The Day I Needed Him Most, He Chose Her

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The Day I Needed Him Most, He Chose Her

NovelShort Hoàn thành
HotRejectedBillionaire

The day I discovered that he'd saved Juliana Fox's contact name as "Baby" in his phone, he told me it was just an inside joke between coworkers. I believed him the first time. The second time was at o...

Chương (6)

第1章

The day I discovered that he'd saved Juliana Fox's contact name as "Baby" in his phone, he told me it was just an inside joke between coworkers. I believed him the first time. The second time was at our engagement party. Juliana called, slurring that she'd had too much to drink, and he abandoned a room full of guests to go pick her up. My mother's hands shook with rage. He still had the nerve to tell me, "Don't be childish." The third time. The fourth. It wasn't until I slammed the divorce papers down in his face that he looked at me, eyes red, and asked, "Why?" Why? Because the day I had my miscarriage, he was out celebrating Juliana's birthday. Betrayal after betrayal, until there was nothing left inside me to break. —— I first noticed something was off with Clay Dickerson last autumn. He was in the shower. His phone lay on the bed, and the screen lit up. I hadn't meant to look, but a text notification popped up. The contact name read "Juliana." "Thanks for helping me pick out that gift today. Your girlfriend won't be mad, will she?" I froze. Girlfriend? We'd been together five years. Engaged for three months. She didn't know he was engaged? I scrolled up. The entire chat history had been wiped clean. But that single message was enough to keep me up all night. Clay came out of the bathroom, towel around his shoulders. He saw me staring at his phone, and something flickered across his face. "What are you looking at?" "Who's Juliana?" His hand paused mid-stroke, toweling his hair. Then he laughed. "A coworker. New girl in the marketing department. What, jealous?" He walked over and wrapped his arms around me. He smelled like body wash, clean and warm. That scent. It suddenly felt unfamiliar. "She said you helped her pick out a gift." "Yeah, her boyfriend's birthday is coming up. She asked me to tag along, help her decide. She just moved to Graystone City, doesn't know anyone yet, so I've been looking out for her." He pinched my cheek. "What's going on in that head of yours? Me and her? Seriously?" I looked into his earnest eyes and swallowed the words then why did you delete the chat history? Five years. He'd started pursuing me junior year of college. Chased me for a full year before I said yes. My family hadn't approved. They thought his background was too ordinary. So he threw himself into work, grinding through overtime for three years until he'd saved enough for a down payment on a house. Everyone said Clay Dickerson was the kind of good man you'd be lucky to find once in a lifetime. I believed him. Late October. It was raining. He came to pick me up from work. The car was parked outside my office building. He sat in the driver's seat, scrolling through his phone, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. I opened the passenger door. He killed the screen instantly. Too fast. Deliberately so. "What were you looking at?" "Nothing. Just watching some videos." He slid the phone into the cupholder and started the engine. "What do you feel like eating tonight?" As I buckled my seatbelt, I caught the screen lighting up again out of the corner of my eye. A social media notification. But the car was already pulling away, and I couldn't make it out. That evening, he cooked dinner with his phone glued to his side. He'd never been like that before. He used to toss his phone on the couch the second he walked in, then stand beside me at the counter chopping vegetables. Now he checked it every few minutes, the corner of his mouth twitching upward each time. I finished washing the vegetables and walked up behind him. He flinched. "What are you doing?" He flipped the phone face-down on the counter. "Getting the salt." He stepped aside but kept his eyes locked on me. I scooped out the salt and walked back to the cutting board. Neither of us said a word through the whole exchange, but something between us had already shifted. Mid-November. The first time he stood me up. I had a fever that day and had called in sick. I lay in bed, shivering under the covers. That morning, before he left, he pressed his palm to my forehead and promised he'd come home early. Said he'd bring me some soup. I waited all afternoon. Five o'clock turned to six. Six turned to nine. No soup. Just a text: "Got stuck at work last minute. Go to sleep."

