Thanks to my father’s relentless efforts, I married to my now husband.
For five years, he played the role of a perfect husband. He once shielded me from an oncoming car, resulting in the amputation of his right lower leg. Now, he walks with a prosthetic. Despite his busy schedule, he always found time to plan trips, helping me fulfill my dream of traveling the world.
I was spoiled, willful and prone to unreasonable outbursts, but he never lost his temper. Instead, he found creative ways to make me smile.
Over time, I let myself believe that he loved me as much as I loved him. That we were in a mutual, devoted relationship.
Then Kya Tucker reentered our lives and Sydney began to distance himself, responding to me with half-hearted indifference.
It hit me like a thunderbolt—Sydney had never forgotten his first love. So, I stripped him of the resources he had used to pamper her, ready to let go. But Sydney wasn’t willing to let go.
***
I had secretly loved Sydney Boyer for four years, watching from the sidelines as he and Kya lived a romance straight out of a fairytale. Kya was the pampered daughter of a wealthy family, while Sydney was a struggling young man who delivered food to make ends meet. Despite their vastly different worlds, Kya pursued him relentlessly and eventually, they fell in love.
But fate wasn’t kind. During their graduation year, Kya’s family went bankrupt.
Rumor had it that Kya, unable to endure hardship, broke up with Sydney and left the country with a rich heir. Afterward, Sydney devoted himself to making money.
My father, grateful for Sydney’s loyalty and also aware of my feelings, set the stage for our marriage. Everyone who knew us warned me against it. They said Sydney was a man who alternated between love and resentment for his “perfect first love.”
Kya, they claimed, would always be a hidden danger in our marriage—a time bomb waiting to go off. But I didn’t believe them. I was determined to fight for us and have him completely.
After we got married, it seemed like Sydney had truly forgotten Kya.
He remembered my love for spicy food, meticulously planned every trip we took and in moments of intimacy, whispered my name over and over, telling me he loved me.
He called me his wife with such affection that I began to think we had left the past behind.
By the fourth year of our marriage, he gently coaxed me, “I heard rich people say won’t feel pain during a childbirth. Why don’t we have two kids? A girl that will carry your beautiful eyes and a boy with you beautiful brain.”
I laughed at his playful tone. “Or a boy as sweet and kind as you!”
That night, we decided to try for a baby.
When I finally got pregnant, I was ecstatic. Excitedly, I went to share the news with Sydney.
But life has a cruel sense of timing. On that same day, Kya came back and Sydney completely lost control.
Hearing from his assistant that he had gone to a class reunion, I was stunned.
Sydney had always despised those spoiled heirs, never attending any of their gatherings. He had even discouraged me from going.
Was this a whim?
I brushed aside my doubts, grabbed my ultrasound report and headed to the restaurant.
When I opened the door to their private room, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of Kya.
Instinctively, I looked for Sydney. He was lounging on the couch, a cigarette between his fingers.
The moment he saw me, a flicker of panic crossed his face. He stubbed out the cigarette and walked over, taking my hand. “Honey, what are you doing here?”
Before I could answer, someone chuckled, “What else? She’s worried you two might rekindle your old flame and piece together your shattered love story!”
“Everyone knows Kya was your first love,” another chimed in.
Across from us, Kya’s face turned ashen, her head hanging low as she silently wiped away tears. She still loved Sydney—there was no mistaking it.
And Sydney?
I watched as he draped his jacket over my legs, always thoughtful about my sensitivity to the cold. He told a waiter to adjust the air conditioning for me.
