A Heart's Reckoning

1

I was taking a shower at home when I ran into my ex-boyfriend, David Anderson—a month after our breakup.

We had been deliberately avoiding each other’s schedules since the breakup. Despite living in the same building, we hadn’t crossed paths once.

And now, the first time we did, it happened right outside my bathroom door.

I had just finished showering, wrapped in a towel, and was about to step out when the door was suddenly yanked open from the outside.

David Anderson stood there, panting, looking at me. "Are you... okay?"

As soon as he spoke, his gaze swept over my towel-clad body. He immediately looked embarrassed, his ears turning red.

He quickly turned away. "I got a call from your number just now, along with an emergency distress message. I tried calling you back, but you didn’t answer, so I rushed over..."

Since my apartment had a digital lock and I hadn’t changed the password after our breakup, it made sense that he could get in.

Seeing him still standing there, frozen in place, I raised an eyebrow. "If you’re not leaving, do you want to help me scrub my back?"

As expected, David Anderson’s face turned even redder before he swiftly backed out of the room.

I went to my bedroom, changed into pajamas, and then walked into the living room.

David Anderson was crouched beside the couch, whispering to Milo.

Milo was the chubby orange cat we had adopted together. My phone was lying right next to his paw.

As I approached, David Anderson turned his head to look at me. "Looks like Milo accidentally dialed you while you were in the shower…"

While speaking, he glanced up at me, his eyes warm and familiar.

I was nervous too.

After more than a month apart, facing this man who was both familiar and slightly distant, my palms were slick with sweat.

Clearing my throat, I deliberately reached for Milo. "Come here, baby, let Mommy hold you."

Milo, ever the arrogant cat, simply glanced at me with disdain, meowed once, and didn’t budge.

Neither Milo nor David Anderson moved.

I cursed them both silently before leaning down to pick Milo up.

But—

I missed.

Milo darted into David Anderson’s arms with impressive agility and even let out a smug "meow."

I muttered under my breath. No surprise—David Anderson had raised this cat. Heartless, just like him.

The silence stretched between us. Just as I was about to speak, David Anderson’s phone rang from his sweatpants pocket.

He was still holding Milo in one arm as he reached for his phone with the other.

We were sitting close enough that I could see his screen from my angle.

One glance, and I froze.

The caller ID was unmistakably affectionate: Tiffany Carter.

I knew her. Tiffany Carter was David Anderson’s childhood friend.

She was also one of the reasons we broke up.

David Anderson hesitated for a second before declining the call.

But Tiffany Carter sent a message almost immediately.

After another moment of hesitation, he opened it.

Out of instinct, I shifted my gaze just enough to see the message.

It was just one sentence:

"I’m pregnant. Are you going to take responsibility?"

---

2

Seeing those words, I stiffened before quickly looking away.

David Anderson looked up at me at the same time, then hurriedly put his phone away.

The air turned unbearably heavy.

I gave him a lazy glance. "Who was that?"

I saw the flicker of panic in his eyes before he mumbled, "No one. Just a friend."

David Anderson had never been a good liar—his emotions were always written all over his face.

I exhaled and tilted my head. "David Anderson, do you notice anything different about me today?"

He blinked, then obediently turned to look me over.

After scanning me from head to toe, he shook his head honestly. "No."

I reached for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, pulled one out, and lit it.

"You don’t think my head looks especially green?"

David Anderson’s lips twitched.

Even if he was slow to react, he had to realize by now that I had seen the message.

"David Anderson," I grabbed his arm, "we broke up just a month ago. And now your little childhood sweetheart is pregnant. Do you see how this makes me look like an idiot?"

He stayed silent for a few seconds, then snatched the cigarette from my hand and took a drag himself.

David Anderson didn’t smoke.

As expected, he coughed violently.

After his coughing fit, he held the cigarette tightly between his fingers and frowned. "I can explain."

"Oh."

I lit another cigarette, eyes lowered to the table. "You just need to answer one question. Did you sleep with her?"

The blank TV screen across from us reflected my expression—I looked calm.

But in reality, my fingers trembled slightly as I held the cigarette.

I had thought we broke up because of incompatible personalities. I hadn’t expected it to be something this… cliché.

David Anderson hesitated for two seconds.

He took another drag—this time, only coughing twice.

"Probably…"

"Probably?"

I waved the cigarette between my fingers. "Do you not know if you did or not?"

"Emma, that night—"

David Anderson started to explain, but the moment I heard his voice, I suddenly felt exhausted.

"Forget it, David Anderson. I don’t want to hear it. Go take care of your little candy bomb."

"Candy bomb" was the nickname I had given Tiffany Carter.

David Anderson opened his mouth as if to say something, but maybe my expression was too cold because, in the end, he said nothing. He just stood up and left.

I had Tiffany Carter on WeChat. But since I had no fondness for her, I had muted her posts from the moment I added her.

After David Anderson left, I slumped onto the couch, staring into space. On a whim, I unmuted her feed.

That night, I barely slept.

The next morning, I saw a new post from Tiffany Carter.

It was a photo of David Anderson’s back.

Judging by the setting, it seemed to be taken at a hospital.

Her caption read: "As long as you’re here, I feel safe no matter what."

The post was from half an hour ago.

Two minutes ago, David Anderson had left a comment. Just three words:

"You’re insane."

