After I Left, He Begged on His Knees to Bring Me Home Chapter 08

After I Left, He Begged on His Knees to Bring Me Home Chapter 08

A few more months passed.

I moved to another city and opened my own studio.

It wasn’t big–just two rooms, one for work and one for meetings.

A pothos plant sat on the windowsill, its vines already trailing down toward the floor.

That afternoon, I was in a client meeting going over a proposal.

The conference room was on the second floor, facing the street.

My assistant pushed the door open, her expression off.

She leaned down beside me and lowered her voice.

“There’s a man outside. He’s kneeling in the plaza holding a sign. He says his name is Griffin

Mercer. Your husband.”

The client looked at me. I looked back at her. “Give me a moment.”‘

I stood up and walked to the window.

He was kneeling in the center of the square below.

Nothing under his knees-just gray stone pavement.

In his hands was a cardboard sign with bold black letters: [Delaney, I was wrong. Please give me

another chance.]

A crowd had gathered. Some were filming. Others whispered among themselves.

I stared for two seconds. “Have security remove him.”

My assistant went downstairs.

She came back a while later and said he refused to leave unless I came down.

“Call the police.”

Uniforms arrived soon after. Two officers stood beside him, talking for a long time.

He didn’t move. The sign stayed raised.

Eventually, one officer grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

His knees buckled as he stood, almost falling before someone steadied him.

He turned and looked up toward my office window.

I was already gone.

The next day, a college classmate called me.

“Delaney, he found me. He said he wants to see you one last time. He promised he’ll never bother

you again after that.”

“Where?”

“He booked a restaurant. I’ll send you the address.”

I went.

It was a small place.

He sat in a booth in the corner. His beard hadn’t been shaved. Dark shadows sat under his eyes.

“Delaney.”

“Sit.”

He sat down and placed both hands on the table, fingers interlocked.

“I gave up all my company shares. I transferred the apartment into your name. The paperwork’s done. I’ve cleared everything out-there’s nothing left.”

I lifted my glass of water and took a sip.

“So you think giving up your company and handing me the apartment is supposed to move me?”

His fingers tightened.

“Griffin Mercer, you didn’t do any of this for me. You did it for yourself. You feel guilty, and now you’re trying to balance it out with sacrifice. But I’m telling you-it doesn’t balance anything.”

His face slowly drained of color.

“You’re kneeling outside because you can’t stand being the man who lost his wife. You gave up your

company because you think it buys you peace.”

I took three hundred dollars from my bag and placed it on the table.

“This meal is on me. Don’t look for me again.”

“Whatever you do from here on out has nothing to do with me. No matter how miserable you make yourself, I won’t feel bad for you anymore.”