He Said Waiting Is Romantic But Not For Me Chapter 10

He Said Waiting Is Romantic But Not For Me Chapter 10

A month later. 

My lawyer called. 

“Elise–Mr. Harrison signed.” 

The lawyer’s voice held a note of quiet surprise. 

“He delivered the papers himself. Looked like he’d been through a serious illness. He’s lost so much weight. He didn’t ask for any assets. The house in Oakhaven–he transferred it 

to your name voluntarily.” 

I flipped through a proposal on my desk as I listened. 

“Sell the house. After fees, half goes to my mom. The other 

half goes to a women’s fund in rural communities.” 

box. 

The lawyer paused, then said, “Okay. I’ll handle it.” 

Two weeks later, the house went on the market. 

The realtor sent a video confirmation. 

In the video, the house was empty. 

Cole sat on the living room floor. Next to him, a cardboard 

Inside the box: an old water cup I’d used. And a plush throw pillow I’d thrown out. 

He was stroking the pillow. Like a mannequin with no soul. 

He’d taken nothing else. Just the trash I’d left behind. 

Cole still ran his company. He was still alive. 

But he would never again have the woman who kept the light on for him at night, who stayed by his side when things got hard. 

He’d spend the rest of his life chewing on the regret of losing her. 

Walking the same streets. Eating the same food. Getting carved up by memories every single time. 

It was worse than any punishment anyone could ever give him. 

Two years later. 

Paris. Charles de Gaulle Airport. 

I’d just finished a major business summit in Europe and was about to fly to New York. 

I wore a sharp trench coat and pulled a silver carry–on behind me. My steps were light as I moved through the terminal. 

These past few years, I’d flown over countless cities, crossed endless time zones. 

I’d bought myself the most beautiful flowers. Eaten at the hardest–to–book restaurants. 

No more catering to anyone else’s tastes. No more waiting for anyone to turn around. 

The flight announcement echoed through the PA. 

I handed my passport to the gate agent. 

Once we reached cruising altitude, we hit a little 

turbulence. 

pale. 

The cabin stirred with soft murmurs. 

The young woman next to me grabbed her armrest, face 

I turned to her and gave a gentle smile. 

Just light chop.” 

“Don’t worry. 

She looked at my calm face and seemed to settle down almost instantly. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You seem so… gentle. And strong.” 

I turned my head toward the window. 

Sunlight broke through the clouds and spilled across the wing, bouncing off in golden streaks. 

Once upon a time, I was afraid of takeoff. 

Because I was terrified that when I landed, no one would 

be there. 

But I wasn’t afraid anymore. 

Because I’d learned how to be my own beacon. 

Wherever I fly–that’s where I belong.