I thought I could wait because I loved him so much.
Wait until the clouds parted and the moon shone through. Wait until every leaf that grew on the big tree in Ethan’s heart had my name carved on it.
But when I saw that social post, I finally understood: I couldn’t wait anymore, because Ethan had never planted a single seed for me in his heart.
I stood there stunned. The door opened, letting a rush of cold air dissolve into the warm room.
Ethan shrugs off his coat, pauses when he sees me, then says, “I forgot to buy the meds.”
My period is always brutal. I rely on medicine to get through it. This afternoon I was in such pain I couldn’t even walk, and of course we were out of medicine at home. I’d asked Ethan to pick up a box on his way back.
Normally, I’d nod understandingly and say something like, “It’s okay—you’re busy with work, after all.”
But suddenly I realized I didn’t want to make excuses for him anymore.
I thought: if the person curled on the bed in pain was Claire, would he shrug this off so easily?
No.
He just doesn’t love me.
All the excuses were wishful thinking. I’d known the answer for a long time.
I didn’t say anything. I got up and walked toward the door. As I passed him, Ethan grabbed my hand. He frowned; his voice held a hint of displeasure.
“Are you mad?”
It sounded like he meant, Who are you to be upset? What are you making a fuss about?
I wanted to tell him I wished I was just being unreasonable—that I wished we could be like a normal couple who fought and made up.
But I knew it wasn’t that.
I realized with a painful clarity that I didn’t even feel sad anymore.
I just wanted to go past him and buy a box of pills. If he wouldn’t care for me, then at least I would be responsible for my own body.
When the door shut behind me, the cold air hit my nose and I woke up to myself.
I thought: maybe I don’t love Ethan anymore.
The convenience store downstairs was supposed to be open twenty-four hours, but when I got close the lights were dark.
The world wasn’t being sincere—if even a “24-hour” store could turn off its lights at midnight, how could I blame Ethan for not loving me?
Besides, he never promised me anything.
The plastic bag in my hand held only a box of ibuprofen, yet it felt unbearably heavy.
I exhaled; my breath floated away in the icy air.
It was freezing.
Then I saw a figure leaning by the door.
Ethan wasn’t wearing a coat—just a black turtleneck cashmere sweater, hands in his pockets, watching me.
I froze for a moment, then looked down and kept walking toward the complex.
Suddenly a hand reached out and took the plastic bag from my hand.
He transferred the bag to his other hand and took mine with his left.
“It’s so cold,” he said.
Warmth spread from my right hand. Ethan’s hands were big, the knuckles rough with calluses.
My eyes stung because I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d held hands.
He refused to shop with me; even when we ate out, he walked ahead. He disliked public displays of affection, so I’d learned to not cling.
Work filled most of his life. I’d once clung to a sliver of hope—maybe when he had time, he’d think of me. I was wrong.
Someone who doesn’t love is nothing but dust—a useless empty set, a weed you see everywhere.
Even if they appear now and then, they’re irrelevant.
I kept my head down and mumbled, “Mm.”
Ethan probably didn’t expect such a curt answer. Before, if he showed concern, I would’ve been thrilled—jumping with joy.
He pressed his lips together, then said, “It was my fault today. I won’t forget next time.”
I looked up, surprised. For a moment I couldn’t believe he’d say that.
But besides surprise, I couldn’t summon any other feeling.
“Next time.” What good does “next time” do? The loving has been done, the disappointments have been felt.
I nodded. “Thanks.”
Ethan glanced at me, frowning, mouth opening like he had something to say but didn’t know what, so he said nothing.
The yellow streetlight stretched our shadows long. My right hand burned; my left was icy.
Ethan and I had been together three years.
In college he’d been every girl’s dream. I’ll never forget him speaking as the freshman representative. The auditorium lights lit the stage; everyone else was in darkness while he stood in that light.
For a moment it seemed like gold spilled everywhere.
Back then he and Claire were the campus’s most envied couple.
In our senior year, Claire’s family sent her abroad, and she broke up with him.
I couldn’t understand how anyone could leave such a good person—didn’t she see how heartbroken Ethan was?
But I thanked her all the same.
If she hadn’t walked away so decisively, maybe Ethan would never have accepted my confession.
When he nodded, my hands trembled with excitement.
I told myself it didn’t matter that Claire didn’t love him—I would. I’d love him well.
But I’d forgotten something: one-sided love rarely ends well.
Everyone loves to think they’re the last key that will open the door.
What if I hadn’t confessed to Ethan back then?
In three years I never asked myself that.
But what if?
There were guys who liked me back then—not as remarkable as Ethan, but maybe, over time, affection would have grown. Maybe one day I would have liked them too.
Reciprocity. We could have been a normal couple, quietly in love.
What if…? I sat bolt upright and wiped cold sweat from my forehead.
“Bad dream?” Ethan, unusually awake at this hour, sat up and looked at me with concern.
I met his eyes and nodded, then hesitated and shook my head.
He pushed back the covers. “I’ll make you breakfast.”
“No, it’s okay.” I stopped him. “There’s toast in the kitchen.”
Ethan turned, surprised. For the first time I realized Ethan had never made me a meal—and today I’d refused his offer.
I watched him, half expecting anger. Instead, the next second he smiled.
“If you want it, have the toast.”
At the table he came out of the kitchen and handed me a bottle of milk. “Drink this.”
I took it with one hand and took a slice of nut bread with the other.
Ethan froze and said, “Aren’t you allergic to nuts?”
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s Claire who’s allergic to nuts. You got it wrong.”
The moment I said her name the air hung heavy.
Ethan’s smile fell. He frowned; anger showed on his face.
“Why did you bring her up?”
Seeing that rush of feeling from him made me ache with helplessness. I didn’t want to say anything else.
“Nothing. I misspoke.”
He looked startled—he hadn’t expected me to drop the subject so quickly. He leaned back, the chair squeaking, and then stood up. “I’m done eating. You go ahead.”
The door closed and I managed a bitter smile as I stared at the milk.
Ethan—three years, and you still can’t remember I’m lactose intolerant?
Ethan and I were quiet the whole day. Living in the same house but eerily silent.
At dusk he put on his coat and left. A little while later my phone buzzed: “I’ve got plans tonight. I’m not eating home.”
I glanced and turned the screen off.
A suffocating knot tightened in my chest.
I suspected why—Claire had just posted that she’d be working late.
They could meet up for dinner; Ethan would wait for her downstairs. But later…would he come back?
I took a breath, grabbed my keys, and left.
Winter hadn’t ended. The air was sharp and cold; trees were bare. It hadn’t started snowing yet.
