Chapter 18
In my third year here, I immersed myself fully in academics and secured a position as an assistant professor.
On the eve of graduation, my Senior Mentor came to have a drink with me.
“I went back home a few days ago, guess who I saw?” she said.
“Who?”
“That two–timing ex of yours.”
My Senior Mentor was indignant. “That dog of a man. He found me and was putting on quite the show of deep emotions”
Hearing about him again, I felt remarkably calm: “He went looking for you?”
“Not just me. He’s been tracking down every classmate from your undergrad and graduate years. But you told everyone not to disclose your whereabouts, and you even had your family block any information. He couldn’t find squat. The guy’s
gone completely off the rails”
I clinked my glass with hers: “I don’t really care about him anymore.”
“Of course you shouldn’t. It’s not worth it. Before I left, he tried to get me to bring you a wedding dress. Said he’s been waiting for you all this time What a joke. Who asked him to wait?”
I shrugged. “It’s all in the past anyway.”
I won’t fool bitter just because the ending doesn’t match up to the process. There’s no wound that can’t heal, no downward spiral that can’t be stopped. Over these years, I’ve long since made my peace with it.
“But he still managed to sneak this into my backpack, the creep!”
I took what she handed me. It was the handmade album fd asked him to make.
It was filled with photos of us, from when we barely knew each other to when we gradually fell in love.
It documented everything about our relationship. I looked at the photos in the album, each one capturing moments of our
time together. There wore pictures of us frolicking on the beach, warm scenes of him colabrating my birthday, and
snapshots from our travels together.
On the last page, in his bold handwriting, it said: “Emily, I love you”
My Senior Montor saw it too and glanced at me nervously: “Hey, you’re not getting sentimental, are you?”
I closed the album and tossed it in the trash.
“How could I? If I were moved, it would only make me feel like all my efforts were a joke.”
My Senior Mentor sighed in relief: “There is something you might be interested in, though.”
From her, I heard about Hannah’s story. Apparently, it was all over the news. She was caught red–handed being the Homewrecker and got beaten up by the first wife,
Then she tried to clear her name through a livestream.
But it backfired when people dug up more dirt on her, saying she was a serial offender. All the posts she made while pursuing James were exposed.
Her crush diary became her downfall, with everyone calling her out:
“A Willing Mistress, huh? Damn, reading this gave me breast hyperplasia.”
“I didn’t know people could make being a homewrecker sound so pure and innocent.”
“Confessing before the wedding, offering her first time? This woman’s got some nerve.”
“If I were the groom’s fiancés, I’d go up and beat her senseless.”
“The woman’s despicable, but the man’s not innocent either. If he had any sense of boundaries, would she have gotten so for?”
So everyone was waiting to see how this relationship would end. Someone in the know said the bride ran away on the wedding day.
The groom searched the entire city but couldn’t find his missing bride. He went mad.
Internet users cursed him, saying he deserved it.
My Senior Mentor said, “1 hope you never cross paths with those two ill–fated souls again.”
