Chasing His Ex-Wife After Her Remarriage

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I had secretly dated my father's much younger best friend for eight years and we were finally ready to go public.

Bubbling with excitement, I called Dad to tell him I was coming back with my boy friend for a visit.

But standing at his friend's doorstep, I overheard a conversation.

Leo, aren't you afraid Savannah will find out you went behind her back to that blind date? She'll lose it.

He let out a soft chuckle, his voice utterly confident.

"She won't."

"All these years, she's stuck by me without any real commitment, putting up with everything. She's never once threatened to leave."

"Truth is, I do love her. But in the end, we're just not meant to be."

A sharp pain shot through my heart. I stood frozen in place.

It wasn't until Dad's voice called my name for the third time through the phone that I could choke back the tears and walk away.

"Dad, it's nothing. I just wanted to tell you I've agreed to the arranged marriage with the Sterling family."

...

"Do you think I'm your replacement?"

Sitting across from me in the cafe was a woman whose face bore a vague resemblance to mine, but her smile was all triumphant smugness.

Her name was Isabella, the very woman from Leo's setup, the one he was reportedly about to get engaged to.

Half an hour ago, as I stumbled away from Leo's place, she'd stopped me downstairs.

Now, facing her composure, I was the one floundering.

She took a sip of her coffee, placing the cup down gently.

"But tell me, if he truly loved you, why would he need a stand-in? Especially while you were still right there by his side?"

I couldn't deny her words held a cruel logic.

But eight years with Leo letting go felt like tearing out a part of myself.

As if reading my mind, she leaned in close.

"If you don't believe me, let's make a wager. Let's see who holds more weight in his heart. If his loyalty keeps shifting to me, you walk away. Deal?"

Leo came home to the smell of his favorite chicken noodle soup simmering on the stove.

For some reason, today's batch just didn't smell right, even though I followed the recipe to the letter.

He shrugged off his coat, came up behind me, and planted a kiss on my neck.

"Nothing beats your cooking, baby. I could smell it from the hallway."

My hands stilled. I turned to look at him. "Does it really smell good to you?"

His smile was gentle. "Have I ever lied to you?"

I turned back to the pot, a bitter taste rising in my throat.

I used to believe every word that came out of his mouth.

It took until today to realize how blindly I had trusted.

He once told me he wanted us to last forever. Yet today, he told someone else we weren't meant to be.

So what were these eight years, then?

I reached over and clicked off the burner.

I scooped up a spoonful of the thick, glutinous mess from the bottom of the pot to show him.

"But it's burned. Can't you smell it?"

He paused, then laughed lightly, taking the spoon from me and ladling a heaping bowlful.

"It's fine. Anything you make is perfect to me, even if it's a little charred."

He carried the bowl to the table, a look of pure contentment on his face.

Watching his back, my eyes began to sting.

By the time I joined him, he'd already taken several big mouthfuls.

He was visibly wincing with each swallow, but when he looked up at me, he forced that same blissful, satisfied expression.

So he'd been wearing this mask all along. I just never saw through it before.

"Stop. Don't eat it."

I walked to the table, my voice quiet.

He acted like he didn't hear, scooping another huge spoonful, blowing on it, putting it in his mouth.

"Stop eating it!"

I raised my voice. It was useless.

A hot wave of frustration surged through me.

I reached out and knocked the entire bowl over.

Scalding soup splashed over my hand and the table.

The bowl clattered to the floor, shattering into pieces.

Leo stared, stunned for two full seconds, then grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the sink, holding it under cold running water.

Even so, the back of my hand was already an angry, lobster-red burn.

Leo's frown deepened, worry quickly morphing into sharp annoyance.

"What is wrong with you? It's just soup! So it's a little burnt, big deal. Was throwing it really necessary? Don't you know how hot that was?"

My tears broke free all at once.

When it's burnt, it tastes bitter.

Just like our relationship now, laced with lies.

All that 'sincerity' could never be real again.

Seeing me sob uncontrollably, Leo was thrown into a panic..

"Hey, don't cry. I'm sorry, okay? I won't scold you anymore."

"Alright, alright, it's my fault. I shouldn't have ignored you and kept eating the burnt soup."

"Please, sweetheart, stop crying."

He kept trying to wipe my tears, only to find more falling. Finally, he gave up and just held me close.

"My dear, what do I need to do to make you stop crying, huh?"

I opened my mouth, struggling before a single, ragged word came out.

"It hurts."

He released me immediately, lips pressed thin, and went to fetch his jacket.

"Let's go to the ER."

Leaning against the wall, watching him scramble, a question formed in my mind.

Leo, the pain in my hand can be treated. But the ache in my heart how do I fix that?

I never asked it.

Just as we were about to leave, his phone rang.

He glanced at me, stepping away to take the call.

