I clicked on the order delivery address. The recipient was, "Little Missy." The delivery address was a very upscale neighborhood not far from our home, it was Orchid Apartment.
I remembered once walking past that neighborhood with Connor after dinner and he started talking about how high-end neighborhoods like that had separate pathways for people and cars, unlike our neighborhood, where cars were parked everywhere.
I had clung to his arm and said, "When you strike it rich, we'll move here."
I was full of sweetness and didn't notice that he just smiled without promising me anything. It turns out he wasn't just talking casually back then, he had experienced the benefits of a high-end neighborhood and started to despise the shortcomings of ordinary residences.
After three days, Connor finally replied to me, "I'll come back when your parents leave."
Seeing this response, my heart sank. "No need to wait. They've left."
Early that morning, I heard the door open, it was Connor coming back. I sat up in bed. He looked a bit tired. Those deep eyes of his, which I once loved so much, now seemed unreadable.
He looked at me heavily and said, "Let's talk."
Although I knew what was about to happen, I still felt nervous, scared and sad.
"I think we ... should just separate," he said quietly, as if mustering a lot of courage.
"Why? What's wrong with us?" I tried to asked casually.
"It's not you, it's me ..." he said.
"What's wrong with you? Have you fallen for someone else?" I asked him again.
He answered, "No, I just think I'm not suited for marriage. I can't get along with your family."
Just as my dad said, he was using this as an excuse. "Didn't you promise to stay together forever?" I still want some explanation.
"Some things change." He lowered his head and fell silent and the room was suddenly so quiet that I could hear the clock ticking. Connor wiped his face, his voice trembling, "I really can't take it anymore..."
I didn't want to continue this charade, so I took out my phone, showed him the screenshots of the orders he placed for "Little Missy," and threw it to him.
Seeing the picture, Connor's expression shifted from pain to shock.
"You logged into my account?" Like all scumbags, when confronted, he didn't reflect on his mistakes but questioned how I invaded his privacy.
"Who is "Little Missy"?" I demanded.
"She's just a client," Connor frowned.