Seven Years Together, But Never Forever

I told him the truth.

He didn’t ask any more questions, but he kept calling to share where he was and what he was doing.

Daniel mentioned how nervous he was about meeting Abigail after all these years.

It struck me as odd—this habit of ours. Over the years, we have grown accustomed to sharing everything. Whenever he traveled for work, it was natural for us to say we missed each other and chat about the day’s events.

Now, even as he prepared to see Abigail, he still called me to report.

Habit, I realized, is a particularly terrible thing.

I remained silent for a while.

“Are you angry? Why aren’t you saying anything?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“No,” I said softly, the words bitter on my tongue. “I wish you the best.”

Even I wasn’t sure how I managed to say it.

Daniel was silent for a moment too. Then, after what felt like forever, he said quietly, “I’ll come back as soon as possible. No matter what the result is, I love you.”

I wanted to believe him—I might have even believed him for a fleeting second. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because this time, I was ready to let go.

Three days later, Daniel returned.

I hadn’t expected him to come back so soon. But what shocked me more was that standing next to him was Abigail.

I still remember the first time I met Abigail. Back then, I had felt a pang of envy.

She was the kind of girl who wasn’t afraid to break the rules—a little wild, yet undeniably magnetic. Stunningly beautiful, she exuded confidence and flair.

The air between us was tense, laden with unspoken history.

The kind of natural charisma Abigail possessed was something I could never emulate, shaped as I was by years of discipline and propriety. She had a tattoo curling elegantly along the side of her neck, her sunglasses perched atop her head, and her loose curls cascading over her shoulders.

"Lily, long time no see," she greeted me, her voice familiar but carrying an undertone of weariness.

It struck me as strange—this version of Abigail seemed so different from the confident, untouchable figure in my memories.

She asked politely if she could come in, and I, somewhat stunned by her sudden appearance, stepped aside to let her enter.

As she walked in, Abigail accidentally bumped into a decorative bear adorned with a wedding bow tie, sending it tumbling to the ground. She crouched down, picked it up, and handed it back to me with a faint smile.

"I forgot to congratulate you," she said. "I wish you and Daniel a happy wedding."

Her words were cordial, yet they carried a weight I couldn’t quite decipher.

I simply nodded in response, unsure of what else to say.

Abigail wandered around the living room, her gaze sweeping over the sparse decor. The house was unnervingly empty—most of my belongings had already been shipped back to my parents' home. All that remained were items belonging to Daniel or shared mementos I couldn’t bear to sort through.

Daniel, too, noticed the change.

"Lily," he asked, puzzled, "why does the house feel so empty?"

"I’ve been organizing and clearing out some things," I said casually, brushing off his concern with a vague excuse.

Abigail sat down and removed her sunglasses, revealing bruised eye sockets and faint scars etched across her face.

At that moment, I understood why she seemed so different. The unshakable confidence she once had was now dulled, replaced by visible signs of hardship.

"As you can see," Abigail began, her voice soft but steady, "I'm not doing well."

She explained that her years abroad had not unfolded as she had imagined. The man she referred to as her husband had never intended to marry her. For him, she had merely been a fleeting distraction.

She had been trapped abroad, battling severe depression, unable to return. It wasn't until she reached out to Daniel that things began to change.

"Thanks to Daniel’s help over the years, I never lost myself there," she said quietly.

When Daniel heard this, his nerves were palpable. I could tell what was making him anxious. It wasn't just that they hadn't spoken recently—it was that they'd been in contact all along, over the years.

"Daniel spends a month with me every year, at the end of the year. Without him, I wouldn't have made it through," she added.

It all suddenly made sense—Daniel had always told me he was going on a business trip for a month at the end of each year. But it wasn’t a business trip. He had been going to see Abigail.

She continued, "When Daniel started his business, I heard you sold your dowry to give him the startup capital."

"I was in trouble at the time too," she explained, her voice tinged with a hint of regret. "So, Daniel sent me $100,000 to help."

That explained it—the missing $100,000 from his company’s accounts. It was never just a financial discrepancy. It was a hidden part of Daniel’s life with Abigail that I had never known.