I sobbed like the world was ending. It was Ryan, face burning red, who bought pads and awkwardly taught me how to use them.
Growing up, we were inseparable. Two halves of a whole.
At twenty, he confessed his feelings. Being together felt like the most natural thing in the world.
At our graduation ceremony, he proposed.
He asked me to wait three years—just until he'd saved enough for a proper wedding.
I told him I didn't care about material things. He said whatever other girls had, I deserved too.
I waited three years. What I got was him falling in love with someone else.
After graduation, Ryan chose to start his own business. My father gave him every penny of his life savings.
Sandra Henson was an intern at Ryan's company.
She'd clawed her way out of the mountains through sheer grit. Ryan said looking at her was like looking at his younger self.
That was why he'd taken such special care of her.
Right up until the day before the wedding—when I caught them in bed together at our new apartment.
I couldn't believe it. The man who'd sworn he loved me for over a decade had so easily fallen for another woman.
I lost control completely. Screaming. Sobbing. Hysterical.
I wanted to destroy them. Ruin their reputations. Make them pay for what they'd done.
But all that rage collapsed into despair the moment I saw my father's cancer diagnosis.
I begged Ryan. I reminded him of everything my family had done for him—the tuition, the support, the years of generosity. All I asked was that he go through with the wedding as planned.
Just long enough for my father to leave for treatment overseas with peace of mind.
Ryan agreed. But he kept it from Sandra.
At the reception, she drove her car straight at me.
My father threw himself in front of the vehicle.
In his final moments, bleeding and broken, he placed my hand in Ryan's. Take care of her, he whispered. Promise me.
With the world watching—with everyone pointing fingers—Ryan finally stayed by my side.
For a long time after, I drowned in guilt. I had killed my father. That was the only thought I could hold.
I woke screaming in the middle of countless nights. If I hadn't begged Ryan to stay, would my father have been spared the stress that made him sick? If I had never loved Ryan at all, would my father have lived to see me marry? To hold his grandchildren?
Day after day. Year after year. I sank deeper into depression, hurting myself again and again.