第2章

I called him. No answer. Sent a text. No reply. At one in the morning, he came through the door. I pretended to be asleep, listening as he tiptoed into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed for a while before heading to the shower. I picked up the jacket he'd tossed over the chair. On the collar, a single long strand of hair. My hair was short. I kept that strand for a month. Tucked it between the pages of my journal. Never asked. Never threw it away. The first real confrontation came in December. He was in the shower that night when his phone buzzed again. Almost without thinking, I picked it up. The passcode hadn't changed. Still our anniversary. I opened his messages. Pinned at the top was a contact named "Juliana." The last message was from her: Thanks for keeping me company today! Next time dinner's on me~ I scrolled up. The history was all there. He'd bought her bubble tea, taken her to the hospital, driven her home late at night. She'd written: I'm scared of being alone. He'd written: I'm here. No explicit words. No inappropriate photos. But every single message carved into my chest like a blade. He came out of the shower and saw me holding his phone. The color drained from his face. "Lydia, let me explain—" "Explain what?" My voice was steady. So steady it surprised even me. "Explain how you've been playing boyfriend to another woman?" "She just went through a breakup. She's emotionally fragile. I was just looking out for her—" "She goes through a breakup, and you're her shoulder to cry on. I'm burning up with a fever, and where are you?" He froze. "That night, I had a hundred-and-two-degree fever. You were with her until one in the morning." His mouth opened. Nothing came out. I tossed the phone onto the bed, walked into the guest room, and locked the door. He didn't sleep that night. He stood outside the door, knocking every few minutes. I didn't open it. The next morning, when I finally unlocked the door, he was still there. Red-eyed, standing in the same spot. "I was wrong. I was really wrong. I've cut her off. Deleted her from my phone. I'll never contact her again. Please forgive me this once." I looked at him and thought of the boy who'd chased me for a year. The way his voice had trembled so badly during the proposal he could barely get the words out. "One last chance," I said. I forgave him because of those five years. Not because he deserved it. Because I couldn't bear to let go. But once a heart cracks, no amount of mending can make it whole again. I started tracking the times he left the house. Counting the nights he claimed to work late. Watching his face whenever he checked his phone. I nodded at everything he said, but the thorn lodged in my chest only drove itself deeper. In January, he said his department was having a dinner. I drove to his office building and found him sitting alone in his car. No dinner. In February, he said he was on a business trip. I checked his flight. His name wasn't on any manifest. I didn't argue. Didn't make a scene. I just opened that journal every night before bed and took out the strand of hair to look at it. Everything finally shattered in early March. It was his birthday. I'd reserved a table at a restaurant and invited a few of his closest friends for a surprise. At five o'clock I was waiting at the restaurant when he texted that traffic was bad and he'd be late. Five-forty. Still no sign of him. I called. His phone was off. I called his office. A coworker said he'd taken the afternoon off and left hours ago. I sat in that restaurant until eight, then packed up an entire table of food and brought it home. When I walked through the door, he'd just gotten out of the shower, hair still dripping. "Where were you this afternoon?" "Working late." I stared at him, and then I laughed. Something about that laugh must have been unsettling, because he flinched. "What's wrong?" "Clay, did you know that when someone lies, their eyes wander?" He said nothing.

