The Day I Needed Him Most, He Chose Her

I hesitated.

"Come on," he said, already walking toward the parking lot. "It's late. Safety first."

That night, he drove me to the entrance of my apartment complex. He didn't ask for my number, didn't send me a friend request on social media. He just said, "See you tomorrow," and drove off.

I watched his taillights disappear around the corner. I stood there for a moment, then turned and went upstairs.

In early October, he added me on social media.

He'd found me through the work group chat. His display name just read "Valentine James."

I accepted.

His first message: "That night I drove you home—I didn't freak you out, did I?"

"No."

"Good. If you're ever working late, just let me know. I'm usually around."

I replied with a simple "Okay" and left it at that.

After that, whenever I stayed late, he'd occasionally text: "You done yet? I'm downstairs."

At first I turned him down. Then it became routine.

His car always smelled faintly of lemon, and he played music from bands I'd never heard of. We barely talked on the drive. When we arrived, he'd say, "Get some sleep," and pull away.

One night, before I got out, I asked him, "Why do you keep driving me home?"

He blinked, caught off guard. "It's on my way."

I looked at him.

His ears went red.

"Okay," he said, ducking his head. "It's not entirely on my way."

I didn't say anything. I got out of the car.

A few steps later, he called after me. "Lydia!"

I turned around.

"Can I... take you out? Like, pursue you?"

Under the streetlight, he stood beside his car, watching me with a nervous look on his face.

I thought about it. "My last relationship messed me up pretty badly."

"I know."

"You know?"

"The whole office talks about it. They say your ex was a real piece of work."

I stared at him for a second, then laughed.

"And you still want to try?"

He looked at me, dead serious. "That just means you had bad taste. But you don't have to pick anymore. I'll do the picking for you."

That night, I lay in bed and thought for a long time.

Not about him. About myself.

Did I still have it in me to try again?

In early November, I said yes.

Not because of anything he said. It was because of something he did.

It was my birthday. I hadn't told a soul. After work, I walked home alone and stopped at the convenience store downstairs for a cup of instant noodles.

When I got to my floor, Valentine was standing outside my door, holding a cake.

"How do you know where I live?"

"You let it slip once."

I unlocked the door. He followed me inside, glanced around. "It's small, but you keep it nice."

He set the cake on the table and lit a candle.

"Make a wish?"

I stared at that single flame, and my mind drifted to my last birthday. I'd spent it with Clay. He bought me flowers that day and told me I was the only woman he'd ever love.

When those flowers wilted, I threw them out.

"Lydia?"

I snapped back and blew out the candle.

"What'd you wish for?"

"Can't tell you."

He smiled and pulled a small box from his pocket. "Here. Birthday present."

Inside was a bracelet with a tiny pendant engraved with the word Peace.

"I hope from here on out, everything is peaceful for you."

I looked up at him.

He didn't look away. He just held my gaze, his eyes bright and steady.

"Valentine."

"Yeah?"

"Did you know I had a miscarriage?"

He went still for a moment.

"Yeah."

"And you're still here?"

He was quiet for a beat. Then he said, "That's a debt he owes you. It's not something you owe me."

I lowered my eyes to the bracelet in my hands.

"Lydia, I don't care what your past looks like. What I care about is whether you'll let me be part of what comes next."

Wind rattled softly against the windowpane.

I fastened the bracelet around my wrist and looked up at him.

"Yes."