My body ached, my throat was dry, and the sting in my chest was worse than any injury—because I remembered everything.
The bomb. The betrayal. The moment Troy ran… but not for me.
I was in a hospital. Alive. Barely. Saved by a stranger, abandoned by my husband.
The nurse said I’d been unconscious for almost a full day. I had cuts and bruises, but nothing too serious—at least not on the surface. She offered me water. I asked for silence.
There was no point in staying. I waited until the nurse left, then pulled the IV from my arm and stood, dizzy but determined. I grabbed the hospital robe tighter around my body and left the room.
In the hallway, I saw him.
Troy.
He was on a call, his face blank as ever. When he saw me, his eyes widened with surprise—but not relief.
“You’re awake,” he said simply. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere that’s not here.”
He glanced at his watch. “I have to fly out. Handle a business mess. I’ll bring back something for you.”
That was it. No questions. No apology. No guilt. Just another excuse to run. I couldn’t believe this.
I nodded, even smiled faintly, but inside, something finally broke. Quietly, completely.
I left the hospital and went straight home. The house was exactly as I left it—cold, neat, unloved. I took my time gathering my things, moving slowly, deliberately. I didn’t cry. I’d run out of tears days ago.
Before leaving for the airport, I sent one last message.
To Bianca.
“Meet me.”
She replied within minutes, probably thinking I was coming to beg, to fight, to start another pitiful argument over Troy, but no.
I chose the café near the pier—the one with the wide windows and the sound of the waves crashing just beyond the glass. A place that once felt calming. Today, it just felt final.
“If you’re here to start something, Thalia, I swear—when Troy comes back—”
I cut her off by sliding a small velvet box across the table.
She blinked, confused.
“Open it.”
She did.
Inside was my wedding band.
She frowned. “What is this?”
“Try it on.”
“What—?”
“Just do it.”
Hesitantly, she slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit. Perfectly.
Her face twisted in confusion, but I didn’t let her speak.
“You’ve always wondered why he hesitates with you,” I said, my voice calm, sharp. “You think it’s guilt. You think it’s because of me. But it’s not.”
I leaned forward. “He’s in love with you, Bianca. Not platonically. Not like a brother. Not innocently.”
Her eyes widened.
“There’s a hidden room in the estate. He kept things in there—photos of you, sketches. And also recorded videos of you that he watched every night while pleasuring himself.” I let the weight of my words settle.
She froze.
“That ring? He didn’t have it sized for me. He made it for you. You were always the one. I was the stand-in.”
Bianca went pale. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“I thought you deserved to know,” I said.
I stood and placed the signed divorce papers in front of her. “Give this to him. Tell him it’s done.”
She stared at the papers, hands shaking. “Where will you go?”
I gave her a smile, small and empty. “Anywhere that’s mine.”
Then I left the café.
I didn’t look back.
The airport smelled of strong coffee and long goodbyes. I wheeled my suitcase toward the gate, my stomach hollow but my mind clear.
While waiting in line at security, I glanced across the terminal.
Troy was there. He wore a black coat, dragging his suitcase, walking toward the VIP lounge.
He didn’t see me. He didn’t even look up.
I didn’t call his name. Didn’t wave. I just watched him pass. He disappeared behind glass doors as if I never existed.
My phone buzzed.
Troy: Just landed. Got you something.
A picture followed—a thin silver bracelet, cheap-looking, no box. A souvenir from the duty-free aisle.
I stared at it for a long second. Then I laughed—soft, bitter, detached.
So that was it. He bought Bianca a necklace worn by royalty once. Of course, I know that the business trip wasn’t business but an auction to get what Bianca wants! And me? A bracelet from the airport.
I opened our thread. Scrolled through the years of messages. Lies. Half-hearted apologies. Silent treatments. Gaslighting wrapped in charm.
I blocked his number.
Then I boarded my plane without looking back.
Because love should not feel like begging to be seen.
And I would never, ever beg again.