I walked without direction. It should have been dinner time, but I wasn’t hungry.
I wondered what Ethan and Claire were doing—probably finishing a meal. When Ethan and I ate out, I liked hotpot and barbecue; he always sneered at greasy, spicy food.
With Claire, he would happily eat whatever she wanted, right?
I’d never seen through it before. My love had become stubbornness and refusal to let go.
When I was with Ethan, I always thought of him and Claire. If Claire was the rose in his heart, then she was a thorn buried deep in mine.
Over the three years the thorn dug deeper until I became numb.
I kept walking and passed a bar. The singer’s voice drifted out through the open door.
Without thinking, I went in.
The bar was mostly empty—maybe it was still early. The singer sat onstage tuning his guitar and occasionally singing a line.
I ordered a sweet drink at the bar and sat back, squinting at the stage.
The dim lights made faces indistinct.
After one drink my cheeks warmed. I know I don’t hold liquor well, so I left after finishing that glass.
Outside, the night felt darker and colder. I shivered and reached for my phone to call a cab—but my pockets were empty. My phone wasn’t there.
Then someone called behind me: “Jenny!”
I froze.
“Jenny” had been my high school nickname—round cheeks and rosy all the time, so friends started calling me that.
I turned and saw someone running toward me.
I squinted and, from his clothes, realized he was the singer who’d been onstage a little while ago.
I waited where I was until he hurried over. He blew out a warm breath, finally catching it, then shoved his phone into my hand.
“You’re still this careless after all these years.”
I glanced at the phone, then up at him, my expression asking the question my voice didn’t.
He looked surprised, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t remember me? I’m Caleb Park.”
Caleb Park?
How could I forget.
He’d been my desk mate in high school—loved basketball, slept in, and always came to me at morning study hours with half-closed eyes begging to copy my homework.
Teachers always turned a blind eye to him; after all, Caleb’s life could be summed up in an essay titled “My District Director Father.”
Back then everyone assumed his life would be smooth sailing. Then in senior year he threw a tantrum about wanting to do music, had a blowup with his family, ran off, dropped out, and vanished.
He watched my face and smiled.
“So? Remember now?”
I nodded, pulling my scarf up to cover my chin. “Long time no see. Do you work here?”
Caleb shook his head. “It’s my friend’s bar. The singer called out sick, they asked me to fill in.”
I nodded, then immediately didn’t know what to say.
I’d run into a lot of classmates over the years. Without exception they’d grown quieter and more put together.
Buddies who used to slap each other’s backs and go to the bathroom together had turned into polished men puffing each other up at drinking parties; sisters who used to stay up and listen to each other cry didn’t even send each other wedding invitations.
People said that was normal—that’s growing up.
But it felt like Caleb had been standing still while the world rushed past.
He swung his arm around and said, “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
For a second I was sixteen again—he’d just finished ball practice, lazily grabbed my shoulder while I was hunched over homework and said, “Come with me to the corner store.”
Back then I’d nodded and gone. Ten years later I started searching for excuses to decline.
He caught my hesitation and his smile went sly. “Come on, look at your face all flushed. The goody-two-shoes has gone bad.”
The blush from the alcohol deepened.
Before I could answer he fished out car keys. “I’ll get the car. Wait here.”
A Mercedes pulled up shortly. Caleb rolled down the window and called, “Get in.”
Maybe because he reminded me of who we’d been, some of my tension eased.
I grabbed at a topic. “Where did you go after you left? You disappeared back then without a word.”
Caleb pursed his lips. “I ran away to Beijing after fighting with my family. I signed with a company. They sent me abroad for music school.”
“Oh.” I answered flatly. “That company sounds pretty good.”
He glanced at me and snorted with laughter. “Please. Nothing like that falls from the sky. Turns out my mom couldn’t bear to see me suffer—she contacted people at the record label and set it up.”
“Oh.” I said again.
Silence filled the car.
We stopped at a light and Caleb gripped the wheel a little harder.
“Actually, I didn’t really leave without saying goodbye.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
He tugged up the corner of his mouth and showed those sharp little canines, mischievous like a small animal. “I came back to Riverside High to find you. I climbed the wall. You were in P.E. I looked over, then I left.”
He stared straight at me, and I felt awkward—but I told myself it was just the clinginess of an old friend.
“Thanks,” I said.
The car stopped at my building. I noticed with surprise that my apartment light was on.
I looked up and saw a silhouette by the window.
Caleb got out and, seeing me glance upward, followed my gaze. The light must have bothered his eyes because he squinted and asked, almost offhand, “Your boyfriend?”
I nodded.
He smiled, suddenly rueful. “What are you going to do about that?”
My mind flashed back ten years.
Back then, guys from another class had chased me hard—love letters on the breakfast table every morning. Caleb would snatch them and either eat them or use them as scrap paper.
He’d chew my oil stick and mutter, “What am I supposed to do if you date someone? Then I’ll have nothing to copy for homework.”
After he swallowed, he concluded, “So you’re not allowed to date.”
I blinked at him. Years ago I couldn’t see the link between dating and homework copying. “Do I need your permission to date?”
He dropped the teasing face and nodded seriously. “Yes.”
His tone from ten years ago overlapped with that small moment now.
“I don’t have homework to write anymore,” I said.
He turned his head and gave a smile that I couldn’t quite read.
“I’m off,” he said.
“Okay.”
The car faded from view. I wiped the smile away and looked up again.
Ethan Walker was still by the window, brows tight. When he caught my eye he stepped back and yanked the curtain closed.
I went up, opened the door, and was hit by a heavy smell of smoke.
Ethan had quit smoking years ago, he’d told me, because Claire Bennett didn’t like it. But he’d started up again after we’d been together—never this heavily, though.
He sat on the couch, eyes red. He looked at me and didn’t speak.
I was about to step past him into the bedroom when he called my name.
“Hannah Lewis.”
I turned, expression cool.
He looked thrown by my chilly demeanor; the words he’d prepared seemed to stick in his throat. The anger on his face dissolved into surprise. He said, “…you went out tonight?”
I nodded, hand already on the doorknob.
Ethan stood up, uneasy. “You used to tell me when you went out. At the very least, you’d leave a light on.”
I hesitated, then slowly turned to meet his eyes. “Didn’t you say Claire was with you tonight? I thought neither of you would come home.”
He had no reply.
His sudden silence sank into me like a weight. No matter how many years I’d stayed, no matter how our relationship had cracked and frayed, the second someone mentioned Claire I would always be second best—an unoriginal rose, the one left behind.
Ethan pinched his brow, helpless. “Her office is far, and it’s not safe to take a cab late—”
I looked at him like I was staring at a moldy old coat.
