The Don’s Eternal Loss Chapter 07

The Don’s Eternal Loss Chapter 07

His messages were a mess.

He was probably drunk.

I hadn’t seen him lose it like this in ages.

“I read through every single chat log with Isabella after you left.”

“I don’t even know how to describe what I felt reading those words.”

“While you were being torn to shreds by those texts, I was sleeping soundly beside you.”

“While you were staring at those photos, I was helping the person who sent them pick out a

birthday gift.”

“I have no idea why she pulled those stunts. But I know this is all on me.”

“Elena asked me if I had any clue how many calls you made to her.”

“I told her I knew, I saw every single one, I just didn’t pick up.”

“I thought you were throwing another tantrum.”

“I don’t deserve you, Vivian.”

“I used to say those words hoping she’d soften up.”

“I’m saying it now because I know it’s the absolute truth.”

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I just wanted you to know that I finally get it.”

I stared blankly at the wall of texts for a moment.

Ultimately, I decided to reply.

Clearing the air once and for all to cut ties for good.

It was better than letting him drag this out.

Knowing his connections, he might actually track me down.

“Michael, you say you get it.”

“Do you realize that your lack of judgment cost three hundred and sixty-five days to drain away twelve years of my feelings for you?”

“From nineteen to thirty-one, I gave you my absolute best years.”

“In return, I got over a hundred ignored calls and an Isabella you couldn’t be bothered to delete.”

“The other person is typing” flickered on and off at the top of the chat box for a long time.

Finally, a single line came through: “I’m sorry.”

I waited a whole year for that apology.

Now he gave it to me.

Yet it was worthless.

I closed the chat window and went back to discussing a successful high-difficulty surgery with

Elena.

Elena looked straight into my eyes and suddenly asked, “Are you holding up okay?”

I thought about it for a second, then nodded. “Better than I expected, honestly.”

That wasn’t a lie.

I really was doing better than expected.

I had a job, a cat, and a home that caught the sunlight every single day.

I started waking up at 7:00 AM and turning in by 11:00 PM.

I started hitting brunch solo, catching movies by myself, and wandering through Whole Foods

alone.

I ticked off every single thing I used to think required a pair.

Turns out, you can do all of it by yourself.

And being alone wasn’t half bad.

The only adjustment was Mochi.

She still refused to crawl out from under the couch, only sneaking into the bedroom in the dead of night, leaping onto the foot of the bed, and curling into a fuzzy ball.

I told her it was fine, take your time.

Though I honestly had no clue whether I was saying that to her or to myself.

A few months later, Michael started posting weird things on Instagram.

Nothing like his old posts about corporate wins or hostile takeovers.

Back when he posted those, the comments section always buzzed like a mini convention.

Now, absolute silence hung over his feed.

Not because nobody saw it, but because nobody had a clue how to respond.

A mutual friend sent me a screenshot.

He wrote: “Cats hate moving, and people probably do too.”

The photo showed an empty living room, with only a ring of dust outlining where the cat bed used

to sit.

He also snapped a picture of that exact spot in the cafe.

The caption read: “Black coffee without sugar is genuinely bitter.

A third post was even shorter, just four words: “Number one hundred.”

He didn’t specify what number one hundred was.

I knew, though.

Missed calls.

He started calling me from that unknown number.

I didn’t pick up a single time.