100 Broken Promises

In the early hours of the morning, the last flight to Iceland had taken off, but William still hadn't appeared. I took out my phone and glanced at our chat history. From eight in the morning until now, I had sent more than twenty messages, none of which had received a reply. He had stood me up again, still without a word of explanation. I could feel my heart growing cold, with no trace of excitement left. Putting my phone back in my bag, I dragged my suitcase and decided to take a taxi home. But as soon as I left the airport, a motorcycle sped past, snatching my handbag. I fell to the ground, my palms and knees throbbing with pain as blood oozed out. The burning pain spread from my wounds. I tried to get up several times but couldn't. Finally, a passerby came up to help me. The kind stranger opened his phone and asked if I needed to call my family. Subconsciously, I recited a number I knew by heart. The call connected, and as soon as I said my name, I was met with a barrage of questions. "Where are you? It's so late. Why aren't you back yet? What are you doing?" "I'm at the airport. My bag was stolen." There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, then a sentence came. "I'll come pick you up." Before I could answer, the call was hung up. The "beep" sound made the person holding the phone look a little embarrassed. His sympathetic gaze seemed to pierce through me. I forced a smile and thanked him, trying my best to maintain my composure. Then, limping, I found a corner and waited for William to pick me up. But the minute hand on my watch went around three times, and he still didn't come. I thought he wouldn't come even if I waited any longer. The wounds had already scabbed over in the cool night breeze, but they cracked open again with the slightest movement, making me wince. I rubbed my numb legs and stood up. After asking the airport staff for help, I found a hotel to stay in. The receptionist was a young girl of seventeen or eighteen, smiling brightly as she looked at her phone. She chatted with her friend about gossip while checking me in. "Although someone couldn't accompany me to my dream destination, Iceland, because of work, I won't hold it against him since he made me a candlelit dinner by hand." "Evelyn must be in love! Look, this picture clearly shows a man's hand!" She read from Twitter, excitedly sharing every clue. As if guided by a sixth sense, I turned my head to look. The camera zoomed in on a pair of bony hands with a gleaming Rolex watch, carefully arranging a beautifully prepared steak. The image radiated love and warmth. Only I knew that it was my husband, William. The watch was a couple's watch we bought together on our honeymoon. I was right. He was stuck with Evelyn again. In the past, I would have done everything in my power to contact William, to demand answers and confront him hysterically. But now, I just wanted a hot shower and some sleep. I was truly exhausted.