Back to the Love We Left Behind

Chapter 7

Maren watched helplessly as her name vanished from his contact list, her vision blurred, tears threatening to spill.

Callum's voice echoed in her ears, cold as ice. "I only kept you in my contacts because of our childhood bond. Did you have to drag everything through the mud like this? Are you happy now?" Then he spun on his heel, merciless. "Nadia, shut the door."

Nadia arched an eyebrow at Maren, a smirk of pure triumph playing on her lips, and shut the door firmly.

Maren stood frozen before that closed door, utterly shattered, unable to pull herself together. Until at last, clutching the doll to her chest, she turned and melted into the pitch-black night.

Back at the show's quarters.

Maren lay curled on her bed, the ceramic doll still cradled in her arms, its surface frigid from the night air. Years had gnawed away at the doll's paint, leaving it chipped and faded—a patchwork of loss, mirroring the fraying bond between her and Callum.

His words from hours earlier still echoed in her ears, each one carving into her heart like a knife.

A bitter sting flooded her nose, and her eyes burned with scorching heat.

'Maren, it's time to wake up and let go!' she told herself as she pulled the doll tighter, pressing her forehead against the icy porcelain.

That was how she spent the entire night.

*****

Callum and Nadia sauntered back the following evening.

Maren was busy prepping dinner with the other guests when the two of them swept in, arm in arm. The sight nearly made her lose her grip on the knife, and words failed her completely. She had no idea what to say, so she just stood there, mute and motionless.

Finally, a guest broke the silence. "Callum, Nadia, what would you like to eat?"

Before Nadia could answer, Callum cut in. "Beef. Heavy on the cilantro."

Maren's grip tightened on the knife handle. Callum had never touched cilantro before. She looked up as he added, "Nadia likes it."

The others erupted into teasing. "Already memorized her favorites? Sounds like wedding bells are on the horizon!"

Only Maren forced down the bitter lump in her throat, spun around, and threw herself back into the cooking. So, Callum actually remembered Nadia's preferences. When she'd been with him, he'd never paid attention to little things like that. Her vision began to swim.

"Hiss—" A sharp sting shot through her finger. The knife clattered onto the cutting board. She looked down, the tip of her finger was sliced open, blood welling up and dripping down.

A female guest nearby gasped, "Oh no, you cut yourself! Is it bad? I've got a band-aid right here."

Maren waved off the offer with a quiet, "Thanks, I'm fine," and glanced up at Callum. He stood there, laughing and chatting with Nadia, turning a blind eye to her injury.

That whole dinner sat like a stone in Maren's stomach.

After the meal, the director finally announced the task, "Before tonight's livestream ends, give a gift to your crush. If two guests exchange gifts, they can go on a date tomorrow."

Maren retreated to her room, utterly drained, body and soul.

For the first time, doubt began to gnaw at her. Had coming on this dating show to win back Callum been a colossal mistake? Or perhaps, from the very start, she should never have returned. The moment they broke up seven years ago, she should have accepted that she and Callum were done—finished—with no hope of a future.

Maren's thoughts churned as her gaze fell on the ceramic doll by the bed. She knew deep down that even if she gave him a gift, he would never return the gesture. It was doomed to be nothing more than her own one-sided wishful thinking.

But everything should have a proper ending.

This would be the last time. A clean break.

With her mind made up, Maren picked up the doll, walked out of her room, and knocked on Callum's door.

A few seconds later, the door swung open.

When he saw it was her, impatience flickered across his face. "What do you want now?"

Fresh from the shower, he wore nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. Steam still curled off his skin, and his wheat-colored skin glistened over those sharply defined muscles, a sight so dangerously tempting it made her heart flutter.

Maren forced herself to stay calm, lifting the doll toward him. "This... do you remember?"

She waited expectantly for his response.

But all she got was his hand shooting up, roughly pushing her arm aside.

The move was so sudden, so forceful, she couldn't hold on—the doll slipped from her fingers and flew—crash!

The sound of shattering ceramic seemed to amplify endlessly in her ears, and Maren felt as if her own heart had shattered right along with it.