I felt too drained to argue. Arguing is what people in love do.
I nodded and said, “I understand.”
Then I closed the door.
The next morning Ethan was already gone. He hadn’t been back to the bedroom all night.
The company gave a few days off for the holiday. Because Ethan had asked me to keep our relationship a secret, I’d always told my family I was single.
Usually my parents would call around this time, asking about my love life. They’re old-fashioned, believing a woman’s best future is marriage and kids.
This year, though, they were unusually quiet. I thought maybe they’d finally come around—until that evening when Ethan came home and told me to change and get ready to go to a restaurant.
I frowned. “Are you meeting someone?”
His eyes flicked away. “I invited my parents. It’s been three years. Time to set the wedding date.”
A cold drop landed in my stomach.
“You… contacted my parents?” My voice trembled.
He shut his eyes and asked, “Are you unwilling to marry me?”
I looked straight at him. “Yes. I don’t want to.”
In the past I would have leapt at the chance to register our marriage, would have wanted the whole world to witness my happiness. Even a few months ago I would have.
But not now. I wasn’t going to lie to myself anymore. I knew Ethan didn’t love me. I wasn’t happy.
My one-sided love had become a joke, a spectacle for pity.
I watched him and didn’t even understand how he’d become like this. He should have been that confident youth at the podium—if he didn’t love me, he would still have shown me respect.
When I saw panic on his face, my eyes burned and tears slipped out. I didn’t know if I was crying for him or for myself.
He pulled me into a hug. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I’m just scared of losing you. I’m really just afraid of losing you…”
I cried so hard I couldn’t even push him away. The room spun, but a clear voice in my head said, You aren’t afraid because you love me—you’re afraid of losing something that was supposed to be yours, so you feel resentful.
I forced myself calm and said hoarsely, “Since my parents are here, let’s at least finish this dinner.”
Ethan let go and brightened, trying to muffle his excitement, and muttered several “Okay”s.
The restaurant was lavish—one of Riverton’s finest.
I wore a black evening dress and had my hair up.
When Ethan was promoted to director, his company had thrown a party. I’d bought this dress secretly, thrilled at the thought he might invite me—only to find out later he hadn’t even mentioned the event.
I think that party was held at this very restaurant.
I surveyed the room and felt a small, bitter laugh in my chest.
“Tonight we’ll have dinner with your parents. My parents arrive the day after tomorrow; we’ll have a joint dinner and finalize the wedding arrangements.”
Ethan sounded so pleased, smiling as he planned our future.
He turned to look for my reaction. In his eyes I saw a tired version of myself.
He paused, then slipped my hand into the crook of his arm—either to reassure me or himself.
“It’ll be fine. As long as it’s set, it’ll be fine…”
He tugged me along and I had to pick up my pace, but inside I felt hollow.
I didn’t love him anymore. I knew it.
Having loved before gives you a clear picture of what love feels like, and I could see, with painful clarity, that I no longer loved him at all.
You can’t finish all the calculus problems, but youth will run out. In a glittering city, there won’t always be sunny summers.
The elevator stopped at the twelfth floor. No sooner had we stepped out than Ethan Walker’s phone buzzed.
I glanced at the contact name. My heart clenched, then dropped like a stone.
Like standing beneath a building you fear will collapse—you’re terrified of both outcomes: that it will fall and that it won’t. And when it finally does collapse, you feel an odd relief, like you can finally breathe.
Ethan frowned and hit decline.
I stared at him in surprise. He acted as if nothing had happened and kept walking.
A few steps later his phone rang again. He turned, looking at me with worry in his eyes.
I tugged the corner of my mouth into a smile—whether it was genuine, I couldn’t tell—and said in a tired voice, “You should take it.”
He obeyed like a man receiving an order and answered.
A woman’s voice came through clear, thick with tears.
After a few minutes Ethan hung up looking troubled.
“Claire’s in trouble…” he said.
I didn’t hesitate. I cut him off, “Go.”
Ethan blinked, probably not expecting me to be so willing. He hesitated a few seconds, then added, “Are you sure you’ll be okay? What about your parents—”
I clenched my fist until my nails bit into my palm, then let go.
Sometimes there’s no real choice; what looks like a choice is just an opportunity to raise a white flag yourself.
This was my last step down.
Maybe Ethan, anxious himself, didn’t realize it yet. But I had to understand.
I was the one being discarded.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll handle it,” I said.
Hearing that, Ethan seemed to relax completely and dashed back toward the elevator.
Even as the doors were closing, he kept his head down, eyes on his phone—never looking at me.
I took a few deep breaths and lifted my skirt, planning to sit on the nearby couch. My phone vibrated.
A voice message from Mom—over thirty seconds long.
I tapped to play. Her excited voice filled the room: “Sweetie, Mom and Dad are at the hotel entrance! …Where’s the entrance again… Look at our girl—working in such a big city and with such a devoted boyfriend!”
Dad’s voice chimed in too, laughing. Their tone was full of pride.
I couldn’t hold it. I collapsed to the floor.
Hands pressed to my face, hot tears soaking my palms. I had no idea how I would face my parents, who’d come all this way to Riverton, seeing me like this.
I don’t know how long I cried. When I wiped my face and pushed up to stand, I stumbled.
Someone appeared out of nowhere and steadied me.
I looked back, blinking, and saw a familiar face.
“W-what are you doing here?” I stammered.
Caleb Park frowned, scanning me from head to toe. “Just finished a meeting—what’s wrong?”
Hearing concern, my tears threatened again. I dropped my head and shamelessly wiped them away.
“I’m fine. I’m okay,” I lied.
Caleb sighed, shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. He looked a little irritated, ran a hand through his dark hair, then called my name seriously.
“Hannah, you never used to be so polite with me.”
I froze and looked up at him. Before I could answer, he seemed afraid I might refuse him help.
“No matter what happens, I can help you—anything.”
Golden light flooded the room. The lazy revolving glass centerpiece on the dining table held an array of delicate dishes.
Caleb sat beside my parents and lifted his glass, nodding politely. “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, I’m Caleb Park.”
He drained the glass in one go.
My father, a small-town kind of man, sizes people up at the table by whether they can hold their liquor. Caleb’s gesture had won him over.
He clapped his hands together and kept saying “Good, good.”
My mother paused when she heard the name, then echoed, “Caleb Park?”
I bit my lip. Ethan had probably already told my parents his name when he called, and that’s why they were suspicious.
Caleb caught on, took my hand resting on the table, and smiled. “Forgot to introduce myself properly. I’m Caleb Park—Jenny’s fiancé.”
That line immediately drew my parents’ attention.
