After Loving Him, I Learned to Love Myself

Bianca's POV

Somehow, I hadn’t noticed when the call had ended. When I looked down at the screen on my phone, I found Sabrina had sent a selfie, dressed up in lace lingerie—but then, in a flash, she unsent it.

Just then, Tristan walked back in with the doctor. When he saw me crying, he rushed over, grabbing my hand with concern. “Bianca, what’s wrong? Did I do something to make you sad?”

His voice was full of worry, his gaze soft and concerned. For a split second, I felt confused—like maybe the call from Sabrina, all those words I’d heard, had just been a dream. But there it was, staring back at me from my call history: proof it had all been real.

So, I just shook my head and let the doctor do his check-up, scribbling notes and eventually prescribing something for “anxiety.”

That night, Tristan turned off his phone, staying close as if he feared I might break down if he looked away. He tried to comfort me with plans for our fifth wedding anniversary, explaining he’d bought an island and even named it after me. “We’ll go there soon and spend some real time together,” he promised.

But when he reached out to touch me, I instinctively flinched back. Tristan’s face fell, his expression like a child caught in the wrong.

“Bianca, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice small. “If I did something to upset you, you can yell at me, hit me if you have to… just don’t shut me out.”

My heart felt hollow. What good would yelling or hitting do? Yet looking into those sincere eyes of his, I found myself wanting to believe him. Just this once.

I took a deep breath. “A friend told me something today… She’d been married five years when her husband suddenly cheated on her, and she didn’t know how to cope.” I paused, studying his face. “Tristan, if you ever get tired of me, please, just…”

But he cut me off, his words quick and firm. “Bianca, don’t talk like that. I would give you my life—how could I ever betray you? Don’t let your mind wander like that anymore, okay?”

Seeing how confidently Tristan spoke, I suddenly remembered a time when we were at a restaurant and a fire broke out. He’d pushed me out of harm’s way without a second thought. I’d cried and scolded him for putting himself in danger, but he’d held me close and whispered, “Bianca, if only one of us can make it out, I want that person to be you.”

Here was the same man willing to risk his life for me, yet he couldn’t stay faithful. Ironic, wasn’t it? Deep down, I knew this relationship was already on borrowed time.

The next morning, he burst into the room, balancing trays of breakfast food

“Bianca, I got your favorites—chicken noodle soup, egg sandwich, and spring roll. Take your pick!”

I glanced at the food and then frowned when I caught the smell of perfume. I had a bit of a sensitive nose and usually didn’t wear perfume. But now, there was a sweet, cloying scent on Tristan.

As he prepared the food in front of me, I suddenly felt lost.

How could someone look so loving and yet be so unfaithful?

“Bianca, how about I take you to a jewelry exhibit later?” he offered, smiling. “I know you’ll love it—the designer has a real talent. You might find a few pieces that catch your eye.”

I wasn’t very interested, but Tristan had already gathered everything I’d for the outing. Seeing how enthusiastic he was, I didn’t want to dampen his spirits and just nodded along.

But as I got settled in the car, my phone buzzed. A message from Sabrina popped up on my screen.