While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake.

He once told me it was his most precious possession.

But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out.

There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions.

He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny.

The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college.

Things started to make sense.

I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me.

That was because he already had someone he liked.

I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call.

"Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."

...

My boss gasped, "You're quitting?"

His surprise was reasonable since I had just led the team to nail a big project. A promotion and raise were on the horizon.

"Yeah, I am," I replied calmly.

"Well then, I respect your choice. Is it marriage?" he said.

I shook my head and walked out.

There was no marriage, just an empty promise that kept me waiting infinitely.

Yesterday, I stumbled across Desmond Maynard's stash of love letters.

Each one was carefully preserved in a box with moisture-proof packets.

I counted them and found a total of 103 letters. The earliest was from two years ago, while the latest was last Friday.

I sat on the floor, opening them one by one.

The paper came in pink, blue, and green, smelling faintly of gardenias. Emotions flowed from those beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions.

I recognized Desmond's neat handwriting. Writing love letters was his thing.

Back in college, he wrote me some, too. Those old letters were still lying in my drawer.

Now, on the backs of these letters wrote the same line: To My Love, Bunny.

That was how he called Megan Parker, his junior in college.

I once saw that name on his phone and asked about it. He blew up, accusing me of trying to control him.

After that, I stopped prying into his business.

Now I saw why. He was just mortified.

...

On his way home, Desmond texted me: [Come home early to clean Bruce.]

Through the line, I seemed to see his smug face.

His coldness to me was a stark contrast to his tenderness to Megan.

I ignored his text and slipped my phone into my pocket. Then I headed to a fancy restaurant, planning to go home after dinner.

Just then, my mom called. "I sent you some videos. Check them out and tell me which guy you like."

...

My mom's enthusiasm about my marriage amused me.

"You and Dad pick. You've got better taste," I replied.

I'd been burned picking men. I preferred not to do that again.

After a moment of silence, she sighed, "Trust me. Desmond isn't the right person for you. When he visited, he acted like we were looking down on him, almost giving your dad a heart attack."

My chest ached at her words.

In our fifth year together, Desmond agreed to meet my parents, but he thought they looked down on him.

He was cold to them and threw a fit when we got back.

Gathering my thoughts, I reassured her, "Don't worry. I've quit my job, and I'm booking my plane ticket."

Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing Desmond's angry face.

He yanked me inside, and before he could speak, I turned off my phone.

"What is wrong with you?" he snapped. "I told you to come back early to clean Bruce. Can't you even do that right? What are you good for?"

I had treated them like family and served them wholeheartedly for 13 years. Yet he treated me like a maid.

I raised my bandaged hand. "I fell and hurt my hand today. I just got back from the hospital, and I couldn't touch water for a while. You'll have to take care of him yourself. He is your family after all."

He frowned, looking at my hand. "How did you get hurt?"

Just then, his phone rang.

He glanced at me and answered. A sweet voice came through, echoing in the room.

"Desmond, come to the lab," Megan whined. "My data is messed up. The experiment is ruined. What should I do?"

He soothed her. "Don't fret. I'll be right there."

He hung up and looked at me. "Megan messed up an experiment. I've gotta go. You..."

Megan pulled this stunt a few times a month, calling him away with lab issues, plumbing problems, or health scares.

I couldn't be more familiar with it, but instead of stopping him, I waved him off with a smile. "Go ahead. She's probably freaked out."

He heaved a sigh of relief and rushed out.

My smile faded, and I booked a flight for next Wednesday, which was six days away.

During this period, I needed to obliterate all my traces, starting with my clothes.

I donated the newer ones and dumped the older ones.

On my last trip to the garbage, I saw Desmond walking up with Megan.

I pretended not to see them, heaving the old clothes by the dumpster.

"What are you throwing out?" he asked.

I kept my tone flat. "Old clothes. Just tidying up."

He didn't think much about it. "I brought Megan to grab some files."

Megan flashed a sweet smile, standing just inches away from him. The jacket she was wearing? Desmond's.

I'd scrimped and saved to buy it for his birthday, and now, it was on another woman.

Megan, catching my sharp gaze, stammered, "Uh, it was cold getting out of the car, so Desmond lent me his jacket. I'll take it off."

She sounded hurt, as if I were bullying her.

Desmond stopped her from removing it, then glared at me. "Come on! It's just a jacket. You're making a big deal out of it."

I pushed the clothes into the dumpster, dusting my hands. "I didn't say anything. Your jacket, your call. Well, I'm heading back. Still got trash to toss."

I walked away, but he followed without Megan.

...

That night, I scrolled through Megan's social media.

A video showed a plate of neatly-cut steak and a glowing scented candle nearby.

The vibe was romantic, and the caption was ambiguous.

[Can't cut this steak. Good thing Desmond is here.]

A familiar voice sounded in the background. It was none other than Desmond.

Soon, Megan posted again.

Her manicured fingers held a glass jar of candy, her excited squeals filling the air.

[OMG! Thank you for the gift!]

I knew that brand. It was very expensive.

Years ago, on my birthday, I saw it while shopping with Desmond, but the price stopped me cold.

Desmond cupped my face, promising he'd buy it for me someday. He kept that promise, but it was for another woman.

I scrolled through her posts again and again until Desmond came out of the bathroom, his face darkening at the sound.

He snatched my phone and tossed it onto the pillow. "You freaked Megan out today with your attitude. I just took her to dinner to apologize. That candy is just kid stuff. I was gonna get it for you, but you said you were dieting. Would have been a waste."

'Dieting? Since when?' I snorted inwardly, but I didn't argue or question him.

I just grabbed my phone, plugged it in, and shrugged. "No big deal. I don't even like that candy anyway. It contains a lot of calories and would take tremendous workouts to burn off. Thanks for the thoughts, though."

He sensed something off with my tone, but my face gave nothing away.

He knelt on the bed, wrapping an arm around me. "We haven't gone out in forever. How about the day after tomorrow? Dinner and a movie? You dumped your old clothes, right? I'll buy you new ones. And marriage... We talked about it before. I've been swamped, but I'll get you a ring, okay?"

He had been promising to marry me for five years. Now it was just a joke.

With four days to go until I left, I didn't want to get tangled up with him, so I didn't commit. "Sure, if we've got time."

Before he could say more, I lay down, pulled the blanket over me, and switched off the lamp.

"Sleep. It's late," I added.

Desmond finally noticed that the house was emptying. He stared at the bare dresser, freaking out. "Where is your stuff?"

"Black Friday is coming up. Need room for new things," I muttered.

He bought it, sliding into bed and trying to inch under my blanket. "Let's go out tomorrow. I'll book a restaurant and pick you up."

His effort to get close made me uneasy. I shifted away. "Alright. Just stop crowding me."