Faith Frazier POV:
The young woman who had just landed in Dale's arms was Jetta Mcpherson, a junior coder from his company. I' d seen her before, in passing, at company events. He had initially dismissed her, almost with a sneer, as too green, too eager. But that had changed. I remembered a conversation we' d had, just a few months ago, on my birthday. He was supposed to be celebrating with me, but instead, he spent half the night on his laptop, chatting with Jetta about some project. He praised her intelligence, her ambition, her "fresh perspective."
"Can we please talk about something else?" I'd asked, my voice tight with an unfamiliar insecurity.
He' d stopped, his smile fading, and simply said, "Fine." The topic never came up again, not directly. But now I understood why. He had told me, weeks later, that Jetta had been transferred to another team, that their connection was purely professional and now severed.
He had lied. My stomach churned with the bitter taste of betrayal.
The night outside was cold, a light snow beginning to fall. I walked home in a daze, the flakes melting on my cheeks, indistinguishable from the tears that had begun to stream down my face. My fingers fumbled with the keypad, punching in the familiar code to our penthouse. The door clicked open. He hadn't changed it. A tiny, fragile spark of hope flickered within me, quickly drowned by the crushing weight of reality.
The apartment was warm, the underfloor heating radiating a comforting heat that only made the cold knot in my chest ache more. My gaze fell on the glass display cabinet in the living room. I stared at it for what felt like an eternity, my heart contracting with each passing second. Then, without warning, the tears came, hot and furious, blurring my vision.
Inside the cabinet, bathed in a soft, warm glow, was a thick stack of airline tickets. Each one meticulously numbered. There were nearly a thousand. "Proof of my love," he had called them, his eyes twinkling with pride. "When I hit a thousand, I'm going to propose."
I remembered the countless nights I had spent in London, studying relentlessly, sacrificing sleep to finish my architecture fellowship early. My friends teased me for burying myself in books, for not enjoying the vibrant city life. But I didn't care. All I wanted was to be back in his arms, to build a future with him. I remembered the time I got sick, a fever so high I could barely stand. I swallowed extra fever reducers, plastered a smile on my face during our video calls, and told him how much I missed him. Every sacrifice, every ounce of effort, was for him, for us. I had finally achieved my goal, returned home, earlier than expected, my heart full of dreams.
But reality was a cruel mistress. Everything was too late. His love, once so pure, had curdled into something unrecognizable.
The front door opened then, and Dale stepped in, his eyes wide with concern when he saw me crumpled on the floor, shaking. "Faith? What's wrong?" he rushed forward, trying to pull me into his arms.
I pushed him away, the touch burning my skin. My eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into my palms. I fought for control, my voice a ragged whisper. "I heard her. On the phone. Who was that, Dale?" My voice trembled. "Why were you meeting a woman late at night?"
He met my gaze. And in his eyes, I saw it: a chilling blend of indifference, coldness, and profound weariness. His face hardened. "Do we have to do this right now?" he asked, his voice flat as he stepped back, creating a chasm between us. "She's just a colleague. Nothing more."
A colleague? My mind screamed. A colleague you embrace, a colleague you lie about?
He motioned to a small gift box and a beautifully decorated cake on the coffee table. "It's for you. I was coming home to surprise you."
My anger flickered, replaced by a momentary surge of confusion and a painful mix of hope and heartbreak. Could I have been wrong?
But then his voice, cold and sharp, sliced through my fragile hope. "You're being unreasonable, Faith. You have no right to accuse Jetta like that. She's so much more ambitious, more understanding. She never makes a fuss." He picked up the box and the cake, his jaw tight. "If you keep this up, I'll get tired too."
With a sudden, furious gesture, he threw the gifts into the trashcan. The delicate cake splattered, a messy ruin, just like our love.
