“If I’d known you were into incest, I would’ve stayed the hell away from you from the start,” I snapped.
The love letter fell to the ground in pieces. But I wasn’t done—I stomped on it twice, like it was our relationship itself.
Something I had to destroy, abandon, and crush with my own hands.
I still remember the look in his eyes—dark, devastated.
After that, we became strangers under the same roof. Rarely spoke. Rarely saw each other.
I only heard bits and pieces about how he was now openly pursuing a junior from our department. He got her the best mentors, took her on trips around the country and abroad for inspiration, and helped her network at art exhibitions and workshops.
The day his acceptance letter from that prestigious university arrived, I was just getting ready to head to the hospital for chemotherapy.
I stared at the envelope for a long time. I didn’t even notice the tears dripping onto the gold-embossed lettering.
I thought, maybe… if none of this had happened, the person walking into a brilliant future beside him could’ve been me.
Instead, I quietly put the letter back where I found it.
Someone like me doesn’t get to dream about the future anymore.