Faintly, I could hear a woman's voice, weepy and distressed.

When he returned, his face was etched with apology.

"Savannah, something something urgent just came up. Let me get the burn cream. I'll take you to the hospital as soon as I'm back, promise?"

I looked at him and curved my lips into a slight smile.

"Go ahead. Handle your business. I can manage the cream myself."

Leo hesitated for a beat, then cupped the back of my head, pressing his lips to my forehead.

"I'll be as quick as I can. Wait for me."

I didn't answer. I just watched him leave in silence, listening to the soft click of the door closing.

Leo's idea of 'quick' turned out to be an entire night.

By midnight, a raging fever had taken hold, my body burning up.

In my misery, I instinctively reached for my phone to call him, but a message from my best friend, Zoe, flashed on the screen.

[Babe, is this that bastard Leo?]

Attached was a photo.

Leo, wearing the matching coat I'd given him, cradling a woman in a hospital chair, an IV in her arm.

Her head rested on his shoulder, fast asleep.

The angle was sneaky, but it was clear enough. I'd recognize him anywhere.

[Yes. It's him.]

After sending the reply, any urge to reach out to Leo evaporated.

I put the phone down, dragged my leaden body to the freezer for ice packs, and tried to bring the fever down myself.

By the time I crawled back into bed, Zoe's messages were blowing up my phone.

[Oh, hell no. This is solid proof of cheating. That son of a bitch. After eight years of you waiting for him, this is how he repays you?]

[I'm livid. Savannah, I looked her up. Isabella Whitlock, the Whitlock heiress. Word is she just got back from NYC and her family pushed her into a setup. And she picked Leo?]

[See? I told you Leo was unreliable. Eight years together with a million excuses not to go public. Now it's over, and he runs off to marry some socialite.]

[Savannah, you there? You okay? Do you need me to come over?]

[Sweetie, don't be sad. Let me get revenge for you, okay? I'll hire someone to make a scene with a banner for that cheating pair tomorrow. No, I'll do it tonight!]

After a long silence, I slowly typed out a response.

[I actually knew about all this, Zoe. I just I don't care anymore. I'm going back to Northridge. I'm getting married.]

Sending it, I remembered it was time to resign.

I never really liked this marketing job, but Leo had gotten it for me, so I'd gritted my teeth and stuck with it.

I sent the resignation and leave request to my director's inbox.

I laid back down but sleep wouldn't come.

I stared at the ceiling until dawn, then washed up and went to the hospital alone.

Just as I entered the main doors, my phone chimed with a message from Leo.

[Sorry, baby. Things took longer than I thought. Miss me? I'll be back soon. I'll bring you those lobster rolls you love, okay?]

Before I could reply, a familiar silhouette in the parking lot caught the corner of my eye.

Through an open car window, I saw Leo leaning over, one hand cradling the back of a woman's head, lost in a deep kiss.

He really was 'busy.'

A wave of dizziness hit me. I grabbed the wall to steady myself.

After a long moment, I slipped the phone into my pocket, refusing to look their way again, and walked into the outpatient building.

Leo called just as the nurse called my name for the IV.

Silence on the line for a few seconds before he asked, confused, "You're at the hospital?"

"Yeah."

I answered softly, watching the nurse slide the needle into my vein.

"I told you to wait for me to take you."

At his accusatory tone, I looked at the swaying IV bag and laughed at myself.

The doctor had said my fever was 107.6 degrees. Any longer, I could have passed out.

A prolonged high fever could even cause brain damage.

But Leo? He'd said he'd be quick, yet he'd gone to be with someone else.

Still, I saw no point in confronting him now.

"You have your important things. I can't depend on you for everything. People have to grow up sometime."

Leo's breath hitched before he said softly.

"Savannah, you can always depend on me. You don't ever have to grow up."

His words overlapped with a memory from a rainy night when I was sixteen.

Young, confused, and under the crushing pressure of college applications, I'd had a huge fight with my dad.

I'd run away, hiding under the awning of a closed mall, the rain pouring down in sheets.

Cold and exhausted, it was Leo who found me.

Only five years older than me, he carried me on his back, holding an umbrella, comforting me, trying to cheer me up.

His back felt so warm and safe. Sniffling, I'd asked, "Leo, why are you so good to me?"

Leo had paused, then smiled gently.

"Is it bad if I'm good to you?"

"Not bad but Dad says if you get too used to someone being good to you, you become dependent. You won't grow up."

His steps halted in the middle of the rain puddle. He turned his head to look at me.

"Savannah, you can always depend on me. You don't ever have to grow up."

That sentence, dropped into the pond of sixteen-year-old Savannah's heart, sent ripples out for a decade, never fading.

But now, hearing it again, my heart was a still lake.

I said, "Leo, people always have to learn to grow up."