第3章

Silence. "Fine. Don't want to talk? Forget it." I walked into the bedroom and shut the door. He followed me in, grabbing my arm. "Juliana's in the hospital. I went to see her. She had an appendectomy. She's all alone in Graystone City with no one to take care of her. What was I supposed to do, just ignore that?" I turned to look at him. "Your birthday comes every year. She's only having this surgery once." He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. All at once, I didn't want to fight anymore. I was tired. So goddamn tired. "Okay." I nodded. "Go take care of her. You should." He hadn't expected me to say that. He just stood there, frozen. That night I slept like the dead. No dreams. The thing that truly killed whatever was left in me came in April. I'd been having stomach pains for a while. I didn't think much of it—figured it was just a bad stomach. The morning of April tenth, the pain bent me double. Clay was still asleep. I shook him awake. Told him I needed to go to the hospital. He glanced at his phone. "I've got a meeting this morning. Can you take an Uber? I'll come find you after it's done." I said okay. I went alone. Registered alone. Paid alone. Waited for the results alone. The doctor held my chart, his expression grim. "You're pregnant, but it's ectopic. You need surgery immediately." I couldn't move. "Where's your family?" "In a meeting." The doctor frowned. "We need a family member to sign the consent form. Call someone. Now." I called Clay. No answer. I sent a message: Ectopic pregnancy. Need surgery. Get here now. Read. No reply. I waited forty minutes. The nurse came to check on me three times. In the end, I signed the consent form myself. Walked into the operating room alone. Lying on that table, I stared up at the overhead light. It was blinding, searingly bright. If I die here, I thought, what would he be doing? Sitting in his meeting? Or sitting with her? The surgery went fine. I didn't. A nurse wheeled me back to my room, got me settled, and left. I lay in bed shivering, unable to speak. At eight that evening, Clay showed up. The second he pushed the door open, I knew where he'd been. He'd changed his clothes. He'd left the house that morning in a blue dress shirt. Now he was wearing a white T-shirt. His hair was freshly washed too—I could smell the shampoo from across the room. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, the meeting this afternoon was really important, my phone was on silent, I didn't hear it—" He walked toward me, reaching for my hand. I looked at him. "Where were you today?" "The meeting, I told you, that project—" "Clay." "You're not wearing the same clothes you left in." He froze. "You changed. Your hair's wet." I held his gaze. "Where were you?" He said nothing. "Today's her birthday, isn't it?" The color drained from his face. "You remembered her birthday. You made sure you were there to celebrate it with her. And while I was lying on an operating table, your phone was off." My voice was steady. Perfectly steady. Like I was talking about someone else's life. "Clay. We're done." "Lydia, just listen to me—" "Get out." After I was discharged, I moved in with a friend. Clay came looking for me a few times. He'd stand outside the entrance to my friend's apartment complex, just standing there for hours. I never went down. At the end of May, I went back to the apartment we'd shared to pack my things. When I opened the door, he was there. He'd lost a lot of weight. His jaw was covered in stubble, and the skin beneath his eyes was bruised a deep purple-black. "Lydia." He stepped in front of me. "Let's talk." "About what?" "There's nothing between me and her. We're just friends—" "Just friends." I laughed. "You spent her birthday with her. I was having a miscarriage, and you were by her side. That's what you call 'just friends'?"

