After I Left, He Begged on His Knees to Bring Me Home Chapter 09

After I Left, He Begged on His Knees to Bring Me Home Chapter 09

Two more months passed.

One evening, when I walked out of the studio, the sky had just started to darken and the streetlights

hadn’t turned on yet.

Someone was standing at the entrance.

It was Vivian.

She had lost a lot of weight. Her cheekbones were sharper, dark shadows under her eyes.

She wore a white down jacket zipped all the way up, her chin buried in the collar.

She didn’t look anything like the polished woman I remembered.

The moment she saw me, her eyes turned red and tears fell instantly.

“Delaney… please.”

I didn’t respond.

“Delaney, I’m begging you. Go back. Griffin doesn’t talk to anyone anymore. He kicked me out. He gave me everything just so I wouldn’t show up again. He really loves you-please go back to him.”

Her tears fell hard, one hanging on her chin, catching the streetlight as it shook.

She reached for my sleeve. Her fingers were freezing cold, nails cut short.

“Are you done?” I said flatly. “If you’re done, I’m leaving.”

“Delaney… are you really this heartless?”

I pulled my sleeve free.

“Vivian Hayes, didn’t you always want him? I’m giving him to you now. Take him.”

The words had barely left my mouth when a car screeched to a stop at the curb.

Griffin rushed out.

His expression wasn’t anger.

It was fear.

His eyes were wide, pupils tight, lips trembling.

He ran straight toward me, saw Vivian standing there, saw her hand reaching out-and shoved her

hard.

She fell.

Her head hit the edge of the steps with a dull, sickening crack.

Blood seeped through her hair immediately, sliding down her ear and soaking into the shoulder of her white coat, spreading into a dark red stain.

He didn’t even look at her.

“Delaney, I have nothing to do with her anymore. You have to believe me.”

I looked down at Vivian on the ground.

She held the back of her head, blood slipping through her fingers.

There was no hatred in her eyes, only despair.

Her lips moved, trying to say something, but no sound came through.

“Griffin Mercer,” I said, my voice steady, “you just hit a woman who’s been with you for fifteen

years right in front of me. Do you think I’m going to be moved by that? Do you think that makes you

look like a man?”

“I think you’re terrifying.”

“Today you can shove her. Tomorrow you can shove me.”

He froze, like someone had dumped ice water over him.

“Delaney! I would never hit you. Never!”

I walked around them toward my car.

He kept shouting behind me.

I didn’t stop.

I got in, started the engine.

In the rearview mirror, he was still standing there.

Vivian was still on the ground.

Neither of them had moved.

Streetlights flickered on, washing them in white light, their shadows stretched across the

pavement.

That night, I unblocked his number just long enough to send one message.

[Griffin Mercer, don’t look for me again. I won’t appear in your life anymore. Don’t appear in mine

either. If you do, I’ll file for a restraining order.]

I blocked him again immediately.

Then I went through my phone-blocked every social account of his, left every shared group chat,

I set the phone down and went to pour a glass of water.

The kettle still had water from earlier in the day.

It had gone cold.

I took a sip but didn’t swallow right away, just held it in my mouth.

My mind kept replaying the moment he shoved Vivian.

I didn’t feel sorry for her.

I just felt absurdity.

He had spent fifteen years taking care of her, eight years calling her every night at eleven, and in

the end he shoved her to the ground with his own hands.

If he could do that to her, he could do it to me too.

I didn’t need that kind of love.

And I didn’t dare take it.