The Regret of Love Rises with the Wind

The day had started like a dream. After ten long years of waiting, Soren Maxwell, my boyfriend, had finally proposed. Our engagement party had been a whirlwind of laughter and celebration, champagne glasses clinking under the soft lights of the grand ballroom. I had been on cloud nine, tipsy not just from the wine but from the giddy excitement of finally becoming Soren's fiancée. But now, hours later, standing barefoot and bleeding in front of what should've been our wedding house, the weight of reality crashed down on me.

At the party, I had drunk a little too much, my excitement bubbling over and that's when things started to unravel. Soren—usually calm, composed and forever polite—had turned on me without warning. His icy voice still echoed in my ears as he scolded me for being "inappropriate," his frustration snapping through the air like a whip. And then, before I could even process what was happening, he had kicked me out of his car, leaving me stranded on the side of the road, alone and drunk, under the cold glare of the streetlights.

The walk back to the house had been torturous, a blur of pain and confusion. Three long hours of stumbling down silent streets, my feet aching from the high heels that cut into my skin. Those heels—a gift from Soren for the engagement—had once felt like a symbol of love. But now they were just too small, too painful, a fitting metaphor for how I had tried to fit into a life that was never truly mine. As I neared the house, my bloodied feet told me that I would rather walk barefoot than wear them again.

When I finally reached the door, the sight that greeted me shattered my heart into pieces. From the window, I could see Soren, the man I thought I knew better than anyone, holding his lost love, Ziva Sanders, tightly in his arms. The intimacy between them was undeniable. They were in our wedding house, the place where we were supposed to start our new life together, but instead, he was pouring his heart out to her.

His voice was soft, filled with emotion as he spoke to her. "I regret it," he said, his words cutting through the air like a dagger. "If you turn back to me, I'm willing to cancel the wedding for you."

I stood frozen, the weight of his betrayal pressing down on me like a suffocating fog. I watched as he held Ziva the way he had never held me. There was a tenderness in his touch, a patience in his demeanor that I had longed for during our ten years together. But it had never been mine to have. All this time, he had reserved it for her.

With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number. "Mom," I whispered, trying to steady my voice, "I'm not getting married anymore. I want to come to you."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and when my mother spoke, her voice was calm but tinged with a sadness that mirrored my own. "Alright," she said. "I'm getting old, Wendy and the family business will eventually be yours. The sooner you come, the sooner you can adapt to it."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to keep my emotions in check. "Okay," I choked out.

My mother sighed softly, the sound filled with an understanding that broke my heart further. "I thought he was different," she said. "But he ended up just like your father."

Her words were like a slap in the face, a painful reminder of the man who had abandoned us years ago. I had always believed Soren was different—that he would never hurt me the way my father had hurt my mother. But tonight had proven me wrong.

"Wendy, don't cry," she continued, her voice firm. "You're still young. A woman's world isn't just about marriage and children. You can have your own career. Think it through carefully. I will be waiting for you."

As I hung up, the tears I had been holding back finally spilled over. Before tonight, I had thought Soren was the perfect man. He was clean, disciplined and always so composed. He never let himself get too close to any woman—except me. Even in his success, he had kept himself scandal-free, always appearing as the epitome of self-control.

But tonight, all of that had unraveled. At our engagement party, when Ziva had appeared uninvited, I saw a side of Soren I had never seen before. He had shattered a wine glass in his hand, his face contorted in anger. It was the first time I had seen him lose his cool. The first time he had raised his voice at me, over something so trivial. And then he had left me by the roadside, humiliated and heartbroken.

I replayed the events over and over in my mind, trying to make sense of it all. If Soren had acted this way for anyone else, I might have been able to brush it off as a momentary lapse in judgment. I might have forgiven him, clung to the hope that our relationship could still be salvaged. But the woman in the room was Ziva Sanders. The Ziva who had tormented me for over twenty years, the Ziva who had taken everything from me. How could I ever forgive that?

When I saw Soren willingly bring her back to the house we were supposed to share, something inside me broke. I was done. But even as I told myself to leave, to forget him, I couldn't resist the urge to check the home surveillance footage.

What I saw on the screen made my heart ache even more.

Ziva was lying in our wedding bed, wearing my pajamas. The sight of her in my place, so comfortable and at home, made my stomach churn. And there was Soren, the man who had once criticized me for drinking too much, now in the kitchen making her hangover soup. The sight of him, so tender and caring, was like a punch to the gut.

Ziva looked up at him, her voice dripping with arrogance as she asked, "Are you really going to marry a stand-in?"

Soren didn't respond, but the silence that followed was damning.

"You don't need to say anything," Ziva continued, a smirk playing on her lips. "I know everything you've done has been to provoke me. Throwing that engagement party was just your way of forcing me to show up."

"You can't escape me, Soren. You even decorated this room in my favorite style. The wedding ring you chose is the one I always loved. And even those high heels she wore were the ones I rejected." As she spoke, Ziva pushed her foot against Soren's chest. "The woman you truly love has always been me."

And then, without warning, Soren pulled her into his arms and kissed her—a passionate, desperate kiss, the kind he had never given me.

I stared at the screen, tears streaming down my face as the truth sank in. For ten years, I had loved a man who had never truly loved me back. His heart had always belonged to Ziva.

I turned away from the surveillance footage, wiping my tears. It was over. I was done.

But just as I was about to leave, I heard my name echo through the house.

"Wendy!"

I froze. Soren was looking for me.