Dale Atkins POV:
My heart sank. It wasn't Faith. It was a woman in a charity uniform. "Are you Faith Frazier's boyfriend?" she asked, her voice cheerful.
I stared at her, confused. "What?"
"She donated a lot of high-value items," the woman continued, oblivious to my turmoil. My eyes widened. "We found this ring and a letter among her donations. We think she might have accidentally put them in there, so we wanted to return them." She held out a small velvet box and a sealed envelope.
I grabbed her wrist, my voice a desperate croak. "What did she donate?"
She handed me a printed auction list. My eyes scanned the items, my breath catching in my throat. Every single item was a gift I had given Faith during our time apart. My heart twisted. She had promised to cherish them. Now, she had given them away.
A cold dread seeped into my bones. Faith was really gone. She didn't want me anymore. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, bleeding uncontrollably. I stood there for a long time, numb, then took the ring and the letter.
My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope. Her familiar, elegant handwriting filled the page. A wave of crushing grief washed over me, tears streaming down my face.
The letter was a love letter. She wrote of her excitement to return to me, of wanting to propose to me on my birthday. She had even made the ring herself, despite her clumsy hands, a testament to her deep love.
I read the letter over and over, for half an hour, each word a fresh wound. Tears streamed down my face, my body wracked with sobs. "I'm so sorry, Faith," I choked out, my voice raw with anguish. "I'm so sorry." I swore I would find her. No matter what.
For three days, I barely ate or slept. I used every resource, every connection I had, to find her. Nothing. I was a wreck.
Then, my assistant called. He had a lead. Faith had met with her best friend before leaving. I immediately called her friend.
"You scumbag!" she shrieked when she recognized my voice, then hung up and blocked me.
Undeterred, I drove to her office. When she saw me, she sped off in her car, almost running me over.
The third time, I managed to corner her. Her eyes blazed with fury. "You have some nerve, Dale! Still trying to juggle two women?"
I ignored her insults. "Where is Faith?" I asked, my voice hoarse, begging her to tell me.
She laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "What? So you can hurt her again?" She then launched into a tirade, recounting Faith's sacrifices: the late nights studying, the sickness she had hidden from me, the surgery she had undergone before returning home. "You were her only reason for fighting through it, Dale! And if it wasn't for you, she would have a much better life!"
My throat was dry. I looked down, tears blurring my vision. "She didn't tell me," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "She didn't tell me any of this." I was a monster. A complete and utter bastard. I remembered Faith asking me if I loved Jetta. My silence, my hesitation.
With a roar of self-disgust, I slapped myself across the face. "I love Faith!" I screamed, my voice raw. "Only Faith! I was wrong!" It was too late. I finally had the answer, but it was too late.
Her friend turned to leave. I grabbed her arm. "No! Wait!" I pulled out a small knife. She gasped, staring at me in horror. I plunged the knife into my arm. The sharp pain was a small price to pay. I pulled it out, blood dripping onto the pavement. "Tell me where she is! I demanded, my voice trembling.
She shook her head, tears in her eyes. "I won't tell you anything."
I stabbed myself again, this time in the stomach. Blood gushed, staining my shirt. "You're insane!" she shrieked, recoiling in terror.
I laughed, a hollow, desperate sound. "I have no reason to live without Faith," I said, my voice barely a whisper, blood dripping from my lips. "If I can't apologize to her, I'll die trying. Just give me her number. Please." Her friend, her face pale with shock, finally gave in. She pulled out her phone, her hand shaking, and showed me a number.
My eyes fixated on the digits, a desperate hope blooming in my chest. I rushed to my car, ignoring the blood gushing from my wounds, and dialed a foreign number.
The phone rang. A woman's soft voice answered.
