A Love Left Behind

Chapter 30 - Too Late

I never took that flight.

My bag was packed.

My passport was on the kitchen counter.

The ticket was on my phone.

Frankfurt to Manila.

One way.

Dad thought I'd lost my mind.

Maybe I had.

I didn't care.

For the first time in almost a year, I knew exactly what I needed to do.

Find Rose.

Apologize.

Listen.

And if she hated me, let her tell me to my face.

I wasn't going to send another message.

I wasn't going to call another dead number.

I was going to stand in front of her and say what I should have said months earlier.

I'm here.

The flight left the following morning.

I never made it to the airport.

That evening, I searched her name again.

I'd done it a hundred times.

Rose Tan.

Nothing.

Old photographs.

Mentions of her family.

Articles about the investigation.

Kaelob.

The company.

Then I changed the search.

Alice Tan.

That was how I found it.

A photograph.

At first, I didn't understand what I was looking at.

Rose.

White dress.

Flowers.

People around her.

I stared at the screen.

No.

I opened it.

The page loaded.

There she was.

My Rose.

Except she wasn't mine.

Her hair was pinned back.

She was smiling.

And beside her stood a man I'd never seen before.

Older than us.

Dark suit.

His hand around her waist.

Hers resting against his chest.

I couldn't breathe.

I read the words beneath the photograph.

Once.

Twice.

Then again.

Married.

Rose was married.

“No.”

I said it aloud.

As if the screen had made a mistake.

I searched again.

Another photograph.

Same man.

Same wedding.

Different angle.

Rose looking at him.

I closed the page.

Opened it again.

Still there.

My phone slipped out of my hand.

For eleven months, I'd been telling myself Rose would understand.

That was the ugliest truth.

Somewhere beneath the hospitals and fear and Chloe and Mum, I'd simply assumed she would still be there when I came back.

Because Rose had always been there.

She'd waited across oceans.

She'd waited through time zones.

She'd waited when I missed calls.

She'd waited when I forgot.

She'd waited when I said later.

Apparently, I thought she would wait forever.

She hadn't.

I picked up my phone.

Called her old number.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

I found Alice's number.

Disconnected.

Kaelob.

Nothing.

Then I did something I hadn't done in years.

I called Rea.

She answered quickly.

“Damian?”

“Where is Rose?”

Silence.

That silence told me she knew something.

“Rea.”

“I don't know where she is right now.”

“She's married.”

Another pause.

“Yes.”

The word hit harder spoken aloud.

“You knew?”

“I heard.”

“When?”

“Damian—”

“When?”

“A while ago.”

I stood.

“A while ago?”

“I didn't know if—”

“You didn't think to tell me?”

“I thought you knew.”

“How the f**k would I know?”

“Don't talk to me like that.”

“Where is she?”

“I don't know.”

“You're from the same family.”

“They're not my—”

“Don't.”

I was shouting now.

“Just tell me where she is.”

“I can't.”

“Can't or won't?”

“I don't know, Damian.”

I hung up.

Then threw my phone across the room.

It hit the wall.

The screen shattered.

I stared at it on the floor.

Mum appeared in the doorway.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

She looked at the phone.

Then at the packed bag.

“Rose?”

I laughed.

I don't know why.

Maybe because if I didn't, something else would happen.

“She got married.”

Mum didn't say anything.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“She got f*****g married.”

“I heard you.”

I waited for her to tell me Rose was horrible.

That I deserved better.

That she never loved me.

Something.

Instead Mum asked, “When did you last speak to her?”

I looked at her.

Wrong question.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Damian.”

“Forget it.”

I walked past her.

She grabbed my arm.

“Don't.”

I pulled away.

“Everyone always has a reason.”

“What?”

“Dad had reasons. Chloe has reasons. You have reasons. Rea has reasons.”

“Rose has reasons.”

That stopped me.

Mum shouldn't have said it.

Not then.

I turned around.

“You don't know anything about Rose.”

“No. And neither do you anymore.”

