Where My Love Never Reached Chapter 08
He stood in the rain and began reading the letter aloud in French.
His pronunciation was still flawless and elegant. But this time, the calm confidence and pride were gone. All that remained was regret and a voice thick with emotion.
Rain ran down his face, and it was impossible to tell where the rain ended and the tears began.
When he reached the final line, he dropped to one knee in the middle of the rain-soaked street.
“Gigi, I read it to you in French.” He looked up at me, his eyes filled with desperate pleading. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Just let me indulge you this once. Let me spoil you a little, okay? Please. Give me one more chance.”
I looked at Jeremiah kneeling in the rain. Holding my umbrella, I neither stepped back nor reached out to help him up.
Instead, I took a document from my bag and held it out to him.
It was the separation agreement. I had already signed it.
“Jeremiah. You’re five years too late.” His pupils contracted as he stared at the document. “As for that letter, I already translated it myself years ago, one word at a time with a dictionary. I’ve already read it to myself.”
I placed the agreement on top of the letter in his hands.
“Sign it. Don’t make me lose what little respect I have left for you.”
Three days after I returned home, I received an international package. The sender was Jeremiah.
I cut through the tape with a utility knife. Gone was the anticipation that once would have made my hands shake. Opening the package felt no different from handling routine paperwork.
Inside was the signed separation agreement. Beside my signature was his. The pen strokes pressed deeply into the paper, the handwriting slightly unsteady.
Also inside was a ring of keys. My spare keys from the apartment. And a small velvet box.
Inside was neither the priceless diamond ring nor one of those thoughtless refrigerator magnets he used to bring back from business trips to Luxembourg. Instead, it held a simple silver brooch, polished entirely by hand.
It was shaped like a daisy petal. Attached was a small note.
“Gigi, I made this myself. It has nothing to do with anyone else. It belongs only to you. I wish you every success and happiness in the future. I’m sorry.”
I looked at the brooch. Something inside me shifted ever so slightly.
It wasn’t gratitude. It was a complicated ache.
The hurt, humiliation, and resentment I had carried for five years had finally received an answer through this belated gift.
At last, he had truly seen me. At last, he understood what I had wanted all along.
Unfortunately, I no longer needed it.
A gallery owner in Paris called me.
“Gigi, the venue for next week’s exhibition near the Louvre has been finalized. We need you to come confirm the lighting setup.”
“Of course. I’ll fly over tomorrow,” I replied with a smile.
The road ahead was still long. But this time, I would live for myself.
The end.