第4章

He went quiet. I pushed past him and walked into the bedroom to pack. He trailed behind me like a child who knew he'd done something wrong. "I know I messed up. I really do. You can hit me, yell at me, anything. Just don't leave, okay?" I ignored him. "I cut things off with her. I mean it. She quit yesterday. We'll never talk again. Will you come back? Please?" I zipped the last piece of clothing into my suitcase, pulled it upright, and turned to face him. "Clay, do you know what I was thinking on that operating table?" He stared at me. "I was thinking that if I died right there, that would be fine. Nobody was waiting for me anyway." His eyes went red. "Don't cry." I grabbed the handle of my suitcase. "You don't deserve those tears." What happened after that, I heard from other people. After Juliana quit, she moved to another company. Clay went after her, waited outside her new office building, and got chased off by security. He took an extended leave. Drank every day. Made a major mistake at work and got demoted. A friend told me that when he was drunk, he'd mumble my name over and over, calling himself a bastard, saying he deserved it. I listened. Felt nothing. Not hatred. Just nothing. That light on the operating table had been so bright, it burned something out of me. It was June now. I'd started a new job, far from that apartment. My new coworkers didn't know my past. All they knew was that I was single and didn't like talking about relationships. Yesterday a guy from the department next door added me on social media, said he wanted to get to know me. I accepted. Didn't really chat. It wasn't that I didn't want to start over. I just wasn't in a rush. I had to let the scar heal first. Clay texted again yesterday. A long message. I deleted it before I finished reading. He asked if we could meet one more time. Said he was sorry. There was nothing to be sorry for. I was the one who spent five years before I finally saw him for what he was. Oh, right. I forgot to mention. The blood on the operating table that day. There was a lot of it. The doctor said if I'd come in half an hour later, it could have been life-threatening. Clay didn't know any of that. He didn't need to. The day I moved into the new apartment, I threw away that strand of hair. It had been tucked inside my journal for almost six months. By the time I pulled it out, it had turned yellow. I held it up to the light by the window, then opened my fingers and watched it drift into the trash can. Like closing a chapter for good. The new place was small, barely four hundred square feet, but the windows faced south. In the afternoon, sunlight poured in and pooled on the floor. I stood there watching that patch of light for a long time. My phone rang. Mom. "Lydia, honey, Chloe Chavez's daughter told me you moved?" "Yeah." "What's going on with Clay? Aren't you two engaged?" I leaned against the windowsill. The sun warmed my back. "We broke up." "Broke up? Why? You've been together five years. You bought a place together—" "Mom." I cut her off. "He was seeing someone else." Silence on the other end. A few seconds. "That son of a bitch." My mother's voice changed completely. "You sit tight. I'm coming to Graystone City tomorrow. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind." I almost laughed. The first time Clay came to the house, my mom had held his hand and said, "What a good boy. I'm trusting you with my Lydia." Now he was a son of a bitch. "You don't have to, Mom. I'm fine." "Fine? You lost a baby and that's fine?" I froze. How did she know? "Chloe Chavez's daughter is a nurse at that hospital. She told me. Lydia, something that serious and you didn't tell your family?" My mouth opened. Nothing came out. "That's enough. Don't worry about it. I'll be there tomorrow."

第5章

The call ended. I stood by the window, staring at the sky outside. My eyes stung without warning. It wasn't self-pity. It was the feeling of someone having my back. I'd gone so long without it. When my mom arrived, she brought six homemade buns, a jar of hot sauce, and my dad's savings. She slapped the savings down on the table. "Take this. Find a better apartment. This place is too small to breathe in." "Mom, I have money." "Your money is your business. This is my heart." She sat on the edge of my bed, glanced around the room, and sighed. "You've lost weight." I didn't say anything. "Has he come looking for you?" "Yeah." "What'd you say?" "Didn't see him." She nodded. "Good. A man like that isn't worth the air he breathes." I looked at the gray streaks in her hair and suddenly remembered being a kid, coming home after getting bullied. She'd said the exact same thing then. Don't bother with them. They're not worth our time. That night, she slept in my three-foot-wide bed. We were packed in so tight neither of us could roll over, but she slept like a rock. I lay there listening to her breathing and didn't sleep at all. Somewhere around dawn, things became clear. For my mom's sake, if nothing else, I had to keep going. At the end of July, I switched jobs. Clay knew the address of my old company. He'd show up downstairs every few days, just lingering. I didn't want to see him, so I quit. The new company was on the east side of the city, a digital media startup. The pay was two thousand less a month, but the team was young and the energy was good. On my first day, HR walked me around the office. When we passed the tech department, a guy looked up and glanced at me. "This is Lydia Fox, new hire in content operations." "Hey." He nodded, then dropped his gaze back to his screen. I didn't think much of it and kept following HR down the hall. I found out later his name was Valentine James. Tech department team lead. Two years older than me. Not bad-looking. Quiet. But when he looked at you, his eyes were bright. Mid-August, the company organized a team dinner. I didn't want to go, but my manager said new hires needed to show face at these things and practically dragged me there. A whole table of people, loud and rowdy. I sat in the corner, head down, picking at my food. "Let me guess. You got dragged here too?" I looked up. Valentine sat down beside me, a bottle of Coke in his hand. "You too?" "I'm not big on crowds." He poured me a glass. "But they said if the team lead doesn't show, nobody relaxes." I smiled a little. That night, he talked to me for a long time. He told me he was from a small town in the Midwest, had been in Graystone City for five years, spent three of those years coding before getting promoted to team lead last year. He told me he had a cat named Deuce, because of the two stripes on its tail. He told me he wasn't great with people, which was why he was still single. When he said that last part, he was looking right at me. I dropped my gaze and pretended I didn't catch his meaning. In September, the company landed a big project. Overtime became the norm. One night past ten, I was the last one out. The elevator doors opened, and Valentine was inside. "This late?" he asked. "You're here this late too." He smiled. "I live upstairs. Whether I'm working overtime or not, I leave around this time anyway." The elevator descended. Floor by floor, neither of us spoke. When we reached the lobby, I stepped out. He followed. "Hey," he called after me. "Where do you live?" I gave him the general area. "That's pretty far. The subway's done running by now. How are you getting home?" "I'll grab a cab." He checked his phone. "Cabs are hard to get this late. Want me to give you a ride?" "I'm fine." "I'm not a creep." He smiled. "It's on my way. I'm just two stops past your place."

