"Willow, if you hadn't followed me here and parked wherever you pleased, none of this would've happened."
If he'd paid even the slightest attention, he would have seen my swollen, tear-ravaged eyes. He would have noticed the black mourning pin still fastened to my suit.
But he saw nothing.
The woman's gaze drifted between us.
"Do you two... know each other?"
Curtis said nothing.
So that was it. Six years of sharing a life, and he couldn't even give me a straight answer.
The woman turned to leave.
Curtis lunged forward and caught her wrist.
"Where are you going?"
"Let go of me. You already have someone new—why are you still holding on?"
He ignored her struggling, pulled her into his arms, and guided her firmly into my car.
"You're hurt. Stop being so stubborn."
"I'm taking you to the hospital."
His voice left no room for argument.
As he climbed into the driver's seat, he tossed me one last look. Light. Careless. Like I was an afterthought.
"I'm borrowing the car. Call yourself a ride."
The car pulled away and vanished down the road.
I clutched my throbbing ankle and sank onto the curb.
That woman—it wasn't the first time I'd seen her.
Curtis kept a locked drawer at home. I was never allowed to touch it.
I'd teased him once. "What are you hiding in there? Love letters from an ex?"
He'd gone quiet for a moment, then ruffled my hair.
"Something like that. Don't look. Leave me a little dignity."
He'd said it so casually, so openly, that I never thought to check again.
Six years together. He gave me the password to his bank account, let me check his phone whenever I wanted, even gave me the Fox family heirloom jade bracelet.
He gave me everything he could.
Everyone has a past. I told myself that.
So I let it go and pinned all my hopes on our future—a future that belonged to the two of us.
Once, I noticed a drawer left open and saw a Polaroid inside, its edges soft and worn from handling.
In the photo, a younger Curtis wore a white button-down, his arms wrapped around a girl who leaned against his shoulder with easy intimacy.
In the bottom-right corner, someone had written a line in small, careful script.
"May we stay together through every season—Lena"
I looked it up later, in secret. It was a line from an ancient poem.
May I remain by your side even when the world withers around us.
That day, I brought it up as casually as I could.
"Who's Lena? An ex?"