The Heart You Broke, The Love You Lost

Chapter two

Modred grew visibly angry at my words and snapped, “Have you gone mad? How dare you speak to me like that? You’ve got the nerve, huh? Have you forgotten that you’re living under my roof and that I’m supporting you as well?”

I exhaled, forcing myself to hold back a retort. After five years together, I knew better than to argue. The truth was, we’d always split the bills evenly, even after I quit my job. I’d been using my savings to make up my share. The oven beeped, interrupting my thoughts. Ignoring Modred, I slipped on gloves and took the cake out of the oven.

Modred’s confusion was evident as he glanced between the cake and me. Then, in a softer tone, he asked, “Is today your birthday?”

It was my 28th birthday, and it also marked five years since we’d gotten together. I’d spent the entire day baking this cake, hoping we could celebrate together after he finished work.

He scanned the room, looking guilty. Spotting the candles, he picked them up and placed them on the cake. “Freya,” he said gently, “I’ll make it up to you. I’ve been busy. How about this afternoon, we go out, and you can pick any engagement ring you want?”

He sat down, showing me the rare gentle side I’d once fallen for. “Listen, Freya, there’s no reason to be jealous of Diana. What Diana and I had was in the past, when we were young. It happened a long time ago, and I’ve moved on.”

Moved on? Was he serious? My mind flashed back to the time I brought him lunch at the training ground and overheard him talking with some warriors. When they asked why he was with me, he had said, “I can be with any woman, but not Diana.”

Back then, I was naive enough to believe my sincerity could overcome anything. Now I knew better. I had made mistake after mistake, and I realized I needed to lose Modred in order to find myself.

“I don’t think that’s necessary anymore,” I said quietly. “Go ahead—I’ll handle things myself.”

He looked stunned for a moment, clearly unused to this tone from me. After years of swallowing my pride, he had grown accustomed to me always submitting. He probably thought I had already forgiven him.

“Make a wish,” he said. In the past, I’d always wished for happiness and love with Modred. I wished for us to stay together forever. But this time was different.

“I want to be free from Modred and be the happiest woman ever,” I thought as I blew out the candles. When I opened my eyes, Modred was gone. The cake I’d spent hours making lay shattered on the floor. He had left in such a hurry that he hadn’t even bothered to close the door behind him.

I sighed and began cleaning up the mess. Afterward, I checked my phone and saw Diana’s latest post: “I bumped into the cabinet—clumsy me! But my knight in shining armor came to save me.”

Scrolling through the comments, I found Modred’s reply: “I’m always here for you.”

The irony stung. This was the same man who ignored me whenever I had an accident. My phone beeped—a message from Modred. “I’m taking Diana to the hospital because she hurt her leg. Go to her apartment and clean it.”

Another message followed: “And make some hot soup. No garlic.”

It dawned on me that all those times he had complained about the soup I made, calling me names, it was because Diana didn’t like garlic. I considered ignoring the message, but after hesitating for a moment, I headed to Diana’s apartment. When I arrived, Modred was holding Diana, speaking to her softly.

The moment he saw me, his face hardened. “Why are you late? Do you want Diana’s treatment to be delayed?” he barked.

Diana pouted and said, “I’m fine. Don’t be angry at Freya because of me, even though I know she’s never liked me.”

“Enough, Freya!” Modred snapped. “Clean this place up properly. I won’t marry someone who’s jealous and can’t do anything right.” With that, he carried Diana out in his arms. As they left, I muttered under my breath, “Neither will I marry a shameless, cheating man.”

The apartment was a mess. Trash was scattered everywhere, and the sight of two used condoms made my stomach turn. So, this was what he had been doing all those nights he came home late—spending time with Diana.

Diana’s room was filled with luxury items: designer clothes, shoes, skincare products—things I could only dream of. A few days ago, I had asked Modred for a simple lipstick as a birthday gift. His response was scathing: “You’re too old to celebrate birthdays. Do you think makeup will make you look younger? Just do your duty as a housewife. It’s disgusting.”

Clearly, Diana was the younger, polished woman he preferred. Not me.

I blinked back tears and took photos of every corner of Diana’s apartment. Then I went back to my room and packed my belongings. It didn’t take long—Modred had rarely given me anything.

Diana’s possessions filled her apartment, but everything I owned fit into a single suitcase.

After packing, I called my best friend, Marilyn, who was abroad. She answered immediately, as if she had been expecting my call. I tried to hold back my tears as I said, “I shouldn’t have given up my career. I was wrong about everything. I regret it. Marilyn, I want to come and find you.”

“Freya, you’re a fool,” she said bluntly. And she was right—I deserved that. She had warned me countless times, but I hadn’t listened.

The call ended, leaving me feeling even sadder. I broke down in tears, mourning the five years I had wasted. Just then, a new message popped up on my phone: “Bought you the earliest available ticket. Three days from now, at noon.”

Fresh tears streamed down my face. They weren’t just tears of pain but also of relief. This was the beginning of my escape.