3

I stared at that comment for a long time before silently exiting WeChat.

David Anderson… he was probably accompanying her for a prenatal checkup.

As I got up, washed up, and got dressed to go out, I suddenly realized—it was the weekend.

The weekend.

In the past, David Anderson and I would always curl up on the couch together and plan our weekend.

Maybe a spontaneous road trip. Maybe a newly released movie.

One time, on a Saturday morning, I casually mentioned craving a Chinese-style roujiamo. By noon, he had taken me on a flight to Rome.

Leaning against the doorframe, I spaced out for a while before snapping back to reality.

It had been over a month since we broke up, yet today, for some reason, it suddenly felt like I had just been dumped.

I pulled out my phone, booked a movie ticket, and planned out my solo day—shopping, a movie, and then treating myself to hotpot.

A weekend alone was relaxing, yet a little dull.

Especially when the restaurant staff, out of kindness, placed a giant plush toy across from me at the table—making me feel even lonelier.

After wandering around until I was exhausted, I took a cab home.

After dinner, seeing how messy my place was, I decided to do a deep clean.

However—

Halfway through organizing my closet, I found one of David Anderson’s shirts.

It was his favorite—light gray, the birthday gift I had given him last year.

I hesitated for a moment before grabbing the shirt and heading upstairs to return it to him.

But honestly…

Returning the shirt was just an excuse.

What I really wanted was to see him.

To see whether he and Tiffany Carter were really together, whether their relationship was real or just a misunderstanding.

But after knocking on his door for a while, no one answered.

I gripped the shirt and went back home, tossing it onto a chair before continuing my cleaning. Along the way, I found a few more of his things.

His watch, which he had left behind.

A post-it note covered in tiny handwriting, stuck to the back of my door, written by him…

I was staring at the note, lost in thought, when my phone suddenly buzzed with a notification.

It was a text message, just a system notification.

I almost swiped it away—until I read the content.

I froze.

It was… a hotel booking confirmation.

For David Anderson.

We had booked this hotel online before, using my phone number for reservations. He must have forgotten to update it.

The details were crystal clear—just a few minutes ago, David Anderson had booked a room. A king-sized bed.

I stared at the message for a long time before finally curling my lips into a half-smile and tossing my phone onto the bed.

That little moment killed whatever motivation I had left for cleaning. Instead, I changed Milo’s litter, took a shower, and climbed into bed.

But even after tossing and turning for half an hour, I was still wide awake.

Suddenly, I had the urge to drink.

Throwing on a jacket, I decided to head downstairs to the convenience store for some beer.

But just as I stepped out of the elevator, I unexpectedly ran into David Anderson.

He was wearing a light brown coat—the one I had picked for him earlier this year when we went shopping together.

I averted my gaze and tried to walk past him, but he blocked my way.

"Emma…"

He frowned, his expression tinged with concern. "It’s late. Where are you going?"

His eyes flickered to my pajamas.

"And how is that any of your business?"

Remembering the message I had just received, frustration surged in my chest, and before I could stop myself, the words slipped out—sharp and mocking.

"The next time you take your little childhood sweetheart to a hotel, do me a favor—remove your ex-girlfriend’s phone number from the booking."

4

David Anderson was visibly stunned.

After a brief pause, he hurriedly explained,

"You’ve misunderstood. Her apartment’s electricity went out, and the electrician won’t be there until tomorrow morning. She had nowhere to go tonight, so I booked her a room. I just dropped her off and was heading back."

I caught every detail—taking her to the hospital, booking her a hotel room.

So…

I pulled my coat tighter around me and looked up at him.

"So, the baby is really yours?"

David Anderson fell silent.

He probably didn’t realize that in those few seconds of silence, my heart was sinking.

I knew him too well. Just from the slight furrow of his brows and the downward press of his lips, I already had my answer.

After a moment, David Anderson finally spoke—not a direct confirmation, just a quiet apology:

"Emma, I’m sorry."

I clenched my fists, let out a sarcastic laugh, and said, "That’s too many words."

David Anderson looked confused.

"You don’t need to be so subtle about it. Just say one word—yes."

"…"

David Anderson remained silent.

I had my answer.

I didn’t want to say another word to him. Hugging my coat tighter, I turned and walked away.

As I stepped out of the complex, I caught sight of David Anderson trailing behind me.

He kept a distance of about ten meters—not too close, not too far.

I wasn’t sure if he was following me or just heading out himself, so I said nothing and turned left into a convenience store.

When I walked out, carrying a bag of beer and snacks, I immediately spotted him standing by the entrance.

Our eyes met. He pressed his lips together and said,

"I’ll walk you home."

I didn’t respond, stepped past him, and quickened my pace back toward the complex.

Behind me, David Anderson followed, step for step.

As we passed under a streetlamp, I glanced at him briefly.

Even in that quick look, I saw how tightly his lips were pressed and the deep crease between his brows.

He had always been reserved and stubborn.

Back when we argued, I would sometimes storm out in anger.

But no matter how far I walked, whenever I turned around, I would always see him there—silently following behind, brows furrowed.

Remembering those moments made my chest tighten, so I quickened my pace, hoping to leave him behind.

But when I stepped into the elevator, David Anderson rushed in after me.

Inside, aside from us, there was a little girl holding a cat.

