Chapter 5: Ink-Stained Memories and Bitter Goodbyes

I tore the diary apart, page by page—over a thousand in all. Each sheet, waterlogged and fragile, peeled away like old skin.

The apartment balcony was tiny, so I had to dry them in batches. Clotheslines crisscrossed above me, clipped with paper and memory. The neighbors probably thought I’d started a new kind of art therapy.

It was a massive, ridiculous project. One only the heartbreakingly sentimental would attempt.

I worked at it nonstop. My hands were stained with ink, my eyes stung from lack of sleep, but I couldn’t stop.

After several days, I started dreaming about Derek. The dreams were vivid, relentless, mixing memory and regret like a cocktail you know will give you a headache.

The whole apartment smelled like wet paper and old ink, and my fingers were stained blue for days.

It was when I was twenty-five.

I said to him, “Derek, I’m done playing.”

He thought I was joking, his tone gentle: “Come on, don’t start.” He brushed a stray hair from my face, the way he used to.

I shook my head and smiled:

“You really thought I’d settle for small-town life? I always wanted the city, the skyline, more.”

“All these years with you were just for fun. You’re good-looking, and you’ve got a great body—I was a little reluctant to let go.

“But too bad, I’ve got a better option now.”

“Natalie...”

He looked a little lost, reaching to pull me into his arms.

I pushed him away hard: “You know Marcus Evans, right? The CEO at our company—rich and powerful. You can’t compare.”

He stared at me, stunned. The kind of heartbreak you don’t see coming until it’s already too late.

Night fell, and his expression faded in the darkness. The city lights flickered in through the blinds, painting shadows across his face.

The scene shifted.

It was the night before the wedding.

Derek was in a suit, holding a glass of wine, chatting and laughing with Marcus. I watched from across the room, my heart pounding in my chest, unsure whose future I was ruining more—his or mine.

Only then did I vaguely recall that, years ago, a classmate had hinted, “Derek... his family’s actually loaded.”

Being a cop was just what he loved. The money was never the point; it was always about justice, about making things right.

My heart went cold.

Derek glanced at me, his voice flat: “Marcus, your wife doesn’t look too happy.”

I straightened up, linking arms with Marcus, smiling brightly: “Officer Shaw, so young and accomplished.”

Marcus had been drinking. I wiped his mouth, playing the part of the perfect wife. It was all for show—the happy couple, the American dream, the white-picket lie.

As the wine glasses clinked, Derek lost control.

I saw his eyes go red with anger. His hands shook, barely holding back the storm.

During the banquet’s break, he cornered me in the bathroom.

His voice trembled: “Natalie, do you regret it? Just give in a little, and I’ll let you come back.”

He pleaded, “Really, just apologize once. Just this once.”

His voice dropped to a whisper: “...Come back, Natalie.”

My heart thudded so loud I thought the whole banquet hall could hear it. I touched my slightly rounded belly: “It’s too late.”

Not far away, Marcus smiled smugly. He crooked his finger at me, like calling a pet.

Out of everyone’s sight,

I slowly clenched my fist. The pain was sharp, but I wouldn’t show it. Not to him, not to anyone.

...

Thunder crashed. Summer storms in Michigan always came fast, shaking the windows and rattling your nerves.

I rolled over and woke up with a start. My sheets were twisted, damp with sweat. My phone kept buzzing—Aubrey was calling.

She sounded like she was crying: “Nat, something happened to Derek. I’m so scared... can you come stay with me?”

I steadied myself: “Where are you?”

“ICU.”

I froze. My skin went cold, goosebumps rising on my arms. In that moment, I felt cold from head to toe.