“My goodness, you’re getting married?” Mom gushed. I nodded, playing along.
Mom squealed, “Wonderful! My daughter’s getting married!”
Dad teased from the side, slightly tipsy but smiling, “Don’t go making a fool of yourself in front of your son-in-law. We don’t want people thinking our daughter will never find a husband.”
He sounded slurred but pleased.
I felt awkward, worried my parents’ enthusiasm would embarrass Caleb. I looked at him and met his laughing eyes.
He teased, pinching my wrist gently, “Little fiancée?”
My cheeks heated.
At the table I watched Caleb effortlessly steer conversation wherever it went. Stocks, small-town gossip—he had the perfect touch.
It was obvious my parents liked him. My dad, a little drunk, grew sentimental and talkative.
I Let Go When I Stopped Waiting
“When Hannah decided she didn’t want to get married, we were worried—she’s always been headstrong. We weren’t trying to force her, we just feared she’d be alone and taken advantage of… But then she met you. You better treat her right, or else—” he choked up, voice trembling.
“Or else I won’t forgive you!” he finished.
Mom quickly scooted closer and patted his arm, then smiled apologetically at Caleb. “He gets silly when he drinks. Don’t mind him.”
I couldn’t hold back anymore; my nose pricked and I wiped my eyes.
Caleb softened, serious. “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, don’t worry. Hannah’s in good hands.”
That night we settled my parents into a nearby hotel. It was already ten o’clock, and I decided to stay too, so I could keep an eye on them.
The night air was cool. I still wore Caleb’s jacket over my shoulders. When I finally had a quiet moment and caught my reflection in the hotel mirror, I realized how wrecked I looked.
Even with light makeup, it was a mess—lipstick gone, face pale and exhausted.
Luckily my parents’ eyes aren’t as sharp as they used to be. I sighed and pointed at myself. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Caleb gave me a sideways look. “You think I haven’t seen you like this before?”
He started counting off things with mock seriousness. “Remember sophomore year you cried over failing math and hiccupped through class? Senior year you face-planted during the fitness test—”
“Caleb!” I snapped, both annoyed and embarrassed.
He looked up and finally smiled.
For a second I was disoriented; I almost saw him in his blue-and-white school uniform with a basketball tucked behind his back, goofing around the way he used to.
Then he asked something that made me freeze. He seemed tentative. “Did you fight with your boyfriend today?”
My breath caught. Of course he asked. The small sigh he made felt like a dull knife through the heart.
I forced a brittle laugh. “His ex had an accident and called him. That’s why he left.”
Caleb stopped in his tracks, turned to me, frowned, and asked the question I couldn’t bring myself to ask: “Hannah—after all this, are you still not going to break up with him?”
Streetlights cast long shadows of us on the pavement.
I said, “Caleb, we’ve been together three years. I’ve sunk so much into us—time, plans, everything. Nobody’s perfect; it’s impossible to be rational and just let go the moment you know you aren’t loved.”
“I will leave without any lingering feelings once I cut him off completely—but not now.”
I met his eyes. “Three years is so long, isn’t it?”
Caleb was quiet a long time. Finally he reached out and brushed the tear from my cheek.
He agreed.
“Yes,” he said. “Three years is too long.”
The next morning my parents knocked on my hotel door. I opened it to faces bright with smiles and arms full of bags.
“You two are leaving?” I asked, confused.
Mom stepped forward. “We’re heading home. Seeing you here doing well makes us feel better.”
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know whether Ethan had told them he planned to meet his parents. Had he mentioned that? I wasn’t sure.
Mom must have seen the questions in my face. She took my hand and squeezed it.
Time had written lines on her face and hands. Somewhere along the way “Mom” and “old” started being linked in my mind, even though in my memory she was still the lively girl who’d pick wildflowers on the walk to school.
Her voice was gentle. “My daughter has grown into such a remarkable woman. I’m not worried you’ll make bad choices. Whether in life or love, your mother trusts you to decide.”
“What a parent must do is stand behind their child and support their choices.”
She looked so tender. I blinked hard to keep from crying.
They knew everything—about my heartbreak, about Ethan and about Caleb. Yet they chose not to pry, to play along with the imperfect scene and let it happen.
They didn’t need to know every detail to be there for me.
My dad stood behind her and cleared his throat. "Alright, what are you telling her all that for? Go on—your car's waiting downstairs at the hotel."
My mom smiled and patted the back of my hand once more.
"Don't come downstairs to follow them—take care of yourself, okay?"
I nodded hard, like I could repay every childhood apology I'd ever owed for thinking Mom's reminders were nagging.
I watched them walk away, closed the door, and lay back on the hotel bed.
The ceiling was gray and heavy.
My muted phone flashed with several messages from Ethan that had come through since last night.
"Claire, you not home last night?"
"How are Aunt and Uncle? Tonight I'll stay and eat with them, make up for my mistake."
"Claire got into a car accident last night—she doesn't have friends here except me, I really can't—"
Claire.
Her name again.
Seeing it, I hit the screen off.
I stared at the ceiling and remembered Mom's smile when she said she supported "whatever decision they make."
In that instant a sharp wave of guilt burst from my chest.
I used to think I could live my life with no regrets: if I loved Ethan, I would spend three years trying to warm his heart. Since it was my decision, I could do whatever it took and be responsible to myself.
But now, suddenly, I felt that wasn't enough.
A life isn't something you can prop up with just one person.
If Mom knew what happened to me, she'd be sad.
Mom would be hurt.
Just thinking that made the guilt squeeze my heart until I could barely breathe.
I sat up and opened my phone again.
The chat with Ethan was still on the screen. I took a deep breath and bit my lower lip until it hurt.
My fingers flew across the screen and sent a single message.
The green bubble read: "Let's break up."
(10) I went back to pack on a clear afternoon.
Ethan wasn't home. The apartment was a mess—cigarette butts thrown on the floor, windows shut tight. The smell of smoke hit me as soon as I stepped in.
He'd been living poorly those past days.
During that time he'd called and texted me nonstop—he'd been the one clinging, and now I finally understood what that felt like.
Being bothered by someone you don't like is truly miserable.
I frowned and searched the cluttered floor for a place to step.
I dragged my suitcase into the bedroom and swept clothes from the closet into it.
I didn't have much, even after living in that apartment for years.
Clothes, skincare, a few pairs of shoes.
Nothing else worth taking.
I stood at the foot of the bed and looked around. Even after just two days away, the place felt foreign.
As though I'd never belonged here.
Which, I realized, was true—I never really did.