To distract myself, I bent down to look at the cat, but—

The cat was unusually quiet, never making a sound. The little girl was silent too.

At the 14th floor, she stepped out with her cat, her footsteps light.

As they left, I waved at the cat and whispered, "Goodbye."

Then—

David Anderson’s voice came from behind me:

"Who are you talking to?"

…

I froze.

A chill ran down my back. Pressing myself against the elevator wall, I turned to look at him.

"You… didn’t see them?"

Maybe I sounded too nervous because David Anderson suddenly chuckled.

"I saw them. Just messing with you."

Before I could say anything, the elevator stopped at the 15th floor.

David Anderson glanced at the plastic bag in my hand.

"Drinking alone is boring. Mind if I join you for a couple of bottles?"

As he spoke, he held the elevator door open.

I hesitated for a moment, then turned and walked out without responding, letting him escort me to my door.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief, but the moment I unlocked the door, I slipped inside, shut it quickly, and locked him out.

"Mr. Anderson, thanks for walking me home. You can go now."

I called out through the door.

What a joke. I wasn’t about to get tangled up with an ex-boyfriend who was about to become a dad.

Pressing my ear to the door, I listened for any movement outside.

Strangely, I didn’t hear anything.

Had he left that quickly?

Unable to resist, I peeked through the peephole—

David Anderson was still there.

He stood motionless, his expression unreadable, until the hallway light flickered off.

For a moment, I hesitated.

But then I remembered Tiffany Carter’s message about her pregnancy, and I steeled myself, turning back toward my bedroom.

I kicked off my shoes, threw off my coat, and burrowed under my blankets, wrapping myself up tightly.

No point pretending he was some devoted lover—he was just a cheating jerk.

I forced myself not to think about him, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate.

Eventually, I threw off the covers, walked barefoot to the living room, and grabbed the beer.

That night, I figured out exactly how much alcohol it took to forget David Anderson—

Five bottles.

I had a terrible alcohol tolerance.

After downing five beers, I curled up under my blankets, completely wasted.

…

The next morning, I woke up, looked at the trash bin filled with vomit, and made a firm decision—

It was time to let go of the past with David Anderson.

But—

On my way to work, I ran into him again.

As the elevator descended from above, the doors opened, and our eyes met.

I froze mid-step.

For a few seconds, neither of us moved, until the impatient shuffling of other passengers snapped me out of it.

I quickly whispered, "Sorry," and turned toward the stairwell instead.

I rushed downstairs, worried he might be waiting at the exit.

Thankfully, he wasn’t.

The lobby was empty.

I couldn’t tell if I felt relieved or disappointed, but I shook it off and hurried away.

For the next few weeks, I threw myself into work.

Volunteered for overtime. Kept myself so busy that I barely had time to think about David Anderson or his pregnant childhood sweetheart.

And honestly, it worked.

Between exhaustion and overworking myself, I hardly had time for heartbreak.

Plus, there was an added bonus—

If my calculations were correct, my extra shifts would bring in a few thousand extra bucks—enough for a short getaway.

That night, I stayed late at the office, working overtime until past 9 PM. Just as I was packing up to leave, I ran into my boss, Michael Johnson, who had just stepped out of his office.

Michael Johnson was well-known—young, successful, single, and the number one crush of the women in our company.

Holding a folder in one hand, he paused by my desk. "You’ve been working pretty hard lately."

He leaned casually against the table, his tone light, like he was just making small talk.

I continued gathering my things, smiling as I brushed it off. "Not really. Just need a little extra money."

He tapped his fingers lightly against the desk. "If you're in a tough spot, just let me know. Name a number."

I looked up at him, about to refuse, but he added at just the right moment,

"Relax. If you ever need help, the company takes care of its employees."

I quickly nodded.

What a great company. What a great boss.

After a brief chat, I was done packing up. Michael glanced at me. "How are you getting home?"

"The subway."

He withdrew his hand from my desk, his deep, smooth voice as steady as always.

"I’ll drive you. I’m heading that way anyway."

I hesitated for a second before quickly declining.

He didn’t insist, just reminded me to be careful and left.

To avoid any awkwardness, I purposely lingered in the office for a while before leaving.

But—

Miscalculation.

I had been so focused on work that I hadn’t even noticed the heavy rain outside.

The downpour was relentless, and no rideshares were available. Every taxi that passed by was already occupied.

With no umbrella, I had no choice but to take cover at the bus stop, refreshing my ride app as I waited.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a black car pull up in front of me.

The window rolled down slowly.

Michael Johnson.

Our eyes met. He raised an eyebrow. "Get in."

I hesitated for a moment but ultimately caved.

With rain this heavy, my choices were either wait another half hour or get completely drenched.

I slipped into the passenger seat, buckled my seatbelt, and murmured a quiet "thank you."

Michael glanced at me, one hand on the wheel, and suddenly chuckled.

"Come on, there's no one else here. We’re old classmates. Do we really have to be this formal?"

Yes, Michael Johnson and I had actually been high school classmates—a fact that no one else in the company knew.

Because I wanted to earn my promotions on my own. I didn’t want anyone to think I was climbing the ladder through connections.

Watching the rain pound harder against the windows, I smiled lightly. "Not being formal. Just keeping it professional."

