He Gave Her the Ring I Wanted. I Gave Him Hell. Chapter 08

He Gave Her the Ring I Wanted. I Gave Him Hell. Chapter 08

I mentioned the news to my mother. 

She paused her soup spoon for a brief second before 

continuing to stir. 

She didn’t speak, but a tiny smile touched the corner of her 

lips. 

It was pure closure. 

“Wash your hands and let’s eat. I made the pork rib soup you 

like.” 

We shared our dinner in comfortable silence. 

After a while, the texts from Leo started up again. 

It was a new number, but the message was identical. 

“Angie, I know you’re in LA. I need to see you.” 

I didn’t reply. 

He tried again from another number. 

I blocked it. 

I ended up blocking over a dozen numbers in total. 

Then came the deliveries–bouquets arriving at my office day 

after day. 

The cards always read, “I’m sorry.” 

There was no signature. I passed the flowers to my coworkers 

and threw the cards straight into the trash. 

He thought I would eventually break. 

But he had no idea that during my time in LA, I had changed. 

I took up morning runs, started art classes, and worked on 

bettering myself. 

The next time I ran into Leo, it was during the first rain of 

autumn. 

I was walking home under my umbrella, and he was just standing there in the downpour without one. 

His hair was soaked, his cheeks hollow, and his stubble messy. 

Catching sight of me, his eyes flashed with hope before going dim again. 

“Angie.” 

stopped, keeping a distance of a few feet between us. “What do you want?” 

He spoke with deep pain. “I had to ask so many people—your 

coworkers, your friends—just to track you down here.” 

“I know I have no right, but I just need to say a few things.” 

I said, “Go ahead.” 

He kept his head low, forcing the words out with all his might. 

“I’m sorry. I was a monster for those eight years.” 

“I know I broke you.” 

“It wasn’t until you walked away that I realized how much you did for me.” 

“The fridge is always empty, I can’t find my clothes when the seasons change, and I still call out your name when I wake up, only to remember you’re gone.” 

“I ruined us.” 

I tightened my grip on my umbrella. “Are you done?” 

He bit his lip hard. 

“I took care of those things for eight years.” 

“But you never once asked me if I was tired.” 

“When I was there, you treated it like a given. You didn’t come here because you love me; you came because you miss the 

convenience.” 

“You got used to everything I provided, used to making me 

‘wait.‘ 

“But I stopped waiting a long time ago.” 

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. 

Rain rolled down his face, leaving him looking thoroughly 

pathetic. 

He had expected me to soften up, to say “it’s fine” just like the 

old days. 

But we only stood there in silence. 

After a long beat, his voice came out cracked. “Is there really… absolutely no chance left?” 

I gave him no answer. 

I walked right past him. 

“Do you hate me?” 

I replied, “I don’t. Hating someone takes too much work.” 

He never showed up again after that. 

A long time later, I heard through the grapevine that he had 

gone back to his old home in Sicily, taking up a low–level job at a small port, living a hollow life. 

I felt like a ship that had finally made port, no longer drifting, no longer forced to wait. 

From this moment on, tomorrow would never mean “wait.” 

Instead, I would be my own greatest anchor.