Eight Years Together And I Was Worth Two Grand A Month Chapter 02

Eight Years Together And I Was Worth Two Grand A Month Chapter 02

Messages kept popping up on the screen.

[Julian told me you have depression and aren’t mentally stable; he was too afraid to bring up a breakup.]

[He was scared you’d end it all.]

[That’s why he’s been dragging it out, giving you a little allowance every month to keep you calm.]

I stared at the word “calm,” and a sour bitterness rose from my stomach.

I typed a line back: [How much did he tell you about me?]

Melody replied instantly.

[Everything.]

[About your mom’s mental health issues and how she jumped from the roof.]

[About you being bullied as a kid and how you slit your wrists in high school.]

[Julian said he’s been taking care of you, but he’s just so exhausted.]

[He said you’re like a black hole—nothing he does is ever enough.]

My fingers hovered over the screen; I couldn’t type a single word.

That was a past I had spent ten years crawling out of the abyss to leave behind.

It was the past I had finally conquered so I wouldn’t wake up screaming in the middle of the night, so I could walk alone in the dark without shaking, so I could finally smile at my reflection.

Julian had told me that my trauma wasn’t a burden to him.

He said he would never tell a soul.

Now, a woman he’d known for less than three years knew exactly where my scars were better than I did.

Melody continued.

[I’m not trying to hurt you.]

[At first, Julian didn’t say he had a girlfriend. Later he confessed, and I agreed to wait for him.]

[But we are truly in love. Look, this is the birthday gift he got me last month.]

An image popped up.

A Tiffany necklace next to a bouquet of red roses.

The card read: [Melody, Happy Birthday. Here’s to the rest of our lives together.]

It was my birthday last month.

Julian sent me a text: [Happy Birthday. I’ll make you dinner tonight.]

Not even a flower.

After he finished cooking, he went straight to the bedroom, saying he was tired.

I ate that dinner alone in the living room, and I actually thought I was happy.

Melody sent a voice note.

I clicked it—a high-pitched, flirtatious voice.

“Sera, Julian only loves me. He says you’re too clingy, you’re suffocating him. Just let him go, and let yourself go too, okay?”

I turned off my phone and walked onto the balcony.

The night wind stung my face.

The streetlights below cast a warm yellow glow; people were walking fast, and no one stopped.

I stood there for a long time until my shoulders grew cold.

Back inside, I replied to her.

[Thank you for telling me all this.]

She replied instantly: [So you’re willing to step aside?]

I didn’t answer.

A day later, Julian walked in quietly.

The boarding pass was still stuck to his suitcase; he had changed into clean clothes.

Seeing me on the sofa, he smiled and handed me a paper bag.

“Sera, the business trip was so busy. I brought you some pastries from the bakery.”

I took them.

A 15 dollar box of generic supermarket cookies. He went on a trip and brought me 15 dollar cookies.

For that woman, it was a 68,000 dollar ring.

I looked at his face and asked him word for word.

“Julian, where did you actually go for this ‘business trip’?”

He said Seattle.

I said, “Then why did Melody St. James post photos of you two in Miami the day before yesterday?”

The living room fell into a sudden, heavy silence.

The smile on Julian’s face froze.

He slowly sat on the other end of the sofa, interlaced his fingers, and lowered his head.

After a long time, he spoke.

“You know everything.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was a cold, hollow sigh.