Michael sighed after a moment. "All these years, and you’re still just as stubborn."

Yeah.

I had always been known for my stubbornness—whether in work or in relationships.

Seeing that I didn’t respond, Michael simply shook his head and focused on driving.

The distance from the office to my apartment wasn’t too far, and since it wasn’t rush hour, we arrived within ten minutes.

The apartment complex’s parking lot was full, and temporary parking wasn’t allowed, so he had to stop at the entrance.

He frowned. "I don’t have an umbrella in the car."

"It’s fine." I unbuckled my seatbelt and glanced outside. "I’ll just run for it."

As I opened the door, I added, "Drive safe."

And with that, I bolted into the rain.

It was only about a two-minute sprint to my building, but I was probably going to catch a cold tonight.

Then—

I heard a car door shut behind me.

Before I could react, the rain above me suddenly stopped.

I looked up.

A suit jacket was covering my head.

A faint scent of mint filled my nose. I turned around—Michael Johnson.

He was much taller than me, and at this moment, he was frowning slightly, his tone a little displeased.

"The company has a lot of work right now. If you catch a cold, don’t expect any sick leave tomorrow."

With that, he held the jacket firmly over my head. "Let’s go."

At this point, rejecting his kindness would’ve been pointless, so I simply quickened my pace and walked with him into the complex.

He shielded me well the entire way. By the time we reached my building, I was completely dry.

Michael, on the other hand, was soaked.

"Why are you this wet?"

I looked at his drenched clothes, feeling a little guilty.

"You can come up and change. I have a brand-new set of clothes for my dad that I haven’t shipped yet."

"It’s fine." Michael casually brushed off the water from his sleeves. "I won’t go up. It’s late, and it wouldn’t be appropriate."

Saying that, he shook off some of the excess rain from his jacket. "Go inside. I’ll head home."

I didn’t insist and simply nodded. "Thanks."

However—

Just as I finished speaking, the entrance door swung open.

I instinctively turned to look—

And froze.

What a small world.

The two people walking in with an umbrella were none other than David Anderson and his ‘new girlfriend,’ Tiffany Carter.

David Anderson looked just as drenched as Michael Johnson.

His gray jacket was completely soaked—probably because he had been holding the umbrella to shield his "girlfriend" from the rain.

For some reason, my mind flashed back to rainy days in the past.

Back when we were together, every time we shared an umbrella, David Anderson’s clothes would always end up half-wet.

A friend once secretly took a photo—David Anderson was always tilting the umbrella toward me, leaving most of himself exposed to the rain.

And now…

The person he was doing that for wasn’t me anymore.

I pushed down the bitterness in my chest and was about to casually tell Michael to drive safely.

But before I could speak, Tiffany Carter suddenly walked up to me.

"Emma, is this your boyfriend?"

She glanced Michael up and down, her gaze lingering on his expensive wristwatch for a few extra seconds before flashing a bright smile.

"Emma, your boyfriend is handsome, considerate, and successful. I’m so jealous."

5

I scoffed internally.

Jealous?

Was she implying that she wanted to pick up what I had left behind?

But if she was being fake, she sure hid it well—her expression actually seemed sincere.

I stayed silent for a few seconds. Maybe it was because David Anderson’s gaze was burning into me from the side, but in the end, I didn’t deny it. I just nodded and responded flatly, "Guess I got lucky."

After that, I casually looped my arm through Michael Johnson’s and turned toward the elevator.

Michael played along effortlessly. Before stepping in, he even glanced back at David Anderson with a smirk—polite, but just cocky enough.

Just as the elevator doors were about to close, I shifted my gaze toward the entrance.

Through the narrowing gap, my eyes met David Anderson’s.

His brows were deeply furrowed, his face dark as if someone had just stolen his woman.

How amusing.

Are all men like this? They take you for granted, and then when you’re gone, they suddenly start acting like possessive, overbearing ex-boyfriends.

Luckily, despite the clenched fists at his sides, David Anderson didn’t chase after me.

Soon, the elevator reached the 15th floor.

With a soft ding, the doors opened, and Michael Johnson turned to me.

"Alright, you little coward, you can let go now."

I blinked, caught off guard by his words. It took me two seconds to react before I quickly released his arm.

Back in school, Michael Johnson used to call me "little coward." He always said I had a habit of running away from things.

But in reality, I was anything but timid.

Back then, I had never lost a fight, could curse someone out for half an hour without repeating myself, and even made the "big sister" from the class next door cry a few times.

And yet, Michael still insisted I was a coward.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized—he wasn’t talking about me being afraid of fights.

He was talking about love.

The guy was ridiculously full of himself. He had always believed I had a secret crush on him but was too scared to confess. Even when I coincidentally ended up working at his company, he thought I had finally gathered the courage to get close to him on purpose.

I guess when he called me "little coward" back then, he really meant that I was too much of a wimp to admit my feelings for him.

Stepping out of the elevator, I glanced at his damp clothes and hesitated before mumbling,

"Boss… do you want to just stay over for the night?"

He lowered his eyes to his wet clothes, paused for two seconds, and then replied,

"I’ll pass. A man and a woman alone together—it wouldn’t be appropriate. But I might need to borrow your hairdryer."

I glanced at his clothes.

