His First Love Came Back , So I Walked Away

I'd been married to my dependable, steady husband for three years, and in all that time, he never once figured out how to be romantic. He didn't even get me gifts on holidays.

Everyone around me said the same thing:

"Morris has a PhD, a great job, and he's loyal. He'd never cheat. Isn't that enough?"

I told myself the same thing. But the very next day, I walked past an upscale restaurant and saw him inside, hosting a welcome-back dinner for his first love, who'd just returned from overseas.

Beautiful flowers and wrapped gifts covered the table. Morris's face, usually so cool and detached, was lit with a warmth I had never seen directed at me.

That night, I went through every file on his computer and found a secret blog account.

The last post was dated the day Cassandra Summers left the country. Thousands of entries filled the page, tender words and photographs documenting every detail of their story together.

So Morris Matthews wasn't born cold after all. When it came to the person he truly loved, he burned.

I accepted the truth that he had never loved me, picked up my phone, and called my business partner.

"I'll do it. I'll help open the overseas market. I'm going abroad with you."

……

Morris, who always came home on time, didn't walk through the door until eleven that night.

He saw me and blinked, a flicker of surprise quickly smoothed away.

"You're still up?"

I said nothing. He sighed and came over to hold me.

"Regina Swanson, there was a data error in the experiment today. I really couldn't leave."

"I'll come home early tomorrow and cook. We can celebrate your birthday then, make up for it. Okay?"

The arm draped around my waist was stiff. The scent of perfume clung to him, faint but unmistakable.

"Oh, so you do remember it's my birthday."

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, and I pulled myself out of his arms.

Last year on my birthday, I'd told him in advance that I'd booked a restaurant. He never showed.

Three hours I sat there before he finally picked up the phone.

"Why were you waiting for me? Was today something special?"

The impatience in his voice was unmistakable. He'd completely forgotten, and somehow I was the one wasting his time.

He'd known all along. The only reason he offered to make it up to me tonight was guilt.

And even that guilty offer wasn't a fraction of what he'd prepared for Cassandra.

Something clenched hard in my chest, a pain so sharp it almost took my breath.

"Regina, what's your problem?"

"I already said I'd make it up to you. What more do you want?"

Morris's brow furrowed tight, as though I were the unreasonable one, the one who didn't know how to be considerate.

In all these years, I had rarely bothered him or disrupted his work.

I was about to speak when his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and the tension in his face melted away. He answered almost instantly.

"Morris, I think I have a fever. I feel so weak..."

The soft, helpless voice carried clearly through the quiet room.

I watched his pupils contract. He grabbed his jacket and turned for the door without a second thought, as if he'd forgotten his wife was standing right there.

"Cassandra, I'm taking you to the hospital. Get dressed and wait for me. I'll be there soon."

He hung up, pulled a bank card from the wallet on the shoe cabinet, and rushed toward the door.

"Morris."

I called his name.

He paused mid-step.

"Regina, Cassandra just got back to the country. I'm the only friend she has here."

"Don't be difficult. Don't read into this."

And then he left without looking back.

The lock clicked shut, and my mind went white.

Three months ago, I'd come down with acute appendicitis. The pain woke me at dawn, so severe I couldn't sit up.

I grabbed Morris's hand and begged him to take me to the hospital. He shook me off.

"Regina, I have to travel with my advisor today. This project is important."

"I'll call my mom for you. Just lie down and wait."