Chapter 16
The sudden brake gave me my chance, and I seized it, bolting from the car before I could hear the
driver’s final words.
On my way home, though the persistent sensation of being watched prickled at my neck, I dismissed it – the bustling streets offered enough anonymity to feel secure.
The next morning, as I stepped out with the trash, that familiar silhouette materialized again.
“You’re still-” The words died in my throat as recognition hit.
This wasn’t Nathan standing before me – the more striking features, the confident stance, that familiar arrogance could only belong to Matthew.
“Emma.” He closed the distance between us with the easy grace I remembered so well.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
“What could you possibly want?”
“To apologize. Face to face.”
Coming from Manhattan’s golden boy who’d never apologized for anything in his life, those words held a strange weight.
“I’m sorry for pretending to be poor, sorry for the games with Victoria. The list of my mistakes is endless. Don’t forgive me too quickly.”
“And what exactly do you want?”
“Come back with me. Let me make amends, one day at a time.”
I nearly laughed at the audacity.
Matthew’s current state of desperation didn’t surprise me in the least.
During our time together, despite only loving him for his looks, I’d given him something real – genuine, unconditional affection, even if it stemmed from shallow roots.
Losing that pure devotion had clearly shattered something in him.
“I’ve cut all contact with Victoria,” he pulled out his phone like a peace offering.
Chapter 16
“You can verify it yourself.” When I didn’t move to take it, his confident facade began to crack.
“Do whatever you want with your life. Just keep me out of it.”
Desperate now, he tried another approach: “I bought your old apartment building. And there are things you left behind memories worth keeping. Come see them?”
“Keep them all.”
“Even these?”
The thick envelope he produced held our past in paper form.
“You used to love photographing me. Each shot composed with such care. I was too blind to see the devotion behind them.” As he spread the photos like playing cards, his voice took on an unfamiliar vulnerability,
“You’d throw away even these?”
“Yes,”
“Emma, don’t destroy your own art just to hurt me. Please.”
Art?
In one fluid motion, I snatched the photos and released them to the winter wind, watching them scatter like snowflakes against the gray sky.
And finally, Matthew’s perfect mask crumbled completely as tears welled in his eyes.
