Farewell, My Don Chapter 11

Farewell, My Don Chapter 11

Eva’s words pierced him like blades, slicing through his chaotic thoughts.

He stood paralyzed, face pale, as her question echoed in his mind: Do you love her? Or are you just used to her? He had never asked himself that.

No matter how many times he pushed her away, no matter how many nights he spent with Amara, Genevieve was always there–quiet, loyal, humble—waiting for him.

Eva watched him, her expression softening for a split second before turning cold again.

“Genevieve came to see me before she left,” she whispered, her tone still ruthless. “She said if you came looking for her, to tell you: The most painful thing isn’t hatred, but indifference. Dominic, I don’t hate you anymore. I don’t feel anything at all.”

Dominic staggered back, his back slamming into the brick wall behind him, the impact knocking

the breath out of him.

Did he not even have the right to be hated?

He had destroyed her, broken her heart, and now she couldn’t even be bothered to be

him?

angry

with

Eva shook her head, a final flicker of pity crossing her face, before turning to leave, leaving him

standing alone on the sidewalk.

He stood there for a full hour, his legs numb, before staggering back to his car.

He couldn’t go home.

Not to that empty mansion where every corner seemed to cry out Genevieve’s name.

He drove aimlessly through the city, the streets a blur of memories replaying in his mind: how she would wake up early to brew his favorite espresso; the handwritten notes she’d leave in his briefcase before important meetings; the way she’d curl up next to him at night even when he’d pushed her away.

He had always thought she was clingy and annoying–too desperate to please him, too quiet, too…

ordinary.

Now, without her, the world felt hollow and bone–chillingly cold.

He parked by the river, right at the edge of the pier, staring at the churning waters.

He took out his phone and opened his photo gallery.

It was filled with photos of Amara: Amara at parties, Amara on his arm, Amara laughing, crying, pouting. Photos of Genevieve were few and far between a blurry profile, her back in the garden a snapshot of her holding a coffee cup with a faint smile.

He scrolled for several minutes, his heart sinking, until he finally found a folder named “Trash”

folder he had never opened.

Inside was a single video dated five years ago, the night before their wedding.

The footage was shaky, looking like a secret recording, focused on Genevieve standing in front of a

mirror in her pajamas, practicing her wedding vows.

“Dominic, I do,” she whispered, her voice tinged with nerves yet full of hope.

She repeated the words over and over until she stopped, smiling at her reflection with tears

shimmering in her eyes.

“Dominic, I’m finally going to marry you,” she murmured, her voice so soft it was barely caught by the camera. “I love you. I love you so, so much.”

The video ended.

Ten seconds. Ten seconds of pure, unadulterated love–and he had never even realized it existed.

Dominic closed the video, his chest tightening, his throat burning.

He had been so blind, so consumed by his obsession with Amara, so certain that Genevieve’s love was infinite, that he had never stopped to truly look at her.

To look at her. The girl who had loved him since she was a teenager, yet was willing to be his second

choice, his substitute, his secret.

He got out of the car, the cold river wind lashing his face, and stood on the pier for hours until his phone died.

Finally, he drove back to the mansion, but he didn’t go to bed.

Instead, he knelt on the living room floor amidst the wreckage caused by his anger and began to

clean.

He picked up every item, his hands trembling, as memories flooded back:

The way Genevieve would laugh when he accidentally knocked over a vase; the way she would silently clean up the messes he made, saying without a word, “It’s okay, Dominic. I’m here.”

He went to the study and knelt before the bookshelves, his fingers brushing the spines until he felt something hard behind the bottom shelf.

It was a small, locked notebook–Genevieve’s.

He tried entering her birthday, her mother’s birthday, his own birthday; nothing worked.

Then he tried their wedding anniversary, and the lock clicked open.

The pages were filled with her handwriting, from shaky, youthful script to the elegant strokes he

knew so well–recording ten years of her life, ten years of silent love.

The first page was written ten years ago, when they were still in university:

[Saw him at the awards ceremony today, Dominic Rizzo. He was wearing a white shirt, his hair gelled back, looking as handsome as a god. All the girls were staring at him, but he only had eyes for Amara. They really are a match made in heaven. I wish I could be her.]

He flipped through the diary, his heart breaking more with every word he read.

The diary recorded how she watched him from afar, how she hid her feelings, how she saw him with Amara, and how she cried herself to sleep when he got engaged to her.

Then, on the day he proposed to her, the diary read:

[Amara abandoned him at the wedding. He looked so broken, so lost. I went to the bar where he was drinking, and he looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. He said, “Marry me.“]

[I know he doesn’t love me.]

[I know he’s just using me—to forget her, to make her jealous, to fill the void in his heart.]

[But I said yes anyway. Because I love him. More than anything. Even if it’s just pretend, I want to be his.]

[The diaries during their marriage were even worse–silent hurts, unspoken pain, and endless waiting, hoping he might one day truly see her.]

She wrote about their first wedding anniversary, how she cooked his favorite meal and waited all

night, only for him to return drunk and say he forgot.

She wrote about her mother’s funeral, which he missed to fly to Paris for Amara’s birthday party

She wrote about the nights he came home late smelling of Amara’s perfume, and how she pretended not to notice.

She wrote about the day she found out she was three months pregnant, and how she had planned to surprise him on his birthday.

The diary broke off there for a while.