ASTRID

It was Saturday morning, and it felt unusual to be at home. I usually go to the office every Saturday to check in with high-profile clients, but today I’m skipping it because I’ve handed off Art’s magazine issue to a colleague. I’ve already informed my boss that I’m unavailable and that my colleague is better suited to handle Art’s issue. Fortunately, my boss didn’t press for further details about my absence.

As much as I try to keep my work and personal life separate, I’m not a saint. It’s hard to keep my emotions in check when I’m hurting, and I don’t want my work to be influenced by any personal bias. I know next month’s magazine issue has the potential to be a huge success, and part of me, the magazine editor, is in a tug-of-war with my emotionally bruised self. Letting go of this project was tough, but I reassured myself that it was a necessary step for my own peace of mind. I need to heal and avoid falling into the same traps again.

I let out a sigh of relief once I finished packing up the gifts Art sent me. I’m not returning the flowers since they’ll just wilt, but I’ll send back the other expensive items. I can’t bring myself to use anything from him, no matter how costly it was. I’m determined to let it all go. 

As I stared at those items before stretching, I couldn’t help but wonder how many years it would take me to afford such things on my own. I’m planning to return everything to his company address since I don’t know his home address and I don’t want to see him in person just to return these items. I fear that if I see him again, I’ll end up back where I started.

The number of expensive gifts Art sent to my office and home, and the way he even fed my coworkers, was overwhelming. Whenever my colleagues asked who the gifts were from, I found myself unable to speak. Who wants to admit that all these gifts came from a married man? 

If I were willing to bend my principles, I might have taken the gifts without second thoughts and clung to Art as if my life depended on him. But that’s not who I am. I want a love that feels right, where everything aligns, and the universe shows its approval. Discovering that he’s married is a clear sign that we’re not meant to be together.

I had just finished showering and was about to start cooking breakfast when I got a message from someone I’ve been trying to avoid—Art. He was texting me about our meeting today. It seems he wasn’t informed of the changes.

I let out a deep sigh as our conversation dragged on—he clearly wanted to talk. Fine. I’ll return his gifts and confront him once and for all. This is something I need to do for myself, not for him. I want to end this connection and protect myself from further shame and pain.

Carrying the gifts Art had sent me, I opened the door and felt a lump in my throat when I saw him standing there, holding yet another bouquet of flowers and the burnt cheesecake he’d been so proud of. His broad smile faded as his gaze landed on the gifts I was carrying.

“Why are you carrying all that? Don’t return it; they’re gifts,” he said, but I ignored him.

“You want to talk, right?” I asked, stepping outside and heading toward his car with the gifts.

He rushed to keep up with me. “We can talk inside your house; you’ll be more comfortable.”

“No, let’s talk in your car,” I replied firmly. I didn’t want him inside my home. It felt too much like letting him back into my life. I needed to avoid any scenario where his presence might linger as I tried to move on. His car seemed like the best option to have this conversation without the complications of him being inside my house.

“Open the trunk,” I demanded, standing at the back of his car. He looked puzzled.

“We can only talk after I put this in the trunk,” I added, but he hesitated for a moment.

With no other choice, he finally complied and helped me place the gifts in the trunk. I then headed toward the passenger seat, but he quickly moved to open the door for me. As an automatic gesture, he shielded my head from the door frame as I climbed in and handed me the flowers and cheesecake he had been carrying.

As soon as he saw that I was comfortably seated, he closed the door. I placed the bouquet and cheesecake on the passenger dashboard and I waited quietly as he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine to cool the car. I remained silent for a while. Despite trying to appear brave, I knew I wasn’t fully prepared for this confrontation. But I also knew I had to ask everything I needed to know, without holding back.

“I’m glad you finally agreed to fix things between us, Estelle,” he said with a hopeful smile. His optimism was evident, so I immediately corrected him.

“It’s Astrid,” I replied, causing his smile to vanish instantly.

I cleared my throat before speaking. “I’d like to ask a few questions first.”

“Sure, I’m an open book. Just ask,” he said confidently, facing me.

“Where do you live right now?” I asked, sensing his confusion since it seemed a bit off-topic.

Despite his evident confusion, he answered. “Currently, I live in Forbes Park. Why?”

Liar! The news said you recently moved in with Xena in Proscenium at Rockwell.

“Really? Not in Rockwell?” I pressed.

“Yes, really. Why?” he asked, but I didn’t respond.

“We can go there sometime if you want,” he added, but I shook my head.

It wasn’t hard to believe Xena; she had a clean reputation, and Penelope had vouched for her, confirming that she was genuinely nice. I chose to believe her over someone who had betrayed me. I wanted to think she was also a victim of Art’s deceit. After all, I will always stand by my belief in supporting other women. I will forever be a girl’s girl.

I bit my lip, trying to muster the courage for what I was about to ask. I looked at him; he appeared calm, almost too composed.

“Just ask me more questions. I’ll answer them all,” he said gently, reaching out to hold my hand. I pulled away. His touch still affected me, and I needed to keep my distance.

“Don’t touch me,” I said coldly.

“I’m sorry,” he replied.

“You sent flowers, right? By any chance, did you send them to someone else too?”

“No, Astrid. It’s just you,” he answered.

Is that true? Then who sent flowers to Xena? They were both roses and were delivered on the same day as mine.

Silence hung heavy in the air, and tears began to well up in my eyes. I could feel myself on the verge of breaking down before I could even get the words out. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, then finally asked, “Why did you cheat?”

The calmness in his eyes shifted into confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t cheat on you, Estelle. I would never,” he said, locking his eyes with mine. But I looked away, unable to hold his gaze, afraid it might weaken my conviction.

“Is that why you left? Did you leave me that night because of that?” he asked, and I felt his presence draw closer.

“You thought I cheated on you, hmm?” he asked softly, reaching out to wipe away the tears that had started to fall. I pushed his hand away.

“You didn’t cheat on me. You cheated with me,” I clarified.

“Estelle, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how I cheated,” he said, still playing dumb.

“You’re the only woman in my life right now,” he continued, finally holding both of my hands.

“Then who’s Xena?” I asked, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside me.