The black throw pillow on the sofa was one of the few things we'd picked out together when we went shopping. I had liked a brown teddy-shaped pillow, but Ethan said it wouldn't match the decor. He took it out of the cart and tossed in a black one instead.
And the Disney plush.
On our second anniversary last year I begged Ethan until he finally agreed to go to Disneyland with me. But on the day we were supposed to leave, his office called and pulled him back.
That time, I went alone.
I hid my disappointment, tried to be fine, and when I brought the plushie home and offered it to him like a prized show-and-tell, he looked it over and said, "You're an adult—aren't you being childish?"
I felt wronged and tucked the plush deep into the closet. It didn't resurface until today.
Everything in this apartment quietly spelled out my hurt.
And now I was leaving.
I took one last look around, stepped out, and closed the door.
At the same moment, the keypad buzzed and the lock clicked. I froze and looked up to meet Ethan's eyes.
He looked thinner, and there was stubble along his jaw.
When he saw me his face tightened.
"Claire."
He called.
I gripped the suitcase handle and responded softly, "Mm."
Ethan came in and immediately saw my suitcase. Pain crossed his face.
"Do you really have to go? Do you have to—break up with me?"
Before I could answer he went on, "That night was my fault, Claire. I was wrong—"
I'd heard apologies from him a thousand times. If there had been any hope to salvage this, I wouldn't be standing here with my suitcase.
I cut him off, my voice firm with finality.
"Ethan, it's useless. I'm really tired."
People can sometimes learn to love someone who once hurt them, but what about when you're just exhausted? I looked at him like he was an exam I didn't quite pass—there was no energy left to try again.
Ethan looked at me like I was a stranger he never knew.
I could understand—if it were the old days, I wouldn't have said this, and he wouldn't expect me to find the courage to leave.
He gave a bitter smile, then looked through me as if remembering something.
"I once thought I didn't love you."
I slowly lifted my head and met his eyes.
"Until the day I came back from the hospital and the apartment was dark. I thought maybe we could get a dog together so you wouldn't be so scared at night."
"But when I turned on the lights, you still weren't home."
He looked at my face. "Claire, did I realize it too late?"
I didn't know what to say. It felt like finally getting the lollipop you loved as a kid—lychee-flavored—but now that you're grown, you don't like candy anymore.
I took a deep breath and let out one syllable: "Yes."
(11) The new apartment was rented near my office.
Moving day, I carried a box along the cobblestone path in the complex and suddenly saw a familiar figure.
Caleb was in gray sweats, walking a golden retriever, strolling slowly.
He saw me at the same time I saw him.
He took off his headphones, surprised, and hurried over.
"You're moving here?"
I nodded. "You live here too?"
He nodded back.
Then his eyes landed on the oversized box in my hands and, without thinking, he reached out to take it.
The dog, as if feeling ignored, barked loudly.
Caleb tilted his head and introduced, "Meatball."
I bent down and held out my hand, smiling seriously. "Hey Meatball. Looks like the name fits."
The golden retriever peered at my palm, head cocked, puzzled.
Caleb cleared his throat. "He hasn't learned to shake hands yet."
"Oh," I said twice.
Caleb hoisted the box and asked, "Which building? I can help you carry it up."
"Building Five, eighth floor."
He raised an eyebrow. "I live right under you."
I widened my eyes. "No way. What a coincidence."
Before we realized it, we were at Building Five. The dog got excited and lunged forward, yanking Caleb so hard he almost stumbled.
I caught him quickly. He steadied himself and, maybe it was my imagination, his face seemed a little flushed.
The elevator opened and we went up. At my door he put the box down and said, "I'll leave it here—I need to go back. Meatball hasn't eaten yet today."
I fished for my keys, thanked him, and opened the door.
Suddenly Meatball bolted inside, ears flapping, blissfully uncontrolled.
"Meatball—"
Caleb called from outside, but the dog was unusually hyped and ignored him.
Caleb scratched the back of his head, awkward as a father dealing with a rebellious kid.
I laughed and stepped aside, "Come in, have a seat."
I handed Caleb a cup of coffee and sat on the couch.
"What's your job now?" I asked.
He buried his face in the cup, sipped, and then said slowly, "After I came back from abroad I played in a band for two years. The band broke up, so I started my own business."
I teased, "So that Mercedes is boss-Caleb's own purchase?"
He narrowed his eyes, inscrutable, then drawled, "Not really—it's my dad's."
Before I could answer he added, "But I do have a Porsche I bought myself."
I nearly choked on my coffee, wide-eyed.
"Are you trying to make me gasp?"
He smiled and raised one brow. "Gotta set up the twist first."
Then he asked a question that seemed random but was tied to my answer.
"You break up with your boyfriend?"
I glanced at him and smiled, then nodded slowly.
Caleb hesitated, then said, "It's okay. After being in this city so long, maybe it's time for a change."
He nodded. "When you leave, tell me—I can come help you move."
I agreed, smiling.
(12) A few days after moving, I got a text from an unknown number.
"Tomorrow at 2 p.m., the coffee shop on People's Road."
I stared at the message, a guess forming about who it might be.
After thinking it over, I decided to go.
A light rain came down that afternoon and puddles gathered on the street. I stepped out of the taxi and my shoe hit a puddle—water soaking the hem of my pants.
Maybe because of the weather, the cafe was quiet. I pushed the door and immediately saw Claire sitting by the window.
The woman Ethan had been thinking about for years was naturally striking.
Back in school she had been like a gardenia—richly fragrant, weaving through groups of people, leaving a scent you couldn't brush off.
She’d put on heavy makeup today, but it couldn’t hide the exhaustion under her eyes.
I pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.
“Miss Bennett, what did you want to see me about?”
Claire stared straight at me, as if she could read something in me.
After a long moment she said, “Ethan and I are getting married. I wanted to tell you.”
She leaned back against the chair, looking at me with a triumphant air.
I smiled a little and held out my hand. “The invitation?”
Her gaze dropped to my palm and froze for an instant.
My smile widened. I withdrew my hand.
“You can’t produce one, can you?”
Claire’s smile drained away. She went silent.
I continued, “If Ethan really is planning to marry you, you don’t need to put on that haughty act in front of me to claim him.”
“Claire, you realized your place in Ethan’s heart isn’t what it used to be, didn’t you?”
At that, pain flashed across her face, quickly hardening into something fierce.
“Did someone tell him something about me? Ethan waited for me for three years. I came back—why won’t he even see me?”
I was taken aback. I’d suspected Ethan’s feelings for Claire had cooled, but I hadn’t imagined it would come to this.
“After you two broke up, Ethan started drowning himself in alcohol. I thought that would be the chance for us to get back together, but—”
Claire closed her eyes in pain. “Who knew he’d say he regretted it. He said he regretted not cutting things clean back then.”