Yeah, no kidding. The rain had been too heavy—he was drenched from head to toe. His underwear was probably wet too.

After unlocking the door, I let him in. He changed into slippers and headed straight for the bathroom.

Soon, the sound of the hairdryer filled the air.

I shuffled to the kitchen, making him a cup of tea, but my thoughts drifted away with the steam.

I thought about Tiffany Carter standing next to David Anderson.

About how she was completely dry while he was soaked to the bone.

A strange bitterness welled up inside me.

I sat on the couch, lost in thought, until Michael Johnson came back from the bathroom.

He walked over, glanced at the tea on the table, and raised an eyebrow.

"This for me?"

I nodded.

He picked up the now-warm tea and took a sip before giving me a knowing look.

"Still not over your ex?"

I averted my gaze. "I forgot about him ages ago."

"Then why are you still living here? Running into him all the time must be annoying."

He set his tea down and continued, "Let the company cover it—we’ll get you an apartment near the office."

Before I could refuse, he added, "Relax, all employees get a housing allowance. You’re not the only one."

I frowned. "Why haven’t I heard about this before?"

Michael took another sip of tea and answered nonchalantly,

"Because the policy starts tomorrow."

"…"

I shook my head and refused.

I still had three months left on this lease. Honestly, I didn’t want to waste the rent and deposit.

Since I declined, Michael didn’t push the issue.

After checking the time on his watch, he finished his tea and got up to leave.

I walked him to the door and noticed that his clothes were still only half-dry.

He waved it off and told me to lock up before striding toward the elevator.

I only closed the door after watching him leave.

Truthfully, I wasn’t completely oblivious to relationships. I knew Michael Johnson liked me.

But I couldn’t return those feelings.

Even though David Anderson had cheated, I still couldn’t bring myself to move on so quickly.

Love isn’t something you can control.

After Michael left, I hadn’t even settled in before I heard a knock at the door.

I walked over and checked the peephole.

David Anderson.

I didn’t want to open the door.

But through the peephole, I could see that he was completely soaked.

In the end, I gave in and opened it.

"What do you want?"

David Anderson didn’t answer right away—his eyes swept past me, scanning the apartment.

I scowled. "He’s gone. What are you looking at?"

My hand gripped the doorknob, blocking the entrance.

David Anderson visibly relaxed. He stared at me and finally spoke.

"I didn’t want you to misunderstand. Tiffany Carter’s apartment had a water leak, so I let her stay at my place for the night. I was just going out to book a room for myself."

He spoke faster now, as if anxious to explain,

"Really. And I didn’t share an umbrella with her. I got wet because she’s pregnant—I gave her the umbrella and walked back in the rain myself."

I actually found it funny.

Leaning against the doorframe, I looked up at him and reminded him with a smirk,

"David Anderson, you already have a child together. Do you really think it matters whether you shared an umbrella?"

6

David Anderson fell silent.

A few seconds later, his voice came out hoarse.

"Emma, I’m not here to justify myself, but I’ve thought about it for a long time. I owe you an explanation about what happened that night."

I didn’t respond. Leaning against the doorframe, I lit a cigarette.

To be honest, I was a little curious.

Through the swirling smoke, David Anderson finally spoke.

"A month ago, at our childhood friends' gathering, everyone got drunk. Tiffany Carter wasn’t feeling well, so she didn’t drink. I remember Charlie Brown and I were completely wasted, and she took us back to her place. She only had one bedroom, so Charlie and I slept in the bedroom while she slept on the couch. But the next morning…."

He trailed off at just the right moment, leaving an awkward silence hanging between us.

I smoked the cigarette down to the filter, stubbed it out, and looked at him.

"So?" I asked. "David Anderson, isn’t this just a classic drunken mistake story?"

David Anderson opened his mouth as if to say something but, in the end, said nothing.

"I’ve heard your explanation. You can leave now." I exhaled, my tone indifferent. "We’re broken up. Let’s at least part with some dignity. Next time we run into each other, let’s just be strangers."

Then, with a sarcastic smile, I added, "Congratulations on the baby, by the way."

And with that, I shut the door in his face.

This scene felt familiar—just a few nights ago, I had already kicked him out once.

Going back and forth like this was exhausting.

Michael Johnson’s words earlier came to mind. After a moment of hesitation, I turned and started packing.

Four months of rent. That was a small price to pay compared to this endless cycle of torment.

I declined Michael Johnson’s offer to cover company housing and instead found my own apartment near the office.

A simple one-bedroom apartment, clean and bright.

The afternoon I signed the lease, I hired a moving company to help me pack up my things.

And, just as I expected, I ran into David Anderson again.

I thought he’d come rushing over to say something.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, silently watching the movers carry out furniture he was once so familiar with.

David Anderson used to hate the smell of cigarettes. But that day, as the movers went back and forth, I counted—he smoked five cigarettes in a row, standing by the building entrance.

Not a single word was exchanged between us.

Just like I had told him that night—we were strangers now.

As I rode in the moving truck, watching my old apartment fade away, I thought to myself—

Let’s end this once and for all.

No more reminiscing about the good times.

No more thinking about his betrayal.

No more childhood sweethearts.

It all ends here.

But—

Life never lets things end so easily.

Just when I had finally removed David Anderson from my life, I stumbled upon something I never expected to see.

