It’s Not That I Didn’t Wait, It’s That You Never Chose Me Chapter 05

It’s Not That I Didn’t Wait, It’s That You Never Chose Me Chapter 05

Three hours later, the interstate coach pulled into the station.

I followed the crowd out through the gates and spotted my father at once, standing outside the barrier.

He was still wearing that same faded button-down, a sealed bottle of water clenched in his hand, craning his neck anxiously as he searched the stream of people.

The second he saw me, his cloudy eyes lit up.

He hurried over and snatched my suitcase from my hand with those rough, weathered fingers.

“Elaina, why’d you bring so little? Where’s Adrian? He didn’t come back with you?”

He glanced behind me, and for just a second, I saw the disappointment and awkward hope he couldn’t quite hide.

I pressed down the ache in my chest and kept my voice even.

“He’s tied up with a project. He couldn’t get away. I came back alone.”

My father paused, then quickly forced out a smile and nodded over and over.

“Right, right. Work comes first. A professor being busy is a good thing. Means he’s making something of himself.”

Then he brightened and started walking ahead with my suitcase.

“Come on, let’s get home. Your sister already washed all the vegetables. She’s just waiting for us to start cooking.”

His steps turned lighter.

When we passed the little convenience shop outside the station, he stopped, hesitated for a beat, then gritted his teeth and bought me an ice-cold Coke.

He handed it over like it was something precious.

“It’s hot,” he said. “Drink something cold. You used to love this when you were little.”

I took the bottle from him. The condensation was so cold it made my fingers shake, and suddenly a heavy tightness burned in my chest.

That was who my father was.

He could humble himself into the dirt in front of Adrian over a made-up idea of dignity.

And when money was tight enough to count every dollar, he would still buy me the one drink he would never have bought for himself.

That night, the three of us sat crowded around the narrow little table at home.

There was a plate of slow-braised pork my father had splurged on, along with a few simple dishes your sister had cooked herself. Your sister lifted her cup of soda, her eyes shining with tears.

“Dad. Elaina. I got in,” she said. “One day I’m gonna be a doctor. I’m gonna fix Dad’s leg and make sure nobody ever pushes my sister around again.”

My father’s eyes went red. He threw back a full glass of cheap moonshine and laughed through the tears.

“That’s right. That’s my girl. I’ll work myself to the bone if I have to, but I’ll put you through every last year.”

I looked at the two of them, and for the first time in a month, a real smile found its way onto my face.

And several hundred miles away, back in the city, Adrian pushed open the front door.

Bryce came in right behind him, directing the delivery guys as they hauled several huge boxes into the living room.

“Hey, Adrian, can I leave my new DJ controller here? A few friends are coming over tonight. We’re throwing a house party to celebrate.”

Adrian frowned slightly. “Don’t make it too late. I’ve got an academic symposium tomorrow.”

He changed out of his shoes, loosened his tie out of habit, and headed toward the study. “Elaina, get me a glass of ice water,” he called casually.

There was no answer.

He pushed open the office door, and his eyes landed instantly on the papers resting on his keyboard.

The divorce settlement agreement sat there in perfect stillness.

Beside it were the house keys and the plain wedding band he had bought three years ago with all the care of someone checking off a grocery list.

Adrian’s face darkened on the spot.

He picked up the papers, skimmed them, and let out a cold laugh. “So now she’s got an attitude. Playing hard to get, is that it?”

He pulled out his phone and called me.

It rang for a long time before I finally answered.

“Elaina, how long are you planning to drag out this little stunt?” His voice was full of the same arrogance and impatience it always carried.

“Sell the house and give you half? You’ve been a stay-at-home wife for three years. Have you earned a single dime for this household? What makes you think you’re entitled to half the house?”

On the other end, my voice came out almost unnervingly flat.

“I paid half the down payment with my premarital savings. I’ve also been the one servicing the mortgage schedule every month. You can check the records. If you think the split is unfair, we can settle it through formal divorce proceedings.”

Adrian went silent.

He had never expected me to speak to him in that calm, official tone.

“Elaina, all this over one stupid blanket? Fine. I’ll have Vanessa send your sister some imported goose-down comforter tomorrow, okay? Now get your ass back here and make dinner. The house is a disaster.”

“Adrian,” I cut in.

“I took the comforter. I don’t want anything else. Sign the papers when you have time. I’ll see you at the family court.”

Then I hung up.

Adrian stared at the dead screen, anger surging up so fast it nearly choked him. He spun around, strode into the master bedroom, and yanked open the closet, ready to throw all my clothes out and teach me what walking out would cost.

But the closet was empty.

Only his suits still hung there, neat and untouched.

He jerked open the lower drawer. The vacuum bag with the comforter was gone too.

Adrian froze.

Then something clicked to him. He turned and strode into the kitchen, ripping open the trash can lid.

Inside was a thick, handmade cotton trash bag.

The cleaning lady had come the day before. The shattered jar of homemade pesto he’d thrown away along with every last bit of it, was gone forever.

Adrian stood alone in the empty kitchen, and for no reason he could explain, his heart skipped.