For a moment I didn’t know what to say.
Human feelings are strange—quick to arrive and quick to leave. The lover who once swore forever can turn and abandon you, and the ex you once discarded becomes someone you can’t stop missing.
What I was grateful for now was that I had already pulled myself out of that whirlpool.
I hesitated, then said finally, “That’s your story, not mine. I’m not interested.”
I stood up and began to walk past Claire.
I know all too well what a woman crazed by love looks like—because I used to be that woman. That’s why I hate seeing people like her now.
I’m afraid of seeing my reflection in them and falling back into endless pain.
Unexpectedly, Claire jumped to her feet and called after me.
“Hannah, please, give Ethan back to me. I can’t live without him. I really can’t…”
Give him back?
What does that even mean?
If you treated someone as your possession in the first place, why disappear for three years and ignore them?
Not treasuring someone when you have them, then clinging on with resentment once they’re gone.
I looked back at Claire—her face streaked with tears—and felt nothing but disgust.
She and Ethan belonged to the same breed.
Not worth sympathy.
(13) During the New Year I went back home for a short visit. When Mom and Dad saw me arrive alone they didn’t pry; they just beamed and asked how I’d been.
I said everything was fine, I’d moved and now lived closer to the office; there was a notice from work and after another six months or so I’d be promoted and transferred to headquarters.
That’s when I realized—I only lived in that neighborhood near Ethan because it was convenient for his job. I could have transferred long ago, but I quietly declined several times so we wouldn’t be apart.
I’d been bending for him, betraying myself.
Now finally I was only thinking of me.
Dad was thrilled about the promotion; he opened a bottle of wine he’d been saving for years and drank until his face flushed. Mom held my hand and kept warning me, the way mothers do, to stay safe living alone.
I promised I would.
After the easy warmth of the holiday, I threw myself back into work. Without the weight of a relationship, life felt lighter and happier.
I got up on time, ate whatever I wanted for breakfast, lived in an apartment decorated exactly how I liked, and sometimes projected movies to watch at night.
But I kept running into Caleb.
Sometimes he’d be in the elevator, other times on a route through the complex, sometimes even at the supermarket.
He turned up so often that even I, who’m not quick on details, began to notice.
One afternoon in the park I ran into him walking Mushu. I smiled and said, “A few days ago I talked to Professor Liu. She said after graduation you asked her about where I went.”
Caleb tilted his head and didn’t answer. His index finger wound and unwound the leash until it was wrapped around the whole finger.
I asked, “Caleb, did you like me back then?”
Adult affection is straightforward; it lacks the awkwardness of youth.
He gave a soft “hm,” then looked down at me as if waiting for me to say something.
Caleb acted so casual I could’ve mistaken it for ordinary small talk if not for the flush in his ears.
I asked the question every girl asks when she receives that kind of confession.
“Why?”
He said, “I don’t know why. Maybe I realized it before I even could stop it.”
“Maybe it started when that kid Zhang sent you that love letter, or the time you fell during the fitness test—I could laugh at you, but I didn’t want anyone else to. I think that’s when I noticed.”
He looked into my eyes softly. “After graduation I thought I’d never see you again. Then you had a boyfriend when we met again.”
I couldn’t stand a scene that tender. I opened this conversation, but now I looked away.
I teased, “So you were plotting all along.”
Caleb sighed. “Not plotting—everyone else could tell, it was just you who didn’t.”
I glanced away. “Thanks.”
He smiled, warm breath at my ear, brushing back a stray hair.
“And that’s it? Just ‘thanks’?”
I met his meaning-filled eyes. “Sorry. Next year I’ll be leaving this city, so—”
Adult romance is candid, and adult rejection is practical.
It’s not that I didn’t care. It’s that life’s realities thin the romance. We don’t promise to wait when we graduate. We don’t say maybe you’ll come to my city and we’ll try. We’ve grown up. We know love is only one path among many in a long life. It’s not the only one, nor always important. You can walk on without it.
Caleb lowered his lashes and I couldn’t read him. After a while he said, “I understand.”
(14) Another six months drifted by without much direction.
When spring came I started packing.
Everything at home was dealt with; the apartment looked like it did the day I moved in. Caleb came by again with Mushu.
Maybe dogs feel things—Mushu’s mood deflated when it saw the empty rooms. It bit at my pant leg and whimpered.
I crouched and stroked its head. “It’s okay. I’ll be back in a year.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Only a year?”
I nodded and asked, “Leaves fall and return to their roots. I’ll come back to Riverton eventually—am I supposed to stay there forever?”
He made an “oh” sound and then teased, “Then Mushu and I will wait for you.”
I looked at him, annoyed. “Wait for what? Live your life.”
He shrugged, then got a bit more serious. “Take care of yourself. Keep in touch.”
I laughed. “You sound just like my mom.”
It was a bright, clear day. The bag wheels clattered across the airport floor, and the aircon made the skin cool.
Sitting on the plane, looking at the clouds outside, I thought about what Caleb had said at the airport.
He’d pantomimed with his hands: “At eight thousand meters up, I’ll see you off, and when you come back, I’ll be here waiting.”
Wait for me?
The plane window was cold under my fingertips and a chill ran to my heart.
I shook my head.
I decided not to hope.
That year I worked so hard I lost track of day and night. Occasionally I’d hear news—an old middle school classmate got married, a college friend had a baby.
Claire ended up going abroad again. As for Ethan, his name used to be taboo for me, but time blunted that, and people began to mention him around me.
Once a mutual college friend, somehow guessing I’d been with Ethan, called after we’d split.
His first question was, “You and Ethan broke up?”
I hesitated to deny it. We were broken up, and there was no need to honor Ethan’s earlier wish to keep things private.
So I said, “Yes. Why?”
He hemmed and hawed. “Do you know what Ethan’s become?”
I was silent because I knew he’d keep talking.
He sighed. “I shouldn’t say this to you, but as his friend I can’t stand it… After the breakup with Claire he wasn’t like this. You broke up and Ethan seemed like he’d changed. He started dating a string of girls—after a few days he’d break up. At first we thought it was him trying to heal, but then we knew something was wrong.”
“The first girl he met at a food stall in the campus town—clean-cut, with eyes like yours. The second he met at a bar; even we said her smile reminded us of you. Ethan fawned over her for three days and she went home with him…”
He tried to keep going but I cut him off.
“Enough.”
I took a deep breath and opened my mouth but had no words.
I couldn’t imagine what kind of man he described—just as Claire certainly couldn’t have imagined an Ethan who no longer loved her.
