The crack in my heart widened—so wide I could almost see myself bleeding through it, and yet, I still waited.
Waited for Iñigo to explain. Waited for the man who once spoiled me beyond reason to say something, anything that could make it right.
But all he said was, in that calm, dismissive tone, "Okay, that's enough. You two are best friends, after all."
That was it.
As if my world hadn't just fallen apart.
I remembered the first time I met Iñigo.
He looked at me seriously and said, "What I hate most in this life are people who steal others' lovers."
Then, almost bitterly, he told me why.
"My mom cheated with my dad's best friend. When my dad found out, he left us!"
"He didn't want me. And she didn't want me either!"
"I was just a ball, kicked back and forth between two people who both despised me!"
He laughed at himself then, eyes filled with emptiness. "So, Elaine, I don't have the kind of happy family you do. My life's been broken from the start."
"Do you understand?"
At that moment, I truly believed his heart was breaking—and mine broke with it.
I sat beside him quietly and said, "Iñigo, someone will love you one day. She'll pick up your broken pieces one by one, saying, 'This part is mine too, that piece is mine as well."'
"And when she's done, she'll stay by your side—help you piece yourself back together, and love you until you're whole again."
I had meant every word.
Later, he chased me openly, relentlessly—until everyone around us was rooting for him.
He once took a 36 hour hard-seat train ride just to bring me my favorite pastry from another city.
Back when his company was still struggling and he could barely afford dinner, he still spent thousands on a birthday cake because I'd mentioned it once in passing.
When he was on a business trip out of town and heard there was a thunderstorm where I lived, he drove through the night just to tell me, "Don't be afraid."
And as soon as the rain stopped, he turned around and went back.
Each memory, once so precious, now became a blade. The very proof of his love was now the evidence of his betrayal—cutting deep, leaving me raw and bleeding inside.
I watched from my car as Iñigo held Talia close, walking with her into the hotel.
The pain was so sharp it stole my breath. Tears streamed down my face before I even realized I was crying.
In a panic, I grabbed my phone.
Just as he was about to enter the revolving doors, I dialed his number.
He stood outside while I sat in my car, only a few meters away.
Talia's face darkened when she saw my name flashing on his screen.
But he only smiled at her and said gently, "I'll take this call."
She tried to stop him, reaching for his phone, but he lifted his arm, keeping it out of reach.
"I told you," he said coldly, "I'll never ignore Elaine's call."
His tone turned hard, a sharp contrast to his earlier charm. "Talia, we had an agreement."
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
From where I sat, I could see her stomp her heel in frustration, helpless as he stepped aside to answer my call.
"Hey," his voice came through, warm and familiar, no different from any other day.
"Wife," he said softly, "do you miss me?"
Tears welled up again, spilling uncontrollably. I tried to speak, but only choked sobs came out. But he didn't seem to notice.
"I'll be home tomorrow," he said. "I bought you a little gift!"
I watched from a distance—he was still playing with Talia's hair, his smile tender as he spoke to me.
"You'll love it," he added.
And at that moment, I couldn't understand.
How could a person split their heart in two?
How could he, who once swore he despised betrayal more than anything, turn into the very kind of man he used to hate?
