The One I Couldn’t Let Go

On our first date, my heart pounded like a drum.

But I waited until the streetlights flickered on one by one, and he still didn’t show up.

I stood there in the chilly autumn breeze for over two hours before he finally called.

His voice on the phone was full of apologies, saying he had lost track of time while working on an experiment.

Later, one of his friends let it slip that Keith had actually spent the night gaming at an internet café.

Did I feel sad back then?

I couldn’t remember.

I had always been the one left behind.

If anything, I was already used to it.

Not long after, he gave me a bouquet, and just like that, I happily followed him again.

In those chat logs, he called me dumb and said I was gullible and easy to please.

…

For the first time, after making him breakfast every morning, I only made a portion for myself.

He sat across from me in his loose T-shirt, propping his chin up with one hand, watching me.

His eyes always carried that deceptively affectionate look.

"No breakfast for me?"

I nodded, stirring my coffee without looking at him.

"You don’t like my cooking anyway."

Back when we first got together, I used to bring him breakfast every morning.

But in those chat logs, I saw how he either took a few careless bites or gave away the meals I carefully prepared to his friends who didn’t have time to buy their own.

He chuckled from across the table.

I looked up and shot him a glare.

"I was wrong, dear."

The morning light streamed in, casting a soft glow in his eyes.

I always felt that he handled this relationship far more effortlessly than I did.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t know how many girlfriends he had before me.

Every trick he used, and every affectionate gesture had been refined through countless past relationships.

But he was my first love.

And up until now, we were supposed to be registering our marriage today.

Our families had already met, the discussions about houses and cars were settled.

Yet, with just one sentence, I was calling it off.

I could already imagine how people around us would react.

They would think I was spoiled and being dramatic.

It had been so long, so did it really still matter that much?

I got up and walked to the entryway.

I took the day off because my mom asked a fortune teller to pick this so-called auspicious date for us to register our marriage.

But now, I was going to work instead.

Just as I opened the door, a hand caught my wrist from behind.

He didn’t ask if we were going to get our marriage license today.

He didn’t tell me not to come back if I were to step out of the house.

He just looked at me with those calm eyes, a hint of helplessness flickering within them.

His composure made me feel like I was just throwing a childish tantrum.

"Teresa, I think your breakfasts are really delicious."

He reached up and buttoned the collar of my shirt, which I had left undone in my rush to leave.

For a long moment, we stood there in silence, eyes locked.

The emotion in his gaze felt like something I could melt into the moment I touched it.

I took a step back, but he held onto my wrist.

Then, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

It wasn’t like our usual morning kisses.

This time, it felt like he was trying to devour me whole.

…

I felt a little disoriented.

Even as I sat at my desk, I still wasn’t sure how I had managed to escape from his grasp.

A coworker slid over to my side when she saw me.

"Aren’t you supposed to be registering your marriage this afternoon? Did I see that wrong, or do you just love work that much?"

I rubbed my temples and shrugged at her, too drained to explain.

Another email sat in my inbox.

It was from the same sender who had sent the chat logs.

The message was simple.

It contained a single candid photo of a woman in a white dress pulling a suitcase through the airport

Along with it was a short note:

"Do you know her? Her name is Kaylee White. She’s Keith Walton’s first love."

"Keith never treated Kaylee the way he treated other women. She’s back now…"

"Do you really think you can hold on to him?"

…

Honestly, this kind of childish provocation felt like something straight out of an elementary school playground.

It wasn’t even worth a second of my time.