I hated her for that sentence.

Because she was right.

I left.

I don't remember where I drove.

I remember driving too fast.

I remember stopping somewhere and sitting in the car until it got dark.

I remember opening the wedding photograph again on my broken phone.

Zooming in.

Her face.

His hand.

Her ring.

I wanted her to look miserable.

That's horrible.

But I did.

I wanted proof that she'd made a mistake.

That she was thinking about me.

That somebody had forced her.

Anything.

Instead, she looked beautiful.

And I hated her for it.

Then I hated myself.

Because eleven months.

What had I expected?

That she'd sit beside her phone forever?

I opened our old messages.

I love you.

Miss you.

Call me.

Damian?

Please.

Then silence.

I had done that.

I knew I had.

And somehow knowing it made me angrier.

Because if Rose had cheated on me, I could hate her.

If she'd lied, I could hate her.

If she'd simply stopped loving me, maybe eventually I could accept it.

But I had left.

And she'd moved on.

There was nobody to blame without looking at myself.

So I blamed her anyway.

For a while.

I canceled the flight.

Then I booked another one two days later.

Canceled that too.

A week later, I booked a third.

This time I flew.

I didn't tell anyone.

I landed in Manila with no plan.

Alice's house was almost empty.

Someone else answered the door.

I went to the company.

Security wouldn't let me inside.

I gave Rose's name.

Nothing.

Alice.

Nothing.

Kaelob.

The guard looked at me differently when I said his name.

I spent two days searching.

Nothing.

Rose was gone.

On the third day, I went to her grandparents' house.

Mary opened the door.

She recognized me immediately.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then she said my name.

“Damian.”

“Where is she?”

Mary looked older.

So much older.

“Please.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

That frightened me.

“Is she okay?”

“Yes.”

“Then where is she?”

“I can't tell you.”

“Why?”

She looked away.

“Grandma.”

I'd called her that without thinking.

Her face broke.

“Please don't.”

“Just tell me where Rose is.”

“I promised.”

“To who?”

She didn't answer.

“Rose?”

Silence.

That was enough.

“She doesn't want me to know.”

Mary closed her eyes.

I stepped back.

Something inside me went very quiet.

“Okay.”

“Damian—”

“No.”

“She loved you.”

Loved.

Past tense.

I laughed once.

“Don't.”

“You don't understand.”

“Then explain it.”

“I can't.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah.”

I walked away.

Mary called my name.

I didn't turn around.

I left the Philippines the next morning.

That was the last time I went there for twelve years.

The first year after Rose, I was angry.

At her.

At myself.

At anyone stupid enough to tell me things happened for a reason.

I went out too much.

Drank too much sometimes.

Slept with women whose names I didn't want to remember.

None of it helped.

The problem with trying to replace someone is that every replacement reminds you there was an original.

So I stopped trying.

I worked.

At first because I needed something to do.

Then because I was good at it.

Work had rules.

Numbers didn't disappear because they were overwhelmed.

Contracts didn't tell you they'd call tomorrow and then marry someone else.

Companies didn't love you.

That made them easier.

I studied.

Worked.

Built.

Failed.

Started again.

Every time something went wrong, I worked harder.

Every time someone told me no, I found another way.

Every time I thought about Rose, I stayed at the office another hour.

Then another.

Years passed.

People started calling me ambitious.

Then successful.

Then wealthy.

Eventually powerful.

Nobody knew those words had all started as distractions.

By twenty-six, I had more money than I'd once imagined having.

By twenty-eight, I could enter rooms my parents would once have considered inaccessible.

By thirty, people who had refused to return my calls waited weeks for meetings with me.

I had built exactly what I'd promised Rose.

Something big.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

She simply wasn't there to see it.

Years later, when people asked why I'd never married, I usually laughed.

I told them I was too busy.

Sometimes I said I hadn't met the right woman.

Both answers were easier than the truth.

I'd met her when I was a teenager.

I left her behind.

And when I finally turned around to find her again, she belonged to someone else.