I Fell Where His Love Favored Another

The car rolled into the underground garage of the mansion complex.

Daniel unfastened his seatbelt and, for once, walked around to open the passenger door for me himself.

"I had my assistant pick up that seafood place you love. It should be here soon."

He held my hand as we walked toward the elevator. His palm was warm, yet it could not melt the chill buried deep in my fingertips.

The moment we stepped into the living room, his phone rang sharply through the silence.

The ringtone was custom-made. A sugary love song Sophie had once performed on a talent show.

Daniel paused mid-step, released my hand, and pulled out his phone.

"Hey, Sophie? What's wrong?"

His voice softened instantly, threaded with a nervousness even he himself probably didn't notice.

Faint sobbing drifted from the other end of the call.

"Daniel... the power suddenly went out at my place. I'm scared of the dark. And my stomach really hurts..."

Daniel's expression changed immediately.

He glanced at me, hesitation flickering briefly in his eyes.

"Don't cry. Stay where you are. I'm coming right now."

He turned and walked back to the entryway to grab his car keys again.

"Claire, something came up with Sophie. The old district lost power, and she's scared being there alone."

He spoke with calm rationality while changing his shoes.

"Just eat the seafood when it gets here. Don't wait up for me. I'll come back after I get her settled."

The moment the words left his mouth, he suddenly turned around again, his shadow falling over me.

Instinctively, he reached out, probably intending to pull me into his arms or ruffle my hair, anything to ease the guilt of leaving me behind.

But just before his fingertips touched my hair, I tilted my head away naturally and stepped back half a pace.

No complaints. No anger. Just a quiet retreat stripped of emotion.

That half-step became a distance between us.

The hallway light fell across his face, and I clearly saw his hand freeze awkwardly in midair before his fingers curled slightly inward.

In the past, the moment I saw him frown even a little, I would obediently lean closer for his touch, even if my stomach was twisting in agony.

But today, I stepped back.

A flicker of unfamiliar panic crossed Daniel's eyes.

He parted his lips as if he wanted to ask whether my stomach was hurting again, but Sophie's sobbing conveniently echoed through the phone at that exact moment.

Suppressing whatever irritation was rising inside him, he forced himself to relax, withdrew his hand, and straightened his tie.

"Remember to eat the seafood while it's hot." He paused again at the door. Without turning back, he lowered his voice slightly. "Don't wait up. Just go to sleep."

I watched him hurriedly put on his shoes and smiled faintly as I stepped back into the shadows.

"Okay. Drive safely."

Daniel was left hanging there awkwardly. He stood at the doorway for ten full seconds without even touching the handle, as though he were waiting for me to ask him not to leave.

But I only stood there quietly.

In the end, he slammed the door shut and left in frustration.

Earlier today, the doctor had told me that if I stopped chemotherapy, I probably had no more than a month left to live.

I had originally planned to tell him tonight.

Ten minutes later, Daniel's assistant delivered the seafood.

But ever since six months ago, when I worked myself into a severe stomach hemorrhage pulling all-nighters to finish one of Daniel's projects, I hadn't been able to eat seafood anymore.

He had forgotten completely.

I picked up the container of food, walked into the kitchen, and calmly dumped it into the trash.

The crab and shrimp slid into the garbage together, just like the wholehearted love I had spent the last three years giving him.

I shook three strong painkillers into my palm and swallowed them down with icy water.

The pills scraped painfully down my throat, but by then, I was already used to it.

Too many hopes had ended in disappointment. At some point, even disappointment itself had become unnecessary.