Too Late to Wanted Me Back

I clenched my fists, forcing my emotions back down, the memories swirling like a storm in my mind.

Katrina’s knowing smile lingered, as though she could see right through me, but I refused to let her have the satisfaction.

“No, we haven’t,” I finally said, my tone flat. “He’s always preferred going somewhere quieter.”

Her smile widened, as if that response confirmed something for her. “Ah, I see.”

Seeing no reason to stay any longer, I was about to leave when Katrina’s next words froze me in my tracks.

“Anyway, I’m so happy today. I got to remember my childhood with Lewis. We even talked about the promise we made at that playground.”

I did not want to see her smug face again, but for some reason, I could not bring myself to walk away.

Curiosity tugged at me, compelling me to hear the rest of her story.

Katrina did not hesitate, her voice filled with pride as she recounted the tale.

She spoke of a time when her parents were divorcing, and her mother decided to move back to Canada, taking her along.

Katrina had been devastated, especially at the thought of leaving her friends and the life she had known in New York.

As a 10-year-old, she ran away from home, crying in the playground where she and Lewis often played.

That was where Lewis found her, wiping her tears and asking her what was wrong.

“And then,” Katrina said with a gleam in her eyes, “he promised me that when I turned 25, he would come for me, bring me back to New York, and marry me.”

Her voice softened as she added, “So, when Lewis came to pick me up at the airport, I knew he had kept his promise.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut.

It was not just a fleeting crush or a passing connection. Katrina was the girl Lewis had promised his heart to, years before I ever came into the picture.

In that moment, I realized the truth. Katrina had always been in Lewis’s heart, and I was merely an interlude.

Feeling utterly humiliated, I mustered all the composure I could and said briefly, “Congratulations.”

Without waiting for a reply, I walked past her, each step heavier than the last.

But as I neared my table, a voice rang out behind me.

“Why did you push Katrina? You knew she had a twisted ankle!”

I turned, startled, to see Lewis storming toward me. His face was a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Grace, I told you I’d explain everything later. Why did you have to handle it so harshly?”

It was the first time he had ever yelled at me, and it felt like a slap across the face.

As I stared at him in disbelief, Lewis showed no sign of guilt or hesitation, just pure fury.

In the distance, Katrina hobbled toward us, her shirt rumpled and stained with water and dirt. It seemed that she fell to the ground with a dramatic thud.

I could not help but feel bewildered.

I had not bumped into her at all. How had she ended up on the floor?

Did she slip? Or had she done it on purpose?

Before I could process the scene, Lewis rushed to her side, his protective instincts kicking in instantly.

Katrina, with tears glistening in her eyes, shook her head softly. “It’s not a big deal; she didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t be so hard on her,” she said, her voice trembling with faux kindness.

Then she added pointedly, “If her brother finds out you yelled at his sister, it might hurt the bond between you two.”

The mention of Tobias brought a strange expression to Lewis’s face, hesitation, as if he were weighing something unspoken.

But why would Lewis mind it?

As far as I knew, Tobias and Lewis had drifted apart since I began dating Lewis. He should not have anything to fear anymore, right?

However, Lewis’s resolve returned as he helped Katrina.

“Her brother entrusted her to me,” he said firmly, “so it’s my duty to correct her when she’s in the wrong.”

My breath caught.

It was not just that he considered me his little sister. It was worse than that.

He acted like he was my caretaker, and I was some disobedient child needing constant correction.

I could not hold back anymore.

I laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and cold. “What exactly did I do wrong, Lewis? Even in court, you need solid evidence to convict someone.

“Haven’t you thought about how unfair it is to judge me and even yell at me without understanding the truth?”

Lewis’ fists clenched as he glared at me. “You knew there were no cameras in the restroom, so I’m sure you did it on purpose, right?”

His baseless accusation stunned me. The injustice of it all left me somewhere between laughter and tears.

“If there were no cameras,” I countered, “then how can you be sure it was me?”

For the first time, Lewis hesitated. My question momentarily broke through his anger, but it was not enough.

“Are you now saying that Katrina wrongfully accused you?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. “I didn’t know you were like this. I thought you were a good kid.”

I refused to let his words cut deeper. “And what if she lies?” I asked evenly.

“She won’t,” he snapped. “I’ve known her. She’s not the kind of person who lies.”

His confidence in her stung more than I thought possible.

Katrina had been gone for fifteen years, while I had been with him for the last seven. But in his eyes, her word was gold, while mine was nothing.

In front of Katrina, even seven years of loyalty meant nothing.

One word from her had been enough to convict him, leaving me defenseless.

It was blatant favoritism, a glaring display of partiality.

And I, in the end, was nothing more than a stand-in, a placeholder with nothing to offer.

"Lewis, we're done.” I looked up into his eyes and spoke with great determination.