Chapter 5
Nathan reluctantly withdrew his hand and slunk away with Rachel’s friends.
I stood silently, clutching Susan’s portrait, fighting desperately to hold back my tears.
Over the years, I’d endured so much.
I’d slept on construction sites, and my skin was sunburned under the scorching sun. I’d delivered food on my bike in the dead of night and even survived a crash.
A man had to be tough, they said.
I never cried. Not once.
But Susan’s death? It broke me. I’ve cried more times than I can
count.
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Rachel sobbed beside me. After a long silence, she spoke. “Ryan, can’t you give me another chance?”
I gazed into her pretty eyes. I waited until I saw fear, uncertainty, and anxiety reach their peak in her expression.
Then, I spoke slowly. “Why don’t you go ask my mom?” My eyes held nothing but cruelty and hatred.
Rachel’s face turned pale. She swayed, barely standing. “Ryan… You weren’t like this before.”
How was I before?
Back then, when I looked at her, my eyes were always full of love.
I’d cook three square meals a day for Rachel, even though she was a picky eater. If she got tired of the usual and wanted a Simple street pancake, I’d walk three blocks to get it for her. No32
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say “thanks.”
Whatever she wanted, I’d do without question.
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Even when she “accidentally” soaked my laptop, I couldn’t bring myself to scold her.
The day we got together, she hugged me tenderly and promised, “Ryan, we’ve got forever.”
But in the blink of an eye, Nathan returned from abroad.
On our dates, she began to drift off frequently. The jasmine scent she wore started mixing with the aroma of Azure cologne.
Nathan, feeling dejected, posted on Instagram: [In love, the one who isn’t loved is the real third wheel.]
38 followed with her own post: [I hope the years to come will23
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filled with someone I truly love.]
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All this time, I thought Rachel was professing her love for me.
Now I understood. Those cryptic captions I couldn’t decipher were secret messages between the two of them.
I turned to her, my voice cold. “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be comforting the man you love?”
She must have thought of that Instagram post too. Her lips lost all color as she spoke, her voice trembling. “Ryan, please don’t be like this. You’re scaring me…”
My emotions suddenly snapped. I grabbed her wrist, my grip tight and angry. “Scared? Do you have any idea how much my mom suffered when she couldn’t breathe? Do you know how terrified she was lying on that cold operating table? Why don’t you try dying yourself and see how it feels?”
Rachel opened her mouth, guilt written all over her face. I thre
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out the door, not caring about her pain.
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She looked a mess, her eyes red with tears as she reached out to me. “Ryan, it hurts. I need a hug…”
This was our old signal for making up.
In the past, whenever she made a mistake and said those words, I’d rush to comfort her.
But now, I looked down at her coldly. “Rachel, your hands are stained with blood. They disgust me.”
The color drained from Rachel’s face.
*****
After Susan’s funeral, I shut myself in my room for three days
568 nights.
and
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During that time, Rachel persistently tried to see me, but I
avoided her.
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She tried everything – messaging me from different accounts, writing long apology texts, sending flowers to my door. The pampered heiress even learned to make breakfast and bring it
over.
All tricks I once used on her. But I didn’t read a single word of her messages.
When she held out her fingers, reddened from cooking, she said, “Ryan, look. I burned my hands making breakfast for you.”
Love that came too late was worthless. This wasn’t the first time she’d made breakfast for me, but it was the first time I didn’t
care.
I saw the redness on her fingers, and for a second, I felt a pang of guilt. But then I was scrolling through my phone and saw Nathan had posted the same picture on Instagram.
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I couldn’t resist zooming in, searching for any subtle differences between the two.
In the bottom right corner, I spotted the ring I’d given Rachel on
the woman’s hand.
I often wondered how a woman’s heart could be divided
between two men. How could Rachel so shamelessly wear the ring I gave her while making breakfast for another man?
It was because she took my love for granted.
But now, that love was gone.
I carelessly took the breakfast and tossed it in the trash. “Garbage belongs in the garbage can,” I said. “And so do you.”
Her eyes welled up with tears. She hurriedly bowed her head, letting them fall silently to the floor. In a choked voice, she asked, “What do
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I have to do for you to forgive me?”
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