Fault" and "No, It's His Fault" and "It's Definitely the Medium-Size Dog's Fault."

But we never got that dog, so maybe it was me.

Maybe I was not enough.

Years later, after challenging myself to go on 100 first dates, and now being married to my husband, I thank my ex for teaching me the truth about love.

If it's real, even when things get tough, you don't run. You stay.

Lisa Pertoso is a humor writer and facilitator based in New York City and the Hudson Valley. Follow her on Medium @lapertoso, or jump into a time machine and catch up on her past dating life at 100 First Dates.