The One He Loved Was Never Me Chapter 08
He flinched as if struck, pain flooding his eyes.
“Emily, you can’t be this absolute!”
“Mom and Dad have been thinking about you every day. The day you left, Dad’s blood pressure spiked—he collapsed. Even as he was passing out, he was begging me to bring you home. Mom hasn’t slept through the night since. She cries from the guilt…”
These past days had been the most pressure he’d ever felt in his life.
At the office, Megan was hopeless at the assistant director role—printing the wrong versions of critical documents, accidentally sending out the wrong contract drafts using my old email permissions.
He’d had to stay late every night cleaning up messes that should have been hers.
At home, my mother had thrown out her back from days of caring for my father alone and was bedridden. Megan found it dirty and exhausting and simply checked herself into a hotel. The house was in shambles every single day.
“I’m sorry,” I cut him off. “I don’t have time to hear about your family matters.”
His chest seized. Frantic, he grabbed my arm, fumbled his phone out, and with shaking hands dialed a video call. He thrust the screen in front of my face. “Emily, look! Mom and Dad really do miss you!”
My mother’s face appeared on screen.
She sat on the sofa, my father’s profile visible behind her—eyes closed, leaning back. They both looked like they’d aged a decade. Haggard in a way I’d never seen before.
The moment she saw me, my mother’s lips pressed together and her eyes reddened.
“Emily… Mom misses you. When are you coming home? I’ll go to the market and buy the freshest shrimp—I’ll cook them for you myself. Just come back, okay?”
My father leaned into frame and sighed.
“Without you, this family’s fallen apart. Megan can’t handle anything… We failed you before. From now on, we’ll make it up to you.”
I almost laughed.
So they’d known all along.
It was just that before it affected them personally, no one had bothered to care.
I took a deep breath and spoke evenly. “I’m not coming back. Take care of yourselves.”
Before they could say another word, I tapped End Call.
Ethan stood clutching his phone, staring at me—as if something had finally, irreversibly broken through.
He could feel it now. My resolve. That calm, unhesitating departure.
“You have twenty days. Don’t forget to sign the divorce papers.”
I turned and walked toward the parking garage, Nathan beside me.
Ethan didn’t follow.
He stood alone in the New York evening wind, his coat snapping in the gusts, like a statue someone had abandoned on the sidewalk.
The next morning, Ethan was back.
This time he stood below the firm’s entrance holding an elegant little cake box.
When he saw me emerge through the revolving door, he stepped forward, awkward and uncertain, and held out a bag.
“Emily, I neglected you for five years. This is a belated birthday gift. Will you open it?”
I didn’t take it.
His face dimmed. He bit his lip hard, then produced something from behind his back—a small potted flower, its yellow blooms catching the morning light.
It was a Paphiopedilum—almost identical to the one we’d had. His voice was dry, cracked: “And the one that broke… I had someone ship a new one overnight from San Francisco. Emily—if a flower can bloom again in spring, can’t we start over too?”
I looked at the plea in his eyes and shook my head. Firmly.
“There’s no such thing as an identical flower. Ethan, there’s no point.”
Despair settled over him like a stone pressing down on his chest.
His mouth opened—he wanted to say more—but when he met my calm, distant gaze, his head dropped in defeat.
Two weeks later. Los Angeles County Courthouse.
The moment the judge signed the final divorce decree, a single tear traced down Ethan’s cheek.
It fell onto the table and spread into a small, dark circle.
“Emily, can we start—”
“No.”
I smiled. Clean and final.
He opened his mouth to try again, but his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen. His expression changed.
He listened for less than ten seconds before his entire body seemed to collapse inward, as if someone had pulled the scaffolding out from under him.
I didn’t catch every word, but fragments reached me—”leaked client data”… “malpractice suit”… “suspended pending investigation.”
Megan had used my old email credentials to send the wrong contract version. A major client had terminated their relationship with the company and filed suit for breach of confidentiality.
The company was assigning liability. Megan, as the person directly responsible, was being sued. Ethan, as her supervisor, faced joint liability.
He hung up and gripped the edge of the table to stay upright.
I stood, picked up my bag, and walked toward the door.
From behind me came a hoarse, broken call: “Emily—”
I didn’t turn around.
I hadn’t yet reached the courthouse entrance when an unfamiliar number lit up my phone.
I hesitated, then answered.
On the other end, my mother’s voice—thick with tears: “Emily! You have to save Megan! She’s your sister—your own flesh and blood! If she can’t pay the damages, she’ll go to prison! You studied law—help her!”
I said nothing.
She sobbed and begged: “Ethan said now that the divorce is final, he won’t deal with this for us anymore. We can’t possibly afford the legal fees or the settlement… Mom and Dad have no one else to turn to…”
I waited until she’d finished. Then I spoke.
“There’s nothing I can do. She made the mistake. Let the court decide.”
After I hung up, I added the number to my block list and slipped the phone into my pocket.
The sunlight outside the courthouse was blinding.
Nathan stood at the bottom of the steps, holding a bouquet of daffodils—the flower that means renewal and hope.
He watched me approach, smiled gently, and asked nothing. He simply held out the flowers.
“Welcome back, Emily.”
I took them and let a smile rise—unburdened, at last.
The day your life begins again—that’s your real birthday.
The darkness has passed. From this day forward, every year on this date: a celebration of new life.
(End)