Love That Ended in Vain

The day our daughter had a high fever, Matt was at a parent-teacher meeting for his first love’s son.

I called him, only for her to pick up.

Through sobs, she apologized, but Matt quickly grabbed the phone, his tone impatient.

"She’s a single mom with a kid. What’s wrong with me looking out for them?"

So, I turned to my daughter, who was quietly receiving her IV, and asked softly, "How about it, sweetheart? From now on, it’s just you and me."

My daughter lifted her face, still flushed from the fever, and softly said, "Okay."

"Good girl."

I kissed her cheek, then picked up my phone to call her teacher about transferring schools.

The teacher told me they would need at least a month to process the transfer.

That was fine, though.

If I could endure eight years of a marriage that felt like widowhood, I could wait one more month.

Rosie Armstrong's round eyes kept darting toward the hospital room door. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was waiting for her dad, Matt Armstrong.

I called Matt again, hoping that he would at least say goodnight to Rosie.

The phone rang for a long time before he finally answered. His voice was cold and filled with irritation.

"Belle, I was at a parent-teacher meeting with Ben. Do you really need to check up on me every second?

"And now you're making up that Rosie is sick? Do you enjoy jinxing your own daughter? How cruel can you be?"

The background noise on his end was lively. Through the noise, I could tell he was at Rosie's favorite family-friendly restaurant.

Matt had always said he was too busy with work, yet now he had time to attend a meeting for Ben and take him and Erica Houston out for dinner.

Suddenly, I heard a clear voice say, “Daddy, why aren’t you eating?"

My hands trembled, and my phone nearly slipped from my grasp.

At that moment, Matt hung up.

It had already been another week since he last came home.

In the past, I would have cried and looked for him, asking if he was staying at Erica’s house again. Now? I didn’t even feel the urge to call him.

Then, just as unexpectedly, Matt returned home.

The moment he walked through the door, he began questioning me.

"Did you stop making Ben’s lunches for the past week?

"You shouldn’t take out your anger on the kids, no matter what. And since Erica doesn’t know how to cook, you’re the only one who can do it."

I lowered my gaze and said nothing.

Matt's expression softened slightly. He reached out and gently squeezed my hand.

"You’ve always wanted to take wedding photos, right? If you behave…"

It was ridiculous that I had been with Matt for eight years, and we had no wedding photos or even a marriage license.

The night before we were supposed to get married, Erica’s husband passed away, leaving behind their one-year-old son.

She had a breakdown and was hospitalized. Matt spent all his time taking care of her, leaving no room for anything or anyone else.

Our marriage was put on hold indefinitely.

Now, he thought he could tempt me with the promise of wedding photos, as if that would make me submit. However, I simply looked at him calmly, my expression unchanged.

Before the tension could break, Rosie’s teacher called me.

Rosie had gotten into a fight at school.

I grabbed my bag and rushed out.

Matt, just as alarmed, followed me. He pulled up in front of me. Without hesitation, I got into the passenger seat.

Then, I noticed something that left me stunned.

There was a sticker on the passenger seat labeled with a photo of Erica and the words, "Sweetheart’s Reserved Seat."

Matt fastened his seatbelt.

When he saw what I was staring at, his expression shifted. Panic flickered in his eyes as he quickly tore off the sticker and stuffed it into his pocket.

Afraid I’d cry and fuss like I used to, he explained, "Erica stuck it there for fun, it’s not—"

"Just drive. Rosie is waiting for us," I cut him off, my voice calm.

Matt stared at my face for a while before falling silent.

…

I replayed the moment in my mind of Matt carefully tucking the sticker into his pocket.

The sight only made me feel that the past eight years had been a complete waste.

When we arrived at the school office, a little boy was crying at the top of his lungs. Rosie stood with her shoulders shaking, her loose hair covering her face as silent tears fell.

I recognized the boy immediately. It was Ben Ortega, Erica’s son.

Matt, with his long legs, stepped inside before I could. He positioned himself in front of me, blocking my view completely.

Rosie’s eyes lit up when she saw Matt.

She was about to run into his arms when Ben got there first, throwing himself into Matt’s embrace.