It was me who stayed up late with him studying theory, modifying cars, doing test runs.
And it was me who slowly pushed every opportunity I could give right into his hands.
I pitied where he came from.
I felt sorry for him for what he’d been through.
I admired his talent.
At first, I was attracted by his looks. Later, his abilities completely won me over.
I always felt that if the world had ever been unfair to him, then I was willing to make it right on the world’s behalf.
Eventually, Tucker stood on the podium and became a wildly popular race car driver.
He started his own team, opened a company, and was chased after by countless people.
And three years ago, Dad arranged for me to marry Tucker. He didn’t refuse. At our wedding, he promised to treat me well for the rest of his life.
For the three years after we got married, I genuinely believed I was happy—because my long, one-sided waiting finally seemed to be paying off.
I waited until the look he gave me no longer felt distant.
I waited until he smiled at me more and more.
I waited until, in bed, he stopped treating intimacy like a silent obligation and would occasionally call my name in a low voice.