When The Ride Ended

I had supported Lauren Geller through seven years of competitive cycling.

After she defended her championship title, I handed her the divorce papers myself.

Her shining career ended there and then.

I had been able to carry her to the summit, and I could just as easily lift someone else in her place.

It was not until I appeared before her with my girlfriend that she finally understood.

It had never been Lauren who abandoned me; I was the one who chose to walk away.

When I stepped out of the elevator, I happened to see the news that Lauren Geller had won the championship.

A few hours earlier, Sean Tanner’s private account had posted an update:

[Accompanying my friend to the peak. Our love has reached a new height!]

The attached picture was of a deliberately blurred gold medal and a pair of interlocked hands.

I recognized at once that the smaller hand belonged to Lauren.

I felt nothing because the finalized divorce agreement was already sitting in my bag.

When I entered the apartment, several road bikes were parked in the entryway.

I walked around them and realized that not only had Lauren returned, but Sean and two other teammates were there as well.

The laughter stopped the moment they saw me.

Lauren frowned at me.

“Where did you go? You didn’t answer your phone. Didn’t I say I was coming back?”

I kicked off my cycling shoes and slipped into my slippers.

“I went to the gym.”

“You should have told me anyway. I called twice.”

She turned toward the living room, irritation clear in her voice.

“Wanda and the others are here for a meal. Make us a platter, will you?”

In the past, Lauren often brought fellow cyclists home to eat every few days.

To help her build good relationships with her teammates, I had always cooked everything myself and cleaned up every scrap afterward.

Now it had somehow become a given.

Did she think cooking was so effortless?

Hiring a chef for one meal would have cost hundreds.

“I had back-to-back training, so I’m too tired to cook. Order some takeout.”

Then I sat down at the dining table and opened my packed meal.

“What’s wrong with you?” Lauren asked as she leaned over, her hand reaching out to touch me.

I slapped her hand away.

“Don’t disturb me while I’m eating.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Sean said, sensing the tension, as he headed into the kitchen.

“Oh my, that’s far too much trouble for you, Sean,” Lauren said at once as she leaned against the doorway.

Sean stared blankly at the contents of the fridge.

“Sea cucumber, steak…”

As he took out eggs and steak, he laughed at Lauren.

“Is this all your husband feeds you? Even street food is better than this!”

The comment was humiliating to someone like me, who had managed Lauren’s meals and daily care full-time.

Lauren glanced at me, clearly noticing my displeasure, yet she still turned back to joke with him.

“That’s right. You all say Owen is such a perfect house husband, but he’s actually really fierce.

“He forces me to eat healthy food every day,” she explained with a laugh.

She had long grown accustomed to my silence.

Seeing the change in my expression, Wanda quickly stepped forward to change the subject.

“You have such a caring husband, and yet you complain so much? Don’t you know how lucky you are?

“Hurry up and cook, I’m about to starve.”

Lauren’s teammates crowded into the kitchen in a burst of noisy excitement.

I finished my meal in a few quick bites and went alone into the study.

Despite the name, it was closer to a workshop.

Inside were Lauren’s cycling gear, along with numerous figurines and 3D-printed models.

Every time we managed to save several thousand, she would pick up a new hobby.

Over time, the entire place filled up with her things.

Aside from a few practical household items, there was hardly any trace of me in the apartment.

To outsiders, she could chat effortlessly about anything.

In Hightide City’s cycling circles, it was widely rumored that Lauren came from a wealthy family and had expensive tastes.

But before she turned professional, most of the household income had been supported by my studio.

After a while, the faint smell of something burning drifted in through the crack under the door.

I heard Sean’s shrill yelp mixed with laughter, and moments later, Lauren pushed the door open and walked in.

“Sean doesn’t know how to pan-fry your steak. Go fix it.”

“I’m not going. I have work,” I said coldly.

She came closer and frowned at the computer screen.

“What are you doing? All the tools at home are gone—are you trying to make something?”

Impatience had crept into her voice.

“I told you a long time ago, just focus on taking care of me. You can work all day with your head down, and it still won’t compare to how much I make from just one ad.”

Noticing my mood, Lauren softened her tone slightly.

“What’s wrong? Are you tired?”

I brushed her hand off my shoulder.

“Go out and have fun with them.”

That was the end of her patience.

“What’s your problem?” she raised her voice.

“I work myself to exhaustion cycling every day. I come home and don’t even get a hot meal.

“I just won the championship, and you’re giving me attitude?”

Her shouting stunned me.

“Lauren, yesterday was my thirtieth birthday.”

She fell silent at once, panic flickering in her eyes.

“I—I forgot.”

I grew quiet.

It was fine. I was already used to it.

Used to her apologies after every outburst, used to her forgetting—again and again—everything we had once carefully written down and sworn to remember.