After Eight Years, He Walked Away Like I Was Nothing

I declined firmly, saying I wanted to return to the office.

But without a word, Grant pulled me into the back seat.

Samantha was already seated in the front passenger seat, her posture casual and confident—like she owned the car, and the man beside her.

“Lena, just let Grant drive you,” she said sweetly. “He hasn’t been going to the office lately because he’s been keeping me company. He has plenty of free time now.”

In our eight years together, even during our anniversaries or when I was sick, Grant never missed work—not for me.

But the moment Samantha returned to America, she became the sole recipient of his rare and undivided attention.

That thought stung. I looked up, my eyes quietly taking in the two figures seated ahead of me.

Just then, Samantha gasped.

“Grant, I think I stained your seat!”

There was indeed a faint, dark red patch on the passenger seat.

Grant didn’t flinch. His tone was gentle, even indulgent.

“It’s alright, just needs a wash.”

Then, almost out of instinct, he glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

Seeing that I hadn’t reacted, he looked away without another word.

When we arrived at the office building, I opened the door to step out—only to run into my supervisor.

“Lena,” he said seriously, “are you absolutely sure about this? Once the application’s processed, there’s no turning back. Weren’t you planning to get married and go on your honeymoon next month?”

I was about to respond when Grant lowered the car window, his expression cold.

“Lena, Samantha wants to travel next month,” he announced bluntly. “Let’s push back the wedding and honeymoon by a month.”

I nodded without hesitation. “Alright.”

He was momentarily stunned, as if expecting me to argue or throw a fit. But I didn’t. I simply agreed.

Before I could say more, Samantha leaned toward him, tugging on his arm playfully.

“Grant, don’t postpone the honeymoon. Let’s all travel together instead.”

Grant grinned and, without even looking back at me, responded cheerfully,

“Sure, we’ll go together. Lena, let’s just book our trips separately.”

I didn’t object.

After all, I had already decided not to go through with the wedding—what reason did I have to go on a honeymoon?

I watched the car drive off, his silhouette growing smaller.

My supervisor looked at me with concern.

“Once the paperwork is submitted, it takes about a week. But if needed, I can expedite it—you could leave as early as the day after tomorrow.”

That evening, for the first time in a long while, Grant came to pick me up from work.

The moment I got into the car, he handed me a bowl of warm black sugar peach gum soup.

“I made this for you,” he said.

But just as he finished speaking, his phone screen lit up with a message.

It was from Samantha.

[Grant, you’re such a dummy. You made so much brown sugar peach gum soup—are you trying to turn Samantha into a little pig? ]

The car fell into an awkward silence.

Eventually, he broke it.

“You’re reading materials about foreign projects. Planning to take a trip for work?”

I shook my head. “My boss just asked me to familiarize myself with them.”

Sensing my low mood, he—who was usually aloof—suddenly softened his tone.

“Take the day off tomorrow. I’ll take you to the movies. Weren’t you always begging to see that new release?”

“No need. I don’t have time tomorrow.”

It was once his most anticipated movie.

But he had already watched it—with her.

No point watching it again.

He misunderstood, and his tone grew sharp.

“Lena, what’s your problem now?”

“I just let Samantha stay at our house for a few days, and you’re already throwing a fit?”

I was taken aback, about to explain that I wasn’t upset.

But he didn’t wait for my answer.

He scoffed and continued, voice heavy with accusation.

“With your attitude, how can I marry you? Samantha would suffer too much in the future!”

Then came the final blow:

“Let me make this clear—I am the one in charge of this house. Letting Samantha stay for a few days? That’s nothing. Even if she ends up living with us permanently, you have no right to object!”