While passing by a hotel entrance, I saw Tiffany Carter.

But the man she was clinging to wasn’t David Anderson.

It was her ex—the one everyone called a complete scumbag.

I had met him once, about six months ago, when I joined David Anderson for a gathering.

From what I had overheard, Tiffany Carter’s ex was trash—cheating, gambling, lying, the full package.

But wasn’t she supposed to be pregnant with David Anderson’s baby?

What kind of ridiculous plot twist was this?

And the way she was clinging to that man, practically wrapped around him, completely ignoring the people around them—

Well, they clearly weren’t checking into that hotel to play cards.

I stood outside the hotel, hesitated for a long moment, then lit a cigarette and dialed David Anderson’s number.

I had deleted his contact, but his number was still burned into my memory.

The phone barely rang before he picked up.

His voice had that slight upward lilt, a sign that he was excited.

"Emma? What’s wrong?"

I took a drag and exhaled.

"Not sure if I should tell you this, but…."

David Anderson fell silent for a second. "Go ahead."

"I just saw Tiffany Carter and her ex. They checked into a hotel together."

Silence.

In those few seconds, I added,

"Hilton Grand London. Not sure about the room number, though."

After a long pause, David Anderson finally responded, voice low and rough.

"Got it. Thanks for telling me."

His tone was strained, almost humiliated.

I didn’t know what else to say, so I hung up.

Had I done the right thing? I wasn’t sure.

But being cheated on was bad enough. Being kept in the dark? That was even worse.

Still—

I regretted it the moment I hung up.

Damn it.

Just a few days ago, I told him we should be strangers.

And now, here I was, calling to tell him he got cheated on.

I cursed myself under my breath, tossed the cigarette aside, and walked away.

I had no idea what happened between David Anderson and Tiffany Carter after that.

I had deleted all traces of them from my life.

But I did know one thing—

As soon as Michael Johnson confirmed I was single, he started pursuing me.

He was always respectful, never pushy, and never directly mentioned "chasing" me.

Instead, his care showed in subtle, everyday ways.

To be honest, Michael Johnson was amazing.

So amazing that when people heard he liked me, their first reaction was, "Is he blind?"

Honestly, I thought so too.

Michael Johnson was successful, good-looking, and even in the strictest dating scene, he’d be considered a top-tier candidate.

He definitely didn’t need to waste his time on a heartbroken mess like me.

I told him as much once.

But instead of responding, he took my cigarette, put it to his own lips, and took a drag.

"Cut down on smoking," he said. "It’s bad for you."

When it came to feelings, Michael Johnson was deliberately deaf.

No matter how many times I rejected him, he never truly listened.

He treated me too well. So well that I couldn’t handle it.

In the end, I handed in my resignation letter.

That day, he called me into his office.

When the door closed, Michael Johnson leaned against his desk, looking genuinely disappointed.

His fingers ran lightly over my resignation letter as he looked up at me.

"So you’re really this desperate to run away from me?"

I shook my head. "I just don’t want you wasting your time on me."

I kept my voice low and direct.

"Michael, you’re incredible. But we’re just not right for each other. If we keep this up, it’ll only be a waste of—"

"A waste of time, right?"

He cut me off with a bitter chuckle.

Seeing me nod, he let out a soft laugh.

"But I have time, Emma. And I’m willing to waste it on you."

I met his gaze, steady and unwavering.

"But I’m not."

Four simple words.

A little cruel, but necessary.

Because I wasn’t over David Anderson yet.

Dragging things out would be unfair to both of us.

Michael Johnson was a proud man. I knew I didn’t need to say more.

And sure enough—

The moment those words left my mouth, his whole body stiffened.

After a long silence, he let out a slow breath and turned his head away.

I caught a glimpse of his red-rimmed eyes.

With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he rubbed his temples.

"Emma Williams, you really don’t leave people any room, do you?"

I said nothing.

Some things simply don’t allow for compromise.

Michael waved a hand dismissively, voice hoarse.

"Fine. Go back to work. I’m not accepting your resignation."

I hesitated before turning to leave.

But just as I reached the door, I heard his low voice behind me.

"Emma… if you ever change your mind, come find me."

I paused for a second.

And for some reason, those words stung a little.

"Okay."

7

A month after I saw Tiffany Carter and her ex at the hotel, she had a miscarriage.

I heard about it from one of David Anderson’s friends.

Apparently, Tiffany Carter had never really cut ties with her ex. Their relationship had been messy and on-and-off.

But that guy was a complete scumbag—stringing along his pregnant ex-girlfriend while spending her money on the side.

And yet, Tiffany Carter was still hopelessly devoted to him, refusing to let go.

Until yesterday.

Her ex got drunk, demanded money, and when she refused, he hit her.

Too hard.

So hard that she lost the baby.

After being rushed to the hospital, she had complications—heavy bleeding—and had to be hospitalized.

Tiffany Carter had no parents, just an elderly grandmother in the countryside.

And as for her ex? Gone without a trace.

So—

David Anderson, the ultimate sucker, had no choice but to step in once again.

He paid for her hospital bills and even stayed by her side to take care of her.

Damn.

Even soap operas wouldn’t dare write something this dramatic.

I won’t lie—when I found out she had lost the baby, I actually felt relieved.

Now that David Anderson no longer had a child tying him to her, he didn’t have to be responsible for Tiffany Carter anymore.

