He looked at me as they reached inside the elevator. “I’ll go with you to the wedding boutique tomorrow,” he said, before the elevator doors closed behind them.
My body swayed, the dizziness from blood loss rising in waves.
In the blur of pain, I was pulled back to a memory—back to college.
Colin was just nineteen when he took over the family business. He’d worked through endless nights, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. One day, I burned my hand slightly while making soup for him. Just a tiny blister.
Yet somehow, he found out. He stormed out of an important meeting and sped home, barely stopping at red lights.
He grabbed my hand, stared at the burn and held it like it was made of glass.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I should’ve protected you,” he said, voice tight with guilt. “I swear, as long as I’m breathing, I’ll never let anything hurt you again.”
Then he pulled me into his arms. Warm, strong, trembling just a little. That hug—and that promise—etched themselves into my memory like a brand.
But that boy was long gone.
He grew up into a cold, distant man who looks at me like I’m nothing. Like I’m disposable.
Now, he’s the one hurting me the most.