After I Left, He Regretted Everything

Rod and I were in the middle of things when I reached for the nightstand drawer. My fingertips closed around a cardboard box.

Not the brand I kept there.

I held up the unopened box of condoms and looked at him：

“Where did these come from?”

His eyes flickered. Then he dipped his head and kissed my neck, his voice muffled：

“I was ordering delivery from the convenience store yesterday and threw those in to hit the minimum. Never used them. Just figured I'd try a different brand.”

He tried to pick up where he left off. I pressed my hand flat against his chest：

“Go take a shower first.”

He froze, clearly not expecting that reaction.

But he didn't push it. He rolled off the bed, grabbed his robe, and headed for the bathroom.

He left in a hurry. His phone stayed behind on the pillow.

The screen lit up. Three new messages.

Saved under “Intern Emma Fox”—perfectly formal, except for the little flower emoji tacked on at the end.

“Mr. Gilbert I'm so sorry, I was packing up my bag yesterday and I think the new box of condoms I bought accidentally fell out at your place.”

“I'm allergic to other brands so that's the only kind I can use, don't you dare sneak them for yourself!”

“If I find out you used them, next time I see you I'm going to punish you sooo bad!”

I stared at those three messages for a solid thirty seconds.

Then I picked up the phone and walked to the bathroom door.

Pushed it open and tossed the phone right in front of him.

“Someone's looking for you.”

“Seems pretty urgent. Make sure you reply.”

……

The color drained from his face.

He fumbled for the phone.

Once he read the messages, panic flooded his eyes：

“Marilyn, let me explain……”

“She's just a kid fresh out of college. She came over yesterday to drop off some documents and must've left them by accident.”

“I had no idea she had those in her bag.”

I leaned against the doorframe and looked at him. Then I laughed.

“Rod, we've been together seven years.”

“When did you learn to lie this badly?”

My gaze dropped to his right hand, knuckles white around a fist that was faintly shaking, and the smile on my lips deepened.

“You know, every time you lie, your hands give you away.”

“You were never a good liar. That's actually one of the reasons I said yes to being with you in the first place.”

“But it looks like I gave you too much credit.”

His expression darkened. He stepped forward and reached for my hand.

“I'm not lying. It really is a misunderstanding.”

“She's young. She's careless. Kids leave stuff lying around—it happens.”

I pulled away from his touch.

“Careless enough to leave her own condoms at her male boss's apartment?”

“Careless enough to tell her male boss she'll punish him?”

“Rod, do you think I'm stupid?”

He finally stopped trying to explain. His brow creased, and his voice turned impatient：

“Fine. Think whatever you want. I'm done explaining.”

“I'm out there working myself to death every single day so you can have a better life.”

“And now, because some girl accidentally left something behind, you want to start a fight with me?”

“Can you grow up?”

I looked at him, and the man in front of me felt like a stranger.

Seven years ago, he was so broke he couldn't even talk to me without blushing.

Back then we rented a basement room barely a hundred square feet, didn't even own a real bed.

He saved three months' wages to buy me the cheapest lipstick he could find, and told me：

“Marilyn, once I make something of myself, I'll buy you the very best.”

The way he looked at me then was all warmth and aching tenderness.

Now he had the money. He had the status.

And the only things left in his eyes when he looked at me were impatience and indifference.