My Perfect Fiancé Was Living a Second Life in Messages Chapter 09

My Perfect Fiancé Was Living a Second Life in Messages Chapter 09

On the seventh evening, I had just finished a sketch when my phone buzzed.

A message from Amanda popped up.

[Veronica, I don’t know if I should tell you this. But I think you should know.]

Attached was a photo.

The small safe in the corner of James’s office.

The one I had never opened in five years.

Now the door stood open.

Amanda had taken the picture when she went to the old house. My mother had asked her to pick up some

things.

The safe was mostly empty. Only one box remained.

Another message from Amanda followed.

[I was curious, so I opened it. Veronica… just see for yourself.]

A second photo came through, the box was open.

Inside lay a diamond ring.

It was a top-tier oval cut, nearly colorless, catching the light and refracting a blinding gleam in the photo.

Inside the band, in tiny engraved letters: [Veronica, my only one.]

I stared at the photo, my fingers frozen on the screen.

Amanda’s messages kept coming.

“There was other stuff in the safe too, a stack of receipts, all from auction houses.”

“He started bidding on this diamond about two years ago. It went unsold a few times, but he kept going after

The final price… six figures.”
“And there was a folder of handwritten wedding plans, not the generic template timeline we saw. He wrote

this himself, line by line.”

“The venue had to face the ocean. The favors had to be the flower petal brooch you designed. He wanted to

play a song you loved in college during the ceremony.”

“Next to each item, he had written down exactly what you had said, word for word. The earliest note was dated three years ago.”

I put down my phone. My fingers felt numb.

Three years ago. That was two years into our relationship.

I had said I wanted a wedding facing the ocean.

He said, “Too much trouble.”

I said I wanted to use my own design for the wedding favors.

He said, “Too childish.”

He said no to everything.

But he had written it all down, every time.

I closed my eyes.

You knew exactly what would make me happy. You just never wanted me to know.

I put on my jacket and went downstairs.

James was in his usual spot.

When he saw me come out, his whole body went rigid.

I walked up to him with no small talk.

“That diamond in your safe, when did you buy it?”

His face went still.

His lips parted, but no sound came out.

“You started bidding on it two years ago, didn’t you?” I looked into his eyes.

“And you wrote those wedding plans yourself. The oceanfront venue. The brooch I designed. The song from

college. You remembered all of it.”

James’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

He dropped his gaze, his voice low and shaking. “How do you know all that?”

“So you did know.” I didn’t answer his question. I spoke slowly, one word at a time. “You knew what I wanted. You understood everything.”

“But you never gave it to me.”

“You told me my design was childish, then had it made into a brooch just to show off for someone else.”

“You told me an oceanfront wedding was too much trouble, then secretly wrote an entire plan and let it collect dust in your safe.”

“You spent six figures chasing a diamond, but couldn’t even remember I don’t like sweet things for breakfast.”

I watched the color drain from his face, bit by bit.

“James, it’s not that you don’t know how to love. It’s that you didn’t think you needed to let me know you

loved me.”

“You treated me like someone who didn’t need to be courted, who wouldn’t leave, who would wait forever in

the same spot.”

James stood under the streetlight, his shadow stretching long behind him.

His hands hung at his sides, fingertips trembling slightly.

He wanted to reach for me, I could tell. But he didn’t.

Finally, he said in a hoarse whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Five years, the first time he had ever said he was sorry.

Not “I’ll change or “Come back.”

I’m sorry.

But when I heard those two words, I felt nothing.

I was already completely hollow. Even if my heart had ever burned for him, there was no bringing it back

now.

“James, go home.”

“Keep that diamond or return it, I don’t care.”

“Keep those plans or delete them, I don’t care.”

“But don’t give them to me.”

“I don’t want any of it anymore.”

Then I turned and went back upstairs.

This time, I didn’t stand by the window watching him.

I pulled the curtain shut and turned off the lights.

The streetlight downstairs stayed on all night.

I don’t know how long he stood there.

But the next morning, when I opened my door, there was no breakfast bag, and no Post-it note either.

He was gone.