第6章

I hesitated. "Come on," he said, already walking toward the parking lot. "It's late. Safety first." That night, he drove me to the entrance of my apartment complex. He didn't ask for my number, didn't send me a friend request on social media. He just said, "See you tomorrow," and drove off. I watched his taillights disappear around the corner. I stood there for a moment, then turned and went upstairs. In early October, he added me on social media. He'd found me through the work group chat. His display name just read "Valentine James." I accepted. His first message: "That night I drove you home—I didn't freak you out, did I?" "No." "Good. If you're ever working late, just let me know. I'm usually around." I replied with a simple "Okay" and left it at that. After that, whenever I stayed late, he'd occasionally text: "You done yet? I'm downstairs." At first I turned him down. Then it became routine. His car always smelled faintly of lemon, and he played music from bands I'd never heard of. We barely talked on the drive. When we arrived, he'd say, "Get some sleep," and pull away. One night, before I got out, I asked him, "Why do you keep driving me home?" He blinked, caught off guard. "It's on my way." I looked at him. His ears went red. "Okay," he said, ducking his head. "It's not entirely on my way." I didn't say anything. I got out of the car. A few steps later, he called after me. "Lydia!" I turned around. "Can I... take you out? Like, pursue you?" Under the streetlight, he stood beside his car, watching me with a nervous look on his face. I thought about it. "My last relationship messed me up pretty badly." "I know." "You know?" "The whole office talks about it. They say your ex was a real piece of work." I stared at him for a second, then laughed. "And you still want to try?" He looked at me, dead serious. "That just means you had bad taste. But you don't have to pick anymore. I'll do the picking for you." That night, I lay in bed and thought for a long time. Not about him. About myself. Did I still have it in me to try again? In early November, I said yes. Not because of anything he said. It was because of something he did. It was my birthday. I hadn't told a soul. After work, I walked home alone and stopped at the convenience store downstairs for a cup of instant noodles. When I got to my floor, Valentine was standing outside my door, holding a cake. "How do you know where I live?" "You let it slip once." I unlocked the door. He followed me inside, glanced around. "It's small, but you keep it nice." He set the cake on the table and lit a candle. "Make a wish?" I stared at that single flame, and my mind drifted to my last birthday. I'd spent it with Clay. He bought me flowers that day and told me I was the only woman he'd ever love. When those flowers wilted, I threw them out. "Lydia?" I snapped back and blew out the candle. "What'd you wish for?" "Can't tell you." He smiled and pulled a small box from his pocket. "Here. Birthday present." Inside was a bracelet with a tiny pendant engraved with the word Peace. "I hope from here on out, everything is peaceful for you." I looked up at him. He didn't look away. He just held my gaze, his eyes bright and steady. "Valentine." "Yeah?" "Did you know I had a miscarriage?" He went still for a moment. "Yeah." "And you're still here?" He was quiet for a beat. Then he said, "That's a debt he owes you. It's not something you owe me." I lowered my eyes to the bracelet in my hands. "Lydia, I don't care what your past looks like. What I care about is whether you'll let me be part of what comes next." Wind rattled softly against the windowpane. I fastened the bracelet around my wrist and looked up at him. "Yes."