Chapter 3
678 Words
I pressed a hand against the wall to steady my shaking legs, picking up my scattered clothes one by one.
"There was a huge cockroach in the hallway! It scared me to death!"
Sarah strolled in, clinging tightly to Michael's arm, only to stop dead in her tracks when she saw the blood dripping down my face.
When Michael noticed the blood, he froze. His face filled with concern.
But the moment he opened his mouth, his concern twisted into a sharp reprimand.
"Didn't I tell you to wait for me? Were you really in such a rush to leave me that you couldn't wait two seconds?"
The more he spoke, the angrier he became, his tone laced with an absurd sense of betrayal.
"Laura," he let out a long, heavy breath, deep lines etching into his forehead.
"I am begging you, can you try to understand my position, even just a little bit? I am completely exhausted. Stop throwing these ridiculous tantrums, okay?"
I parted my lips to speak, but the only thing I could taste was the bitter salt of my own tears.
"No, I don't understand you," I said quietly. "We are over. Go find someone who actually understands your excuses."
Sarah slipped out from behind his arm, clutching a large bag.
"Laura, please don't be mad at Mike," she pleaded, her voice dripping with sweet innocence. "Look, I brought all of Mike's personal stuff back to you. Please make up with him; I hate seeing you guys fight because of me."
She placed the heavy bag onto the sofa. Inside were his electric razor, toothbrush, chargers, and even his underwear.
Michael frowned, grabbing a first aid box with one hand while reaching out to stuff his belongings back into the closet.
Suddenly, with a loud rip, the flimsy bag tore completely open. Everything inside spilled out, crashing onto the floor in a chaotic mess.
My eyes followed the noise, and my breath caught in my throat.
In an instant, even the throbbing physical pain vanished into absolute numbness.
Scattered among his mundane personal items were three heavy silver trophies.
They were the prestigious Ronald Reagan News Award trophies, an honor bestowed upon only one sports journalist worldwide each year for exceptional reporting.
In five years, I had won three of them.
Michael's expression shifted drastically. He lunged forward to pick them up, but Sarah beat him to it, gathering them into her arms.
"Oh dear, I accidentally packed these too," she chirped.
"Accidentally?" My voice was so raspy and broken it barely sounded like my own.
Sarah shook her head with a look of pure innocence. "Mike left these over at our apartment! He said he wanted them there to inspire me, so I could become the best sports reporter in the world!"
She said, "Our apartment."
I turned my hollow gaze to Michael. "Did you really give them to her?"
Michael avoided my eyes, stepping forward to gather the trophies from Sarah's arms. "They're just metallic dust collectors, Laura. You don't need them, so I thought..."
Whatever excuses came out of his mouth next, my mind completely blocked them out.
My memory drifted back to the very first time I won that award.
He wasn't an editor-in-chief back then.
We squeezed into economy-class seats, enduring a painful 20-hour flight just to attend the ceremony.
On the night of the event, we stood under the cold streetlights of a foreign city, sharing a single cheap sandwich.
I remembered pressing my face into his coat, promising him that one day, I would become the greatest sports journalist in the world.
Michael had smiled so gently, running his warm fingers through my hair. "Then I'll be the proud boyfriend of the world's best journalist. I will stand by your side forever, through every high and every low."
Under the soft glow of that streetlamp, he had pressed a tender kiss right between my eyebrows, whispering softly, "We will be together forever."
What I didn't know then was that his so-called forever would last only three years.
- Writer
