When I Finally Gave Up on Her, She Lost Everything Chapter 2

The company was a Fortune 500 titan. They’d been trying to poach me for years, but I’d always turned them down, committed to the dream Rebecca and I were supposed to be building together.

On the other end of the line, the HR director gushed about salary, benefits, and how thrilled they were to have someone of my caliber joining their team. By the time the call ended an hour later, I was parked in my driveway. I gripped the phone, my knuckles white.

All those years ago, I’d walked away from a guaranteed executive position to start from scratch with her. I’d poured my health, my mind, my entire being into our company. I’d run myself into the ground.

And now, just as we’d finally made it, climbing from nothing to everything, her heart had flown elsewhere.

From now on, I was living for myself.

I typed out a quick message to our primary investor, informing them that the project lead for their investment was changing. They had backed us, pushed for this new round of funding, specifically because of their faith in me. They deserved to know I was out.

Message sent, I booked a flight for the next morning and started to pack.

From the bottom of the wardrobe, I pulled out a heavy winter coat. Tucked underneath was a photo album I hadn’t seen in years. It fell open, and a picture of Rebecca and me slid out. It was taken eight years ago, right after we got together. We looked so young, so shy, barely daring to touch.

I picked up the album and began to flip through the pages. It had been her idea to document everything, to “remember all the hardships,” as she’d said, so she could make it up to me one day.

And we had struggled together. We’d huddled in a tiny, cramped studio apartment watching pirated movies. We’d argued over who got the last piece of meat on New Year’s Eve. But even in those lean times, I’d been happy. Those memories were the fuel that drove me.

As the years passed, the photos changed. Our clothes became more stylish, the backgrounds more luxurious. But the pictures themselves became rarer. From several a week, to one a month, to maybe one a year.

Then Rory arrived, and the photos stopped altogether.

Our interactions became little more than professional handoffs between a boss and her subordinate. At some point, she stopped noticing if I missed a meal. She didn't care when I was hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer after a work event. She didn’t bat an eye when I injured myself in the lab.

But she shielded Rory from everything. She’d cancel important meetings to make sure he, with his delicate stomach, ate on time. She spoiled him rotten, as if trying to compensate for some past injustice.

I had asked her why once, my heart aching with a sense of betrayal.

Her eyes had turned to ice. “We both came up the hard way, Luke. I can’t believe you’re still so needy. You’re less mature than Rory.” She’d told me she admired his “purity” and “kindness,” and that she didn’t want him to suffer the way we had.

Staring at the album, once a testament to our love, I felt nothing but a hollow emptiness. I tossed it into the trash can without a second thought.

I was folding a shirt when my phone rang. It was the manager from the Michelin-starred restaurant.

“Mr. Hayes? Your reservation for the private table was half an hour ago. If you don’t arrive in the next ten minutes, we’ll have to release it to other guests.”

I preferred simple food, but Rebecca loved the romance and prestige of fine dining. It was where I’d proposed. Tonight, for our big announcement, I’d wanted to celebrate with her. But she’d stood me up.

“I won’t be coming,” I said, my voice flat. “Give the table to someone else.”

Just as I hung up, a text from Rebecca came through.

Have a work dinner tonight. Can’t make it.

The brevity of it was almost novel. Usually, she didn’t even bother with an excuse.

A moment later, I understood why. A new post popped up on my social media feed. It was from Rory.

The photo showed Rebecca, her head bowed, carefully cutting a piece of steak for him. The background was unmistakable: the very same restaurant, the very same private dining room I had booked.

The caption read: The boss is as kind as she is beautiful. The steak she cut for me tastes extra special.

So those were the “other guests” the manager mentioned.

I didn't bother asking Rebecca why she’d lied. I didn't feel a pang of sadness. My heart was a placid lake. All I wanted was to sleep.

After a quick shower, I fell into a deep, dreamless slumber—the first truly restful night I’d had in years.

But sometime in the dead of night, the bedroom lights snapped on, jolting me awake. I blinked against the glare, my eyes slowly adjusting to find Rebecca standing by my bed.

She was staring at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Luke,” she gasped. “You were… asleep?”