The Boyfriend Who Could Never Stand On My Side,Then Protected His Junior

After my father died in the accident, my mother sank into a severe depression.

In the end she didn't pull through. On her deathbed she gripped my hand, telling me she was sorry, and in the same breath she gave me her last wish.

To bury the pocket watch, the token between her and my father, on the summit where they had first met.

The thought that her wish was about to come true left me shaky with feeling despite myself.

Seeing that my face wasn't as grim as it had been the past few days, Byron spoke to me first. "I know I was wrong. Can you please stop ignoring me?"

I was leaving tonight. I had no interest in going another round with him, so I just gave a perfunctory nod.

As long as everything went smoothly.

But on the trail we passed an old man selling herbal tea, and Bernice's charity flared up all over again.

"Byron, let's buy some herbal tea. Look, it's only a few dollars, it's really cheap."

She pressed her palms together and gazed at my boyfriend, all wounded and pitiful. "Please, please, help the poor old man out!"

Byron shot me a glance, and when I said nothing, he reached out and ruffled Bernice's hair.

His eyes were so doting they practically dripped. "You've got such a kind heart. Fine, let's get some!"

I didn't say a word. I let Bernice pick out a big fat bag of it.

Put on the scale, it came to a full two pounds.

Bernice blinked, tilted her head, and asked, "How much is it, mister?"

Byron already had his phone out, ready to pay.

The kindly old man in Bernice's eyes smiled and said, "Three thousand."

Byron's hand froze over the payment.

His family was comfortable, middle-class, but there was no way he was dropping three thousand on a bag of cheap junk herbal tea.

"Three thousand! Are you kidding me?"

Bernice's voice shot up.

The old man tapped his price tag, annoyed. "Three dollars a gram. It's marked right there."

Bernice's face went red with holding it in, and Byron didn't look much better.

But they were civilized people. You could poke them three times and not get a peep out of them.

Byron looked at me for help. I looked up at the sky.

The moment they balked at paying, a few thugs closed in around them. "You got a problem?"

They were strangers here, out of their depth, and didn't want trouble.

Byron ground his teeth and stared at me. "You're just going to watch?"

I made a small sound and nodded. "Just let it go. It's not easy for him either."

Byron went white. He hadn't expected me to still be angry, and now he was both furious and frantic.

The old man nodded. "The lady's got class. This boyfriend of yours doesn't deserve you."

I snorted out a laugh.

Byron had no choice but to swallow it and pay.

Bernice didn't dare open her mouth the rest of the way up, and Byron, face like stone, ignored his junior labmate and me both.

Not until we reached the summit did I carefully take out a square of red cloth from against my chest.

Gently, bit by bit, I unwrapped it.

It was the only thing I had left of my parents, one of the few keepsakes my mother had left in this world.

But as I peeled back the last layer of red cloth, my face froze.

The pocket watch wasn't inside. There was only a plastic bottle cap.

Bernice snorted out a laugh. "Laura, you carefully carried a bottle cap all the way up the mountain?"

My mind went blank. Before the trip I had checked, over and over, that everything was where it should be.

The whole way here, only Byron and Bernice had been able to touch my bag.

I turned, and without a flicker of hesitation I clamped my hand around Bernice's throat.

She screamed once. I pinned her hard against the railing, eyes gone bloodshot, and demanded, "Where is my pocket watch?"

"I—I don't know."

Byron seemed stunned that I'd react like this. "Don't do anything crazy. You could kill her."

My grip tightened, notch by notch. "I'll ask you one more time. Where is my pocket watch?"

Shaking, Bernice dug the pocket watch out of her pocket and handed it to me.

I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They spilled over.

I clutched the recovered watch as tight as I could, terrified of losing it again.

And Byron lost his temper. He jabbed a finger at me and shouted, "Are you sick? You nearly killed Bernice over some dead person's junk."

I ignored him and opened the watch to check it.

The moment it opened, I went still.

The photo of my parents inside the watch had been scribbled all over with a pen.

They'd drawn a mustache on my gentle mother and blacked out my father's eyes into panda rings.

Whatever was holding me together snapped, and I broke into wild, sobbing cries.

Byron looked at me like I was a lunatic. "Is it really worth all this? It's not like it's the only photo you've got. Bernice didn't mean to. If you—"

Slap. Without a second's hesitation, I struck him hard across the face.

Crying, I dropped to my knees and clawed a hole into the dirt with my bare hands, the grit tearing my fingers until they bled.

"Laura…" Byron hesitated a moment, wanting to comfort me, but I shoved him away.

His temper flared up out of nowhere. "Fine. Your parents' keepsake is the most important thing. We'll get out of your sight."

With that, he wrapped an arm around the sniffling Bernice and left.

I dug at the summit for a long time, and finally I buried my parents' pocket watch.

Both my hands were trembling, blood and dirt packed under my nails.

Softly I said, "Thank you, Mom, Dad. For watching over me one last time."

For helping me see it clearly, at last, that five years of love had been nothing but a joke.

I went back to the hotel, grabbed my bags, took a cab to the airport, switched off my phone, and went to sleep, all in one clean sweep.

Byron still thought I was only sulking. He deliberately packed dinner for two and brought it back to the hotel.

He pushed open the door, and at the sight of the empty room, something in his chest tightened for no reason he could name.

A panic that he had lost me crept over him. Then he shook his head, smiling.

Five years together. How could that be?

But when he made out what was sitting on the nightstand, the color drained from his face.