Regret Comes Late

Sitting in the study, my chest felt unbearably tight, as though an invisible hand was gripping my heart and squeezing relentlessly. The room, once a haven filled with books and memories of quiet evenings spent together, now felt suffocating.

I yanked open the desk drawer, hoping to distract myself by revisiting Alexa's book, Confessions of Love. My fingers brushed past a stack of papers and my breath hitched when I noticed a different manuscript.

The title glared at me like an accusation: A Thousand and One Confessions. Beneath it was a name I had never seen her use before—Nate.

My hands trembled as I flipped through the pages. Each line I read sent a chill down my spine. These weren't academic musings or romantic anecdotes. They were raw, unfiltered declarations of passion. The words bled across the page, dripping with yearning and desire—desire for a young man's body, for his touch, for his essence.

Tears blurred my vision and one fell, smudging the ink on the manuscript. How could this have happened?

This was the same woman who had sworn eternal devotion to me, who had once promised, with tears in her eyes, to walk hand in hand with me through life and death. Yet, hidden in plain sight, she had poured her soul out to another man under the guise of a pseudonym.

A sickening realization took hold of me. Nathan.

Driven by a mix of desperation and anger, I opened my phone and searched for his social media profile. It was private—nothing but a single dash where his posts should have been.

But then another idea struck me.

I turned to Alexa's laptop, which she had carelessly left open on the study desk. The familiar wallpaper of a scenic mountain range mocked me as I navigated to her social media account. I searched for Nathan's profile through her friend list.

And there it was—a treasure trove of posts I wasn't meant to see.

Pinned at the top was a photo. Nathan grinned at the camera, holding up a book in his hand. The caption read: [Thank you to my girlfriend for handwriting a book for me. I'm the happiest man alive!]

My stomach twisted. The comments section below buzzed with life:

[Nice!]

[Your girlfriend is amazing! She's just like Mrs. Colby—so loyal and devoted!]

[Love this! Nathan, teach us how to find someone like her!]

And amidst the sea of replies, Nathan had smugly commented: [My girlfriend is even better than Mrs. Colby!]

But what caught my attention was a small heart icon beside one of the comments. Alexa's account had liked it.

My hands balled into fists, my nails digging into my palms until I felt the sting of broken skin. I laughed bitterly—uncontrollably. My voice echoed in the empty room, a sound filled with anguish and disbelief.

This was the same woman who had always refused to exchange contact details with other men, who had said, "Sorry, I have a husband," with such conviction that no one dared question her loyalty.

Now, I realized it was all a performance. Every act of devotion, every boundary she claimed to draw—it had been a carefully constructed facade designed for my eyes alone.

***

Two hours later, Alexa returned. The front door creaked open and I heard the faint click of her heels against the floorboards. She stepped into the room with a radiant smile, her arms laden with a chocolate cake and a beautifully wrapped gift box.

"Harry?" she called softly, her voice honeyed and warm.

She walked in, her appearance immaculate. Her blouse was perfectly buttoned, her hair tidy, her cheeks glowing faintly from the cold air outside. It was as if nothing had happened.

She held up the cake, her smile widening. "Look what I brought! Your favorite chocolate cake. And guess what else?"

Alexa set the cake down and approached me, her steps light and confident. She slipped her arms around me from behind, pressing her cheek to mine. Her scent, once comforting, now felt suffocating.

"Ta-da!" She held out a sky-blue jewelry box, her eyes sparkling as she opened it to reveal an intricate watch. "Harry, do you remember this?"

I nodded faintly. How could I forget?

Three months ago, Alexa had designed this custom watch herself. She'd called it Starcatcher, a symbol of our "unique love." She had laughed as she described how it represented her devotion, saying she'd pluck stars from the heavens if that's what it took to make me happy.

Now, as I stared at the watch, all I could feel was a bitter sense of irony.

Alexa stepped closer, her delicate fingers brushing against my wrist. "Let me put it on you," she said softly, her voice full of tenderness.

I pulled my hand away, dodging her touch. "There's no rush. Since it's a birthday gift, let's save it for the day."

For a moment, her hand hung in the air, her expression faltering slightly before she quickly masked it with another smile. "Alright," she said cheerfully, as if my reaction hadn't bothered her at all.

But I noticed how her gaze lingered on me, searching for something beneath my calm facade.

She didn't find it.