My Fiance Married His Childhood Sweetheart Before Our Engagement Party Chapter 12

My Fiance Married His Childhood Sweetheart Before Our Engagement Party Chapter 12

At the end of the second month, I took two days off and flew back to Boston.

The flight was short.

I barely closed my eyes.

When I arrived, it was already dark.

The streetlight at the entrance to my parents’ neighborhood had been replaced.

It was brighter than before.

My mother stood outside the building in the faded cotton jacket she had worn for years.

The first thing she said when she saw me was not, “You’re back.”

It was, “You lost weight.”

“Work has been busy.”

She pinched my arm, her mouth pulling downward.

She said nothing else and pulled me inside.

The table was full of food.

Sweet and sour ribs.

Steamed sea bass.

Garlic broccoli.

Corn soup.

All the things I loved as a child.

My father sat at the head of the table.

He looked better than I expected.

There was color in his face now.

More flesh too.

He glanced at me and said one word in a muffled voice.

“Sit.”

I sat.

My mother piled three servings of food into my bowl.

No one mentioned those three years.

No one mentioned Adrian.

It was as if nothing had happened.

But not entirely.

When my father placed fish into my bowl, his hand trembled.

The piece nearly fell onto the table.

After the bypass surgery, his hands were less steady.

I lowered my head and ate, my eyes stinging.

It was the most peaceful meal I had had in three years.

Halfway through dinner, my father suddenly said, “That Wentworth kid came again last month.”

My chopsticks paused for a second.

“Okay.”

“Your mother didn’t open the door.”

“Okay.”

“He left a box at the door. Said it was your old things. Stood there for a long time before leaving.”

My mother kept eating, her tone as hard as stone.

“What old things? He had the nerve?”

“Did you throw it away?”

“The box, yes. There was one thing your father stopped me from throwing.”

My father reached behind him, took something from the cabinet, and set it on the table.

My notebook.

Brown cover.

Worn corners.

On the front was one line.

[One Hundred Small Things About Adrian.]

I opened it.

The handwriting in the front was mine.

Written in ballpoint pen.

Some pages had small stains where water had blurred the ink.

[1. He always holds his cup with his left hand.]

[13. He doesn’t like people touching the back of his neck.]

[41. He bites the cap of his pen when he reads documents.]

I kept turning until entry sixty-seven.

The sixty-seventh was the last full line I wrote.

Entry sixty-eight had only half a sentence.

[He gets cold easily. In winter, he needs someone to…]

The writing stopped there.

That had been the night before the engagement party.

I was going to finish it, but Adrian called and asked me to deliver files to the office.

When I came back, I forgot.

But below that half-written line, another sentence had been added.

It was Adrian’s handwriting.

Square.

Heavy.

As if carved into the paper.

[Entry 68 completed: She gets cold easily. In winter, she needs someone to hold her. I knew this for three years and never did it once.]

At the very bottom, there was another tiny line.

So small I had to lean close to see it.

[Eve, I’m sorry.]

I closed the notebook and placed it on the table.

My mother put down her chopsticks and looked at me.

“Do you feel sorry for him?”

I picked up the notebook, walked to the old bookcase in the living room, and slid it onto the lowest shelf.

Beside my elementary school textbooks and middle school diaries.

All old things.

“No.”

I returned to the table and picked up my bowl.

“It’s easy to write sorry.”

“It’s hard to live sorry.”

“The distance between knowing and doing is a road he’ll never finish

walking.”

My father lowered his head and drank soup.

After a long time, he muttered, “Eat. It’s getting cold.”

My mother placed another rib into my bowl.

Outside the window, the new streetlight glowed steadily.

I finished every bite in my bowl.

—

## Epilogue

“Big news.”

Olivia’s voice message arrived the day after I returned to Silicon Valley.

“Sophia divorced Adrian.”

“What?”

“She filed. Apparently she met some guy whose family owns a logistics company. She moved out last week.”

“Did they sign?”

“Signed. Sophia took a car and two credit cards.”

Three months.

Their marriage lasted only three months.

He gave me up for Sophia.

Now Sophia had given him up too.

I put the phone down.

I did not feel anything special.

Not satisfaction.

Not joy.

Just calm.

The kind of calm that came from seeing something unfold exactly the way you expected.

That night, I went to eat hot pot alone.

I ordered a split pot.

Half spicy broth, half clear.

When I ate with Adrian, we always ordered clear broth because he did not eat spicy food.

I dipped a piece of tripe into the red broth.

The spice made tears come out.

But I was happy.

When I stepped out of the restaurant, it had started to rain.

I stood at the mall entrance and called a car.

Under the streetlight across the road stood someone.

Gray coat.

Much thinner than before.

Adrian.

The moment he saw me, his whole body froze.

Then he crossed the street and walked toward me.

I did not run.

I did not hide.

He stopped in front of me.

His dark circles were deep.

There was unshaved stubble on his jaw.

“Eve.”

“Mrm.”

“Sophia and I divorced.”

“I know.”

“You… are you doing well here?”

“Pretty well.”

His lips moved.

He seemed to rehearse and reject several sentences.

In the end, he said, “Can you give me another chance?”

“I know it was my fault. I know all of it now.”

I looked at him.

Rain ran down his forehead.

In the past, seeing him like this, I would have rushed forward and held the umbrella over him.

Now I only kept my umbrella steady above myself.

I did not take a step forward.

“Adrian.”

“Yes.”

“I used to think you were my whole world. I thought I could give up everything for you.”

“But you treated my can as should.”

“You treated my love like something owed.”

He opened his mouth to explain.

I raised my hand and stopped him.

“You said you know all of it now. Then tell me. How many times did you do anything about the fact that I get cold easily?”

He said nothing.

“You still don’t know my favorite brand of chocolate.”

“You watched your friends mock me and sent a laughing meme.”

“When you told me to sleep in the guest room, did you remember half that apartment’s down payment came from me?”

With every sentence, his body seemed to shrink.

“Eve, I’ll change. Give me time. I really will.”

“No need.”

I smiled at him.

Compared with the woman in that rented apartment three years ago, the woman who said yes to everything, I had finally learned to say no.

“You don’t need to change, Adrian.”

“I’m not waiting for you anymore.”

My rideshare pulled up behind me.

I closed my umbrella and opened the door.

The second before I shut it, I saw him standing still in the rain through the window.

Olivia sent me a message.

[He’s still standing there. You’re really not getting out?]

I held down the voice button.

“Some people are missed because they were too late.”

“Looking back is already too much.”