If he came back to me, would I take him back?

I thought I would.

But as I searched for an answer in my mind, all I found was... emptiness.

Then, my phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Michael Johnson.

"Hello?" I answered, my tone light.

There was a two-second pause before his low voice came through the line.

"Sounds like you’re in a good mood today."

"Not bad," I replied casually.

"There’s a firework show at the square tonight. Want to go?"

I reached out to close my window, but just as I glanced outside, I saw a familiar figure leaning against a car.

A cigarette between his fingers, his phone pressed to his ear.

Michael Johnson.

I watched him for a few seconds and then smiled slightly.

"You’re already downstairs, boss. Do I even have a choice?"

Below, Michael Johnson visibly froze for a second before snapping his head up.

I lived on the third floor, about ten meters above him.

Our eyes met.

He smirked, tilting his lips ever so slightly.

"I’ll wait for you down here."

"Okay."

After a quick change, I hurried downstairs.

Michael Johnson had ditched his suit for a casual outfit—light-colored and effortlessly stylish.

At thirty-something, he still had a youthful charm that was hard to describe.

Without much conversation, I got into his passenger seat, and we drove to Times Square.

The place was packed, the city lights were dazzling, and the fireworks were even more stunning.

Around us, couples stood hand in hand, heads tilted toward the sky.

Michael and I stood side by side.

As fireworks lit up the night, I pulled out my phone and took a photo.

Then, I posted it to my social media.

"The fireworks are beautiful, and so is the future."

In the lower left corner of the photo, half of Michael Johnson’s face was accidentally captured.

About two minutes later, a silent follower liked the post.

We had never chatted before, and I had never given him a nickname.

His ID was "X".

I knew.

It was David Anderson’s alternate account.

I stared at that little notification for a few seconds before chuckling to myself and closing the app.

Then, I looked back up at the sky.

Another firework bloomed above, so breathtakingly beautiful that I couldn’t look away.

As the crowd buzzed with excitement, I whispered under my breath,

"So beautiful."

"Hmm," Michael Johnson responded beside me. "Very beautiful."

But I wasn’t looking at Michael Johnson.

And Michael Johnson wasn’t looking at the fireworks.

8

A few days later, I unexpectedly received a phone call from Tiffany Carter.

Her voice was still weak, but her tone was unusually sincere.

"Emma, can you come to my hospital room at noon today? I need to talk to you."

I furrowed my brow, thinking for a moment, before agreeing.

It was my damn curiosity that got the better of me.

I was curious. Why would a woman who had just miscarried suddenly want to talk to me? What could she possibly have to say?

So, at 12:30 PM, I showed up at the hospital room she mentioned.

I knocked on the door, and soon David Anderson's voice came from inside:

"Come in."

I froze for a moment, then pushed the door open.

As soon as he saw me, David Anderson immediately stood up from his chair.

"Emma…"

As he looked at me, I was also studying him.

He looked much more haggard than before. The man who used to meticulously shave every morning now had stubble on his chin, and his eyelids were dark. From where I stood, I could even see the red blood vessels in his eyes.

We locked eyes for a few seconds, and I casually looked away, turning to face Tiffany Carter on the hospital bed.

"What's going on?"

I didn’t want to waste time, so I went straight to the point.

Tiffany Carter's gaze shifted back and forth between me and David Anderson. After a long pause, she sighed and softly spoke:

"I've lost the baby, and I've completely let go. It's time... to give you both a real answer."

I furrowed my brow, processing her words.

So… there was more to this than I realized?

I glanced at David Anderson. He was also frowning, his eyes full of confusion.

Tiffany Carter clutched the blanket tightly with both hands, her voice calm as she started to explain everything.

All her lies.

...

When Tiffany Carter sent David Anderson that message about her pregnancy, she hadn't just discovered she was pregnant. In fact, she was already two months along.

The child was her ex’s—the scumbag.

After she found out she was pregnant, he cut her off with emotional abuse, then disappeared, leaving Tiffany Carter—still obsessed with him—and a barely formed fetus.

And it turned out, Tiffany Carter wasn’t just infatuated with him; she had a flood of maternal instinct.

Even though the father was gone and she was an orphan without a steady job, she still wanted to have the baby and was determined to find a reliable man to be the father.

In other words, she was looking for a "sucker" to step up and take responsibility.

Tiffany Carter choked up as she continued, explaining how she never intended to use anyone close to her… until that day.

That day, she had a gathering with some old friends. Everyone drank too much, but because of her pregnancy, she only had two cups of warm water.

Later, everyone got drunk, so she had to take Charlie Brown and David Anderson back to her place and settle them in. She let them sleep in her only bedroom while she took the sofa.

In the middle of the night, Charlie Brown’s girlfriend called him non-stop, and he left. So, only David Anderson was left in the bedroom alone.

Tiffany Carter woke up in the middle of the night and heard noises from David Anderson’s room. Concerned, she went to check on him and found that David Anderson had thrown up everywhere and, in his drunken haze, had stripped off his clothes before getting back into bed.

Tiffany Carter couldn’t just leave his dirty clothes there, so she washed them in the bathroom. After drying them, she was about to go back into the bedroom to close the door when a bold idea crossed her mind…

And that idea led to what happened next.

