“Tracey, quit making a scene. Alexandra's running a hundred and two right now. If she doesn't take something soon and it gets worse, that's on you.”
He didn't even turn around. Just opened the door and left.
He never once noticed the comment I'd just posted online.
It read：“Because when I walked home in the rain with a 102-degree fever, he gave all his care and all the medicine to another woman.”
“And just like that, whether he loves me or not stopped mattering so much.”
The storm was still raging outside, wind tearing through the streets.
Every shop in the neighborhood had shuttered early.
I couldn't buy fever medicine anywhere.
All I could do was wash up and crawl into bed.
I wanted to sleep but felt too awful to drift off, so I picked up my phone and read the comments instead.
After I'd posted my message, someone had already left a reply.
“Girl, why were you walking home in the rain? Why didn't you ask your boyfriend to pick you up? Or at least call a cab?”
The storm had hit out of nowhere.
I'd called Cliff several times. He didn't pick up once.
Right before I got off work, he finally texted me：“Something came up today. Can't come get you. Figure it out yourself.”
And because of the storm, there wasn't a single ride available.
I had no choice. I did what my coworkers did and grabbed a bike-share to ride home.
Before I could even reply, someone else had already responded to her.
“Honestly, counting on someone else will never beat counting on yourself. Girl, if you can manage it, get your own car. Once you've got wheels, you've got the confidence to go wherever you want without waiting on anybody.”
Then she posted a screenshot from a content creator's page.
“This is a lifestyle creator I follow. She got caught in the rain on her way home from work today and got sick, so her boyfriend went out and bought her a car — just so she'd never have to sit there on a rainy day envying the people dry in theirs.”
When I saw the screenshot she'd shared, my ice-cold fingertips trembled.
The content creator she was talking about was Alexandra Cannon. Cliff's secretary.
I didn't even know what compelled me, but I went to social media and found her account.
Alexandra posted something new every single day. From the day she started the job last year, all the way to now.
And in every video, there was a figure I knew all too well.
At first, Cliff only appeared as a pair of hands, his face off-screen. But those defined knuckles and that low, magnetic voice were enough to pull in a massive following for her.
The comments were full of people gushing over them as a shipped couple.
One comment read, “Mr. Harding spoils our Secretary Cannon so much! Asking for a friend — when are you two making it official?”
Alexandra had liked and replied.
Just two words：“Guess.”
She never clarified her relationship with Cliff.
Just let people speculate, let them ship it.
I scrolled through every single one of her videos, one by one.
My eyes stopped on the latest one, posted today.
Cliff, sitting on an unfamiliar couch, head bent low as he blew on a steaming bowl of congee to cool it for her.
She grinned into the camera：“Mr. Harding, quick interview?”
“Why do you think every woman should have her own car?”
In the video, his eyes were soft, almost tender, his gaze on her full of indulgence and sincerity.
He said：“Because a car is a woman's independence. Once you have one, you go wherever you want, whenever you want. You're never held back by anyone or anything again. And you never have to envy anyone who has one.”
Last year, during a heavy rainstorm, Cliff had come to pick me up from work.
I'd asked him, “What do you think about me getting a car? That way you wouldn't have to go out of your way to drive me anymore.”
He'd shaken his head, disapproving.
“If you got your own car, what would you even need a boyfriend for?”
