He Took My Love 99 Times. The 100th Time, He Lost Me Forever. Chapter 10

He Took My Love 99 Times. The 100th Time, He Lost Me Forever. Chapter 10

After the divorce, I moved into the small apartment I had bought myself.

The publishing house transferred me to the editorial department, to the children’s-book project I loved.

The day I signed my first author on my own, my coworkers bought me a cake.

Out of habit, I said, “You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

Then I corrected myself.

“But I’m really happy.”

“Thank you, all of you.”

So protecting your dignity and your needs doesn’t cost you everyone.

People who truly love you don’t need you to carve off a piece of yourself first, just to earn their

kindness.

Serena came to see me once.

No stage makeup. She looked far more worn.

“My legs have started hurting again.”

I had a researcher check.

The first medical transaction was permanent. There was nothing wrong with her legs.

It was fear that hurt.

“Annalise, will you take your love back?” she cried, gripping my sleeve.

“Without that courage, I can’t go on stage.”

“Dante won’t see me anymore either. I have nothing left.”

“Affection can’t be returned,” I said.

“Then forgive me.”

“If you forgive me, I can start over.”

I gently pulled my hand free.

“You don’t need my forgiveness to start over.”

“And you? Do you really not hate us at all?”

I thought about it.

“No.”

No relief came over her face.

If anything, she looked more ashamed.

Hate, at least, would have proved I still remembered.

But to me,

she and Dante were now only two names in a transaction log.

A year later, the Commission amended the Heart Covenant.

Continuous authorization was abolished outright.

Every transaction now required the donor’s own confirmation each time, and once cumulative

extraction passed five percent, the system automatically triggered a mandatory risk review.

The case number on the amendment was my ninety-nine transaction files.

That day, I was invited to the Exchange for a final verification of my files.

As I left the building, a man was standing in the rain.

He had grown thin. In his arms was the cardboard box of old photographs.

“Nina.”

He took a step toward me, then stopped, as if afraid to startle me,

“Today is the anniversary of the day we met.”

“When you were eighteen, it was raining just like this.”

I held my umbrella and listened quietly to the end.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

“That’s all right. I can tell you. A little every day. Sorneday you’ll remember.”

“Mr. Castellano.”

I remembered his name because of the files, not because of love.

“The file is clear.”

“It’s not that I haven’t tried hard enough to remember. You’ve already spent those memories.”

His eyes were red as he held the box tighter.

“Then what do I do?”

This time, no one answered for him.

I walked past him.

Rain drummed on my umbrella, bright and clear.

On my wrist, my personal terminal lit up with a new notice:

[Old emotional binding permanently cleared.]

[Current Affection capacity: 100%.]

[Owner: Annalise Vale.]

I turned off the screen and walked toward the corner where a coworker was waiting for me.

She waved and asked what I wanted for dinner.

I didn’t say “anything is fine.”

“Hot pot.”

“Sounds good.”

Behind me, Dante did not follow.

And I did not look back.

This time, all of my love belonged to me.