The next morning, when David Anderson woke up, he was wearing only his boxers and found Tiffany Carter in her slip dress, lying in his bed.

In Tiffany Carter’s version of the story, David Anderson believed he had done something foolish while drunk.

And from there, things just fell into place.

David Anderson knew I had psychological cleanliness issues, and he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. He had gathered the courage to confront me, but we had an argument recently because of how close he was getting to Tiffany Carter.

During that fight, we broke up.

If it hadn’t been for the whole "emergency contact" situation, I might never have found out Tiffany Carter was pregnant.

And after David Anderson believed that night’s events, he waited an entire month before texting her about the pregnancy and asking if he was going to be responsible.

In the end, she just wanted to find a dependable father for her unborn child.

How laughable.

Tiffany Carter also mentioned that the post she made in the hospital, with the picture of the fireworks, was actually meant for me to see.

The reason was simple: she didn’t want me to get back together with David Anderson. She wanted him to feel like the biggest sucker.

The whole story was simple: a girl, abandoned by her ex, scheming to find a good-natured guy to take care of her child.

The only unexpected twist was the return of her scumbag ex.

That man came back to find her, coaxed her into taking money from David Anderson, and spent it.

David Anderson, the ultimate sucker, played along, thinking he was somehow guilty. Although he kept his distance from Tiffany Carter, he didn’t stop giving her money.

And Tiffany Carter, caught in a dilemma, wavered between two men.

She couldn’t let go of her ex, but at the same time, she knew he was unreliable. For the sake of her unborn child, she didn’t want to let go of David Anderson, who was a decent man.

It wasn’t until the scumbag hit her, causing her miscarriage, that she finally gave up.

However, the real reason she decided to confess everything was last night.

After I posted the fireworks picture on social media, Tiffany Carter woke up that night and unexpectedly saw David Anderson sitting next to her in the caregiver’s bed.

His eyes were bloodshot and tears were streaming down his face. He was clutching his phone, and on the screen was a picture of me.

When Tiffany Carter told me this part, her own eyes turned red.

"I’ve known David Anderson since we were kids. Honestly, if it weren’t for the baby, I would never have done anything like this. Now, I have nothing, and I can’t bear to see him suffering any longer. It’s all my fault. I deserve this… Emma, whether you hit me or yell at me, I just hope that now the misunderstanding is cleared, you two can still reconcile... really."

I listened to her entire story, my brow furrowed the whole time.

When she finished, all I wanted to do was curse.

Seriously. No normal person would do something like this.

Tiffany Carter was the type of person you couldn’t deal with. Her childhood friend—she really screwed him over.

The only person who might have felt relief in that room was David Anderson. He listened to everything, and when it was over, he turned to me, hopeful.

"Emma, it’s all a misunderstanding. We…"

He didn’t finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear.

This man was a born sucker. At a moment like this, instead of feeling deceived and angry, his first thought was to reconcile with me.

I looked at him for a long time and finally sighed softly.

"David Anderson, do you still think… that the only obstacle between us is that accident?"

David Anderson froze.

"Isn’t it?"

I stared at him quietly. He had once been such a familiar presence, but now he felt like a stranger.

"No."

"It’s because you’re weak, David Anderson. You shrink away from facing problems. From the very beginning of this relationship, you never confronted things head-on with determination."

I took a deep breath and continued.

"That accident—you woke up drunk and in bed with her, and you just believed what she told you. You didn’t even try to figure out what really happened that night."

"You were sure it was all true, but you didn’t have the courage to confess it to me. You didn’t even have the courage to break up with me yourself. You used our fight as an excuse for emotional neglect, forcing me to break up with you. Even later, when I found out you two were having a baby, you were still too scared to give me a clear explanation."

"From the moment we broke up to the day I moved away from the neighborhood, you only came by to give me weak excuses. Even if I saw you, what would you have done? Told Tiffany Carter to get rid of the baby? Or would you have admitted what happened that night, apologized, and ended things for good?"

"David Anderson." I looked at him. With every word, my image of him crumbled more. "You couldn’t do any of those things. You didn’t dare face any of it. The only person you care about is yourself."

David Anderson stood there, across the bed, gazing at me silently. His eyes were red, and his lips moved but no words came out.

After waiting for a long time without hearing his response, I smiled bitterly and turned to leave.

I didn’t want to say anything more about Tiffany Carter’s actions. Her scumbag ex was gone, the baby was gone, and now she was left with the consequence of a miscarriage—making it unlikely she’d be able to have children again.

Karma had caught up with her.

As for David Anderson, it was at that moment that I finally realized the real issue between us wasn’t just that child.

I really did love him.

But when I broke up with him, I felt it—we weren’t suited to be together.

As I reached the door, I suddenly heard David Anderson’s voice behind me.

"Emma…"

I stopped.

He asked, his voice trembling slightly:

"Are you with him?"

I paused for a moment, realizing he was talking about Michael Johnson.

"No."

I rested my hand on the door handle, and for a brief moment, Michael Johnson’s face appeared in my mind. I tightened my grip and opened the door.

"But maybe… if there’s a chance in the future, I might be."

With that, I closed the door and left.

When I stepped out of the hospital, I pulled out my phone and blocked the alternate account David Anderson had kept in my contacts.

This time, it was really over.