And at that moment I realized the bright, clear boy I’d loved could never come back.
Did I ruin him, or did he ruin himself?
I couldn’t save him.
Once I finally pulled myself out of that quagmire, I had no intention of crawling back.
So I said, “Tell him I’m sorry. Wish him happiness from me.”
My voice was unexpectedly distant—so cold it felt like frost had formed on my fingertips.
The person on the other end opened his mouth to say more, but I cut him off and hung up.
I turned to the huge floor-to-ceiling window of my apartment and stared at the gray sky.
“It’s going to rain.”
It would rain—then it would clear up.
When the sky cleared, things would slowly get better.
I wiped my face and found it wet.
(15) “It’s been a year—look at you, you’ve lost weight.”
“My girl’s home! My girl’s home! Old man, come see!”
Mom stood in an apron, spatula in hand.
To avoid them driving all the way to the airport, I’d only told them I’d be home soon—no exact date.
And likewise, I hadn’t told anyone when I’d be back.
Not even Caleb.
I didn’t know what I was afraid of. I was afraid he’d kept his promise. I was more afraid it had all been a casual joke from him.
So I chose to run.
Dad looked lively as ever, carrying a cat in his arms as he came out.
They’d told me on video calls that this was a stray from the neighborhood—looked pitiful, so they’d taken it in.
The little thing fattened up fast. The orange kitten turned into a pudgy orange pig. Mom almost couldn’t carry it; only Dad cuddled it all day.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? I could’ve made you a good meal.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t tell you so I wouldn’t be a bother.”
Dad put the cat down, dragged my suitcase in, then glanced at Mom. “Call Caleb and tell him to come over for dinner.”
I blinked. “Who’s ‘Caleb’?”
Mom, spatula in hand, nudged toward the kitchen—probably worried about a pot burning—and sounded a bit urgent. “Caleb—he’s been coming by all year. Since you’ve been gone he’s been like family, saying he was helping out in your place.”
“Now that you’re back, shouldn’t we invite Caleb to dinner?”
I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, listening to Mom coo at me like a child, and couldn’t help but laugh.
“If you want to invite him, go ahead. It’s just a meal.”
Mom clicked her tongue twice and looked disapproving. “You’re either clueless or pretending to be. I tell you, after a year I treat him like a son-in-law—tall, handsome, charming…”
I hurried to change the subject. “Mom!”
She glanced at me. “Alright, alright. Young people’s business—handle it yourselves.”
At that moment Dad, wearing reading glasses, looked up from his phone. “Caleb says he’ll be here soon.”
I folded my arms, pretending indifference while feeling my chest tighten.
Over the past year Caleb and I kept a steady, careful distance. He’d tell me little stories; I’d share work frustrations. Sometimes I’d think we were like two old classmates staying in touch after graduation—and then I’d close the message window before sending it.
The doorbell rang. Dad gave me a nudge and a look.
I opened the door.
Caleb wore a white tee with a black jacket—clean, bright eyes. “Long time no see.”
I said, “It’s only been a year. Not long.”
He replied, “It feels long to me.”
People who haven’t been properly loved instinctively want to run when faced with affection.
I turned my head. “Come in. My parents are waiting.”
Dinner was set. Mom greeted Caleb even more warmly than she greeted me, saying between bites, “Eat more, Caleb.”
Partway through, Caleb stepped outside to take a call. Mom picked up his jacket from the chairback, nudged her chin at me and said, “Bring that over to him—don’t let him catch a cold.”
I sighed. “He’s a grown man…”
My protest trailed off into Mom’s look.
I went to the balcony and watched him with his back to me. I was too far to catch everything, but I heard a few words: “set up a date…go home for the holidays…”
My heart jumped. I called his name.
Caleb turned and saw me. His expression was neutral.
Seeing his face, I felt a sudden surge of irritation. I tossed the jacket I’d been holding toward him and walked away.
He came back to the table a moment later and elbowed me. “What’s up with you?”
I shoved food in my mouth. “Nothing.”
“Really nothing?”
“Really nothing.”
(16) After dinner, Mom insisted I walk him out.
We hadn’t seen each other in a year. He looked a little thinner; his jawline had become more defined.
Hands in his jacket pockets, he turned to me. “You haven’t been back a year—Riverton’s changed a lot, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Skyscrapers rose faster than people could blink. Buildings grew closer, but people drifted farther apart.
I asked suddenly, without thinking, “When do you plan to go home this year?”
Caleb paused, then tapped his short-sleeve tee. “It’s too early to talk about that.”
Then he smiled. “My mom said that if I don’t bring a girlfriend home this year, she’ll tell me not to come.”
I froze. “Wait—your mom is making you go on blind dates?”
“No—”
He’d already pulled ahead a few steps when I blurted, “So you were jealous just now?”
His face went blank and he asked, “Hannah—so you were jealous?”
I looked at him and sighed. Too predictable.
I nodded and pretended to be calm.
Caleb stiffened. He lifted his right hand and rubbed the side of his neck.
He’d done that years ago when he couldn’t solve a math problem, or when he’d been called out for dozing in class. It was his go-to gesture for being flustered.
I sighed again. Caleb’s such a goof—smart, but sometimes he seemed not smart at all.
I took a few steps closer, grabbed the zipper edge of his open jacket, rose on my toes—and kissed him.
A quick, light kiss. When I stepped back, Caleb still had his right hand at his neck.
One second.
Two seconds.
He swore under his breath and stepped back in disbelief.
“Hannah, you ambushed me?”
I laughed and then an idea flashed through my mind. “Caleb, you haven’t dated in all these years, have you?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it. He wrapped his jacket tighter around himself like a shy, scandalized man and said with forced composure, “I’m leaving.”
I crossed my arms. “Fine.”
“I really am leaving.”
I made a polite motion for him to go.
He glanced at me, a trace of grievance in his eyes.
I watched him walk out of the complex and then turned homeward.
Just as I lifted my foot onto the step, a hand grabbed me. I stumbled and fell into a wide, warm embrace.
Caleb had run back, breathless.
He righted me and said, “I thought about it—and I think this kind of thing should be the guy’s move.”
Then his face was so close I could see every detail.
I must have been smiling, my eyes soft. I think he was too.
I remembered years ago when I first confessed to Ethan Walker. I’d asked him timidly to be with me; he glanced once and said yes, so lightly. I had taken ninety-nine steps for his single step.
But healthy love shouldn’t be like that.
Caleb had taken fifty steps—so I should take fifty as well. Mutual pursuit—that’s what love is.
Otherwise, how could we stand at the center of the world and hold each other?
…“Let’s go see my parents at the end of the year. Get married early next spring—okay?”
