His Dying Confession Came Too Late

1: 1

On the World Cup broadcast, Paul James had his childhood sweetheart tucked against him, kissing her on camera to celebrate the goal. The clip shot straight to trending and became one of those classic moments everyone shared.

I lay in the hospital bed, one hand pressed to the empty hollow of my stomach where my baby used to be, and dialed him on international roaming. *So this is the "busy" you meant. Flying to the tournament to watch the game with her?*

On the other end, Paul let out a soft laugh.

*Since when does Viola Pruitt care about soccer?*

*Let me quiz you, then. How many teams are in this World Cup?*

I opened my mouth, pale and searching for an answer, but he didn't wait for it. The mockery landed first.

*Come on. You don't understand the game. You'd just be bored even if you came.*

*Besides, you don't have to force yourself to be like Mercedes just to please me. Stay home, watch the broadcast, wait for me to come back.*

Then he hung up. Not one word about how I was doing.

Eight years ago, I turned down an offer from a top firm to get him through the danger zone after his surgery, to build everything from nothing at his side.

Now he was taking the tickets I'd fought to get and celebrating with someone else, not even bothering to pretend anymore.

What Paul didn't know was why I had been so set on going to that game.

It was because of Lolo, the little girl who donated her liver to him back then. She was the one who used to pull me over to watch soccer in her hospital room.

The day before Paul was discharged, Lolo gripped my hand, her eyes full of light.

*Big sis, next time, go and see it for me, okay?*

Only then did I realize my face was wet.

But none of it mattered now.

That night, I sent HR my resignation, packed my things, checked myself out, and boarded a plane to Mexico alone.

This time, I didn't want to wait for anyone anymore.

1

The moment I landed in Mexico, dozens of missed calls crowded my screen, and so many messages the phone lagged.

*Why are you pulling a disappearing act? Why the sudden resignation?*

*All because I watched the World Cup without telling you?*

*Call me back. The whole firm is turning into chaos!*

I dragged my suitcase along, tapped out one line with my fingertip, nothing more.

*I'm tired. I want to rest.*

For once, Paul replied instantly, still using that dean-of-students tone.

*What garbage motivational post did you read this time?*

*All that talk about quitting your job and chasing freedom is empty nonsense.*

I didn't answer him again. It caught Paul off guard.

I was always the one bombarding him with a long string of messages.

Now the flow ran the other way, and it didn't sit right with him.

*The firm just got stable. Don't stir up trouble right now.*

*There's a big client to meet today. I can't get back for a while, so I told them you'd take the case.*

I pulled out my luggage, a mess of feelings knotting in my chest. *Can't meet them. Won't take it.*

There was a time I never refused Paul anything he asked.

First, because I loved him and was glad to give.

Second, because to help him build the firm, I'd take any case at all as long as it turned a profit.

That was how I ended up notorious in the industry for a while.

Getting cornered and cursed at by clients' families, having rotten eggs thrown at me, all of it was just part of the routine.

My exit paperwork wasn't finished yet, so I hadn't left the work group chat.

In the group, Paul was tagging me.

*The minutes from the video conference two days ago. Send them to me.*

A weariness rose in me from nowhere.

*Watch the replay yourself.*

Paul had an assistant now.

Typing up meeting minutes had never been part of my job to begin with.

I'd only done it because I ached for how hard he worked, and figured every little bit I could take off his plate helped.

Over time, it somehow became something he simply expected.

Now that habit was his to unlearn, slowly, on his own.

Pushed back a second time, Paul called me directly.

*What in the world is wrong with you?*

An irritated sigh came down the line.

*I know you're good in the courtroom, and the clients are happy with you.*

*But being my fiancée doesn't give you a pass to slack off like this…*

Before Paul could finish, a sugary voice drifted in from beside him.

*Paul, grab me a towel.*

I was absolutely certain. That voice was Mercedes.

On the phone, Paul went awkwardly silent for a moment.

Then he softened his tone and offered up an explanation on his own.

*The pipes in Mercedes's room broke. She came to use my shower.*

I suddenly remembered eight years ago, his first solo business trip out of town.

Back then a female coworker had come to borrow his bathroom too.

He'd been the one to message me and explain, then stayed on a video call the whole night to put me at ease.

I knew it was childish to want that same thing now.

But the image of him kissing Mercedes Armstrong last night, in front of the whole world's cameras, kept coming back.

And I couldn't help the ache turning sour in my chest.

*Paul, do you still remember the promise you made me four years ago, the day you left the hospital?*

Paul thought for a second, then took a random guess.

*Buy you a handbag?*

*No. You promised you'd watch it with me…*

Before I could finish, Paul cut me off.

His patience was wearing thin.

*Viola, I'll allow you one day off.*

*Because you're off spinning yourself into knots today, Mercedes has already had to cover your work for you.*

*I'd like you to be at least a little more sensible than Mercedes. Can you do that?*

What Paul meant was that because I hadn't typed up the meeting minutes, I'd interrupted him and Mercedes Armstrong's game.

But I couldn't let it go, and reminded him again.

*Four years ago, you promised you'd take me to the World Cup, to make Lolo's dream come true.*

*Lolo? Who's that?*

I fell deeper into silence. So Paul had long since put the girl who gave him her liver out of his mind.

It took him a long moment to dredge up even a vague memory, and then he brushed it off.

*Oh… you mean that little girl.*

*I'll bring back a souvenir, you can burn it for her when you're home. That works, doesn't it?*

He hung up before waiting for my answer.

I stood outside the hotel, the streets thick with the particular joy that only the World Cup brings.

In that moment, whether Paul still cared about me or not somehow didn't feel that important anymore.

Late that night, half asleep, I got a call from HR back home.

She confirmed it with me one more time.

*Lawyer Pruitt, are you really leaving the firm?*

I opened my eyes and looked at the moon outside the window. I had never felt calmer than I did right then.

I said it plainly to the other end of the line.

*Yes. Please process my resignation as soon as you can.*