He Gave Her a Three-Day Honeymoon, Yet Called One Day With Me a Waste of Time Chapter 10

He Gave Her a Three-Day Honeymoon, Yet Called One Day With Me a Waste of Time Chapter 10

Grant began suffering from chronic insomnia. At night, lying on the half-empty bed, he kept seeing the way I

had looked at him the last time.

There had been no anger.

No sadness.

Only the calm that came after something had truly ended.

Late one night, he was looking through old photos and found a selfie from when we had first started dating.

I was leaning against him with a smile, holding an ice cream that was already starting to melt.

Only half of Grant’s face had made it into the photo.

Underneath it was a caption I had posted back then.

[Grant actually sat down and stayed with me until I finished my entire ice cream today. It was a good day.]

He stared at those words for a long time.

Then he kept scrolling and found the wedding plans I had made.

Dozens of pages in a PDF.

Every page was covered in notes.

Centerpieces.

Music.

Seating.

The photo wall.

I had even planned to choose one photo of us from every year since we first met and display them at the

entrance.

One note said:

[I think making a lot of the little things myself will make them more meaningful.]

Only then did Grant realize that the wedding he had always dismissed as “too much wasted time” was

something I had spent an entire year preparing on my own.

He had never once read through the whole plan.

On the final page, I had written:

[Grant, I’ve waited a long time for this day.]

He pressed the phone against his chest and, for the first time, cried until he couldn’t stop.

At last, he understood what I had meant when I said he had never respected me.

It wasn’t about forgetting one date.

It wasn’t about failing to spend a few more hours with me.

It was that I had spent an entire year carefully preparing something that mattered to me, and he had decided

it was unimportant without even bothering to look through it once.

Later, Grant came to Toronto again.

Every time he saw me, he apologized.

He said he finally understood what I had once given him.

He also said he wanted to win me back with the same amount of effort and sincerity.

One day, I finally stopped.

“So you keep coming here because you want me to forgive you?”

Grant nodded.

I looked at him..

“Fine. I forgive you. Now you can leave.”

I walked around him.

Grant reached for my wrist, but the moment his fingers touched me, he realized he had crossed a line and

immediately let go.

“Elena, I don’t just want you to stop hating me.”

“I want us to start over.”

“I’ve already planned the wedding you wanted.”

“If you’re willing to come back to Chicago, we can make an appointment at the county clerk’s office

immediately.”

“I don’t care how long the wait is.”

“This time, I won’t put work ahead of you.”

I shook my head.

“I’m not going back. And we’re not starting over.”

Grant was silent for two seconds before speaking.

“I can earn your trust back.”

I looked at him.

“You can change how you live your life from now on.”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m obligated to use my life as an experiment to see whether you can repair what you

broke.”

“What we had is over.”

“If you truly respect me now, then respect my decision.”

I turned and walked away.

After that, Grant really did stop showing up outside my office.

But my finance team soon noticed several unusually large wire transfers attempting to enter accounts

connected to me.

I told them to return every payment to its original account.

So Grant changed tactics.

He referred several corporate clients from his law firm who needed consulting for the Canadian market to

our team.

Some of those projects were priced extremely low, with almost no profit margin built in.

Our company’s performance continued to rise because of them.

I knew it was him.

But as long as the contracts were compliant, the clients were legitimate, and there were no strings attached,

I wasn’t going to waste more energy chasing down every business opportunity just to send it back.

Later, somehow, he got my new email address.

He sent me messages every day.

[I’m preparing to transfer part of my equity in the firm to you. The legal documents are already drafted.

Nothing will take effect unless you sign them.]

[I also revised my estate plan. That part doesn’t require you to accept anything right now.]

[I know you don’t want any of it. I just don’t have much else left that I can do.]

I never replied to a single one.

The last time Grant came to see me, it was raining.

He stood outside the office building without coming in.

After reception told me he was there, I walked out beneath the awning.

“What are you doing here again?”

Grant looked at me and, unexpectedly, smiled.

“Elena, I came to say goodbye.”

I was silent for two seconds.

Then I nodded.

“Okay.”

I turned and went back inside.

This time, he didn’t follow me.

He didn’t call after me either.

After that, he never appeared again.

Three months later, I saw a breaking news report.

A private boat had been involved in an accident off the coast of Maine.

Two passengers had been confirmed dead.

Grant Mercer.

Sophie Lane.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

A few days later, an estate attorney from a Chicago law firm sent me a formal email.

Through his will and trust arrangements, Grant had designated all of his personally owned, transferable

assets to me.

I didn’t keep any of them.

I had the attorney and my company’s finance team handle the necessary legal procedures.

Then I established an independent charitable foundation.

The foundation provides university funding, career training, and mental health services for girls raised in single-parent families.

My parents occasionally came to Toronto afterward.

Every time, they emailed in advance.

I never replied.

I never met with them.

I no longer needed them to choose me in order to prove that I was worthy of love.

And I no longer needed to wait for anyone to finally realize that I mattered.

Grant spent his entire life treating every minute as a cost that had to be calculated.

But he had never fought for even one minute with me.

Eventually, I understood something.

If other people didn’t put me first, that was okay.

My time, my career, my body, and my life had always been mine to decide.

From now on, whenever I made an important decision, I would first ask myself what I truly wanted.

The End