“You’re rushing.”
“I’ve waited so long. I want to fast-forward to the ending.”
“I never said I’d marry you.”
“Tch. Who else would it be? Even Pork Bun only recognizes you.”
“All right—for Pork Bun.”
“You sound so begrudging, Jenny.”
“Caleb, you deserve a smack!”
Sunset faded. We waited for spring, waited for winter to pass.
Time left its marks as seasons turned.
Seventeen-year-old Hannah never imagined she’d, after all the circling, marry the boy who was like sunshine.
But seventeen-year-old Caleb always did.
He always knew.
[Extra] Summer in Riverton never takes a break—heat rolls in relentless.
Sometimes when you love someone, you can live on the same street and barely see them. But when you stop loving someone, news about them hits you like a heatwave.
The AC hummed in the living room. I lounged on the sofa, legs draped over Caleb’s lap, scrolling my phone.
A photo popped up on a friend feed and froze me.
It was the backs of a newlywed couple. Blurry, but I recognized them immediately.
The photo had been posted by the mutual friend who’d called earlier—the same one who’d once called me and Ethan about that day.
A few years before, when I was getting married, we’d had a big wedding and invited almost everyone we knew. It was Caleb who’d asked me if I wanted Ethan invited. I’d smiled and refused.
His generosity wasn’t grand for its own sake—it came from how much he loved me. And my choice couldn’t break him.
Caleb watched me, stubborn. “You’re really not inviting him?”
I shook my head and smiled at him. “I’m afraid you’d drown the whole ceremony in jealousy.”
Over the years Ethan had tried every way to win me back—soft and hard. In the end I had enough and deleted and blocked every contact.
I hadn’t wanted to hide that from Caleb. I was more scared of what would happen if he found out on his own, so I always told him outright.
Caleb never got mad at me—he just sulked to himself until his teeth itched.
Late that night, the night of our wedding, I got a message from an unknown number: four words—“Congrats on the wedding.”
I knew who had sent it. I figured he knew I’d figure it out.
I hesitated a moment, then sent him one of the wedding photos we'd taken a few days earlier and typed, “It was pretty happy.”
Then I blocked the unknown number.
When Caleb saw that chat log, he grinned like he hadn’t closed his mouth all evening.
“Jenny,” he said, “you like me, don’t you? You do like me.”
I opened my eyes to a room still full of celebratory red, then gave him a withering look.
“I married you. Do you really have to ask something that dumb?”
He wasn’t offended. He flipped onto his side and pulled me into his arms. “Yeah, you’re my wife now. Of course you like me. You liking me—that’s just perfect.”
His syrupy words gave me goosebumps up my arm. I forced my head up only to find Caleb already closing his eyes, a smile tugging his mouth.
I never said anything. I shifted into a more comfortable position and drifted off.
The last thought before sleep was: yes, it’s perfect, Caleb. I’m glad it was you in the end.
After that day, Ethan never showed up in front of me again.
Then today I scrolled past photos from his wedding.
Scrolling down, I saw more—just like back then when I hadn’t invited him, he hadn’t invited me. I think he knew I wouldn’t come.
The bride wasn’t Claire.
The woman didn’t look like me or like Claire—cute, delicate, the demure type.
Word was they met through a blind date and married three months later.
As for Ethan, he looked different from the version in my memories. I thought about it for a long time and couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.
Later I decided it was probably because he didn’t love me anymore; when love’s gone, even memory won’t pretty up the person in front of you.
Sometimes I wonder about fate—Claire had four years, I had three, and neither of us got an ending.
Then I picture Caleb, hair a mess, sleepy-eyed, making me breakfast in the kitchen.
And I realize I don’t regret a thing.
My life is ordinary but not dull—work and home spinning around each other every day.
There was a period when Mochi got extra excited, bolting out the door the second it opened—Caleb couldn’t hold him back.
I only understood when I saw a golden retriever puppy playing on the lawn that Mochi had found his own love.
Caleb has always supported free love. Sometimes he beams proudly as Mochi rushes off and says, “See? Loyal—just like me.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at him; I still don’t know what he’s proud of.
When work’s slow, Caleb takes me back to that bar where we first met—The Harbor Bar, where he still performs sometimes.
He trades his suit for casual clothes; his peach-blossom eyes look deep and handsome under the dim lights, and a few young fans blush.
But after he finishes singing, he comes straight to me and takes my hand without a hint of embarrassment.
“Come on, wifey. Let’s go home.”
When strangers ask if we’re still newly in love, Caleb proudly shows off the ring on his left hand.
“We’re already married,” he says, sounding as triumphant as if he’d won the high school basketball championship.
I worried at first about his parents not liking me, but that turned out to be my imagination running wild.
His father is a bit stern, but his mother keeps herself well and is breezy—more like an older sister than a traditional in-law.
They never interfered in our relationship. If anything, they seemed more concerned about keeping their own love steady.
Sometimes I overhear Caleb on the phone, sounding exasperated. “Why are you pushing company stuff onto me? You want to go out with your wife—I do too.”
I peek over and see the caller ID: “Old Caleb.”
I can’t help giving him a look.
He pouts in mock grievance, like he’s tattling to me. “Right? Tell me yes…”
When I see the call still ongoing, I flush and reach up to cover his mouth.
Not long ago we had dinner at his parents’ house. His mother grabbed my hand and said I looked prettier than the last time she’d seen me.
His father isn’t talkative; his way of showing affection is practical—he handed me a bank card. I felt awkward and glanced at Caleb for help.
He snatched the card and set it down beside me. “Take it. It’s from the old man. It’s got to have some cash.”
Of course, his dad shot him a look.
Then his father asked, “Are you still living at Westwood Gardens?”
Westwood Gardens—that’s where I lived before the business trip. It’s also where I first ran into Caleb, since we lived in the same complex.
I blinked, instinctively asking, “What’s Westwood Gardens?”
His tone softened when I spoke up. “This kid—suddenly decided to stop living at home and rented some other place.”
He started to say more, but Caleb hurriedly cut him off.
Caleb glanced at me, stumbling over his words. “There’s a soup—I'll get it.”
I watched him go and rose to follow.
Seeing me, Caleb panicked like a guilty kid, his head bowed in apology—so much like Mochi.
“I didn’t mean to keep it from you… I was afraid you’d be mad… I was afraid you’d think meeting me wasn’t an accident…”
He trailed off, and I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around him.
“I’m not mad.”
Why would I be angry at someone who tried so hard to love me?
I lifted my head and looked him in the eye.
“Caleb, I love you.”
– The End –
by Fat-Brained Old Donkey Listens to the Wind
