He Wished I’d Break Up With Him, So I Did—on My Way to the Airport chapter 09

He Wished I’d Break Up With Him, So I Did—on My Way to the Airport chapter 09

I picked up the box of chocolates and glanced at it. It was the brand I used to love most. Back then, I would keep pestering Ethan to buy it for me, yet he always said too much sugar was bad. Over time, it slipped his mind. Now, he’d finally remembered.

The next day, I headed to the airport to meet a colleague flying over from back home. While waiting in the arrivals hall, I caught sight of Ethan. He stood alone near the departure gates with his suitcase in tow. He’d grown much thinner, his jaw sharp, his eyes hollow. He looked exhausted and worn. No one was there to see him off. He had arrived all alone, and now he was leaving the same way.

He stared down at his phone for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. Right then, a text arrived from an unfamiliar number.

I know I’m the one who lost you.

I spent so long trying to figure out how to bring you back.

In the end, I realized it’s impossible.

I broke your heart beyond repair.

Something that’s been shattered will always have cracks, no matter how you glue it back together.

I don’t ask for your forgiveness. I only wish one thing — that you live well.

After sending the message, he tilted his head up and stared blankly at the airport ceiling. The boarding announcement echoed through the hall. He grabbed his luggage and walked through security, never once looking back.

I stood in the distance and watched his figure fade from sight, then turned and left.

On the ride back, my colleague asked what I’d been staring at.

“Nothing,” I replied. “Just a stranger.”

My colleague nodded and said no more.

I never heard from Ethan again. Days slipped by peacefully. I earned a promotion in Paris, bought a small apartment of my own, and adopted a cat. My life fell into a steady routine: up at seven each morning to make breakfast and head to work, home at seven in the evening to cook, read and rest.

On weekends, I strolled along the Seine, wandered through museums, or spent quiet afternoons at corner cafés. I learned to enjoy my own company, to be at peace with myself. I no longer lay awake at night tangled in thoughts of someone else. I no longer waited up for a text message. I no longer pinned all my happiness on another person.

One day, a colleague asked if I ever planned to go back home. I thought for a moment and shook my head.

“I’m happy here.”

“Do you have no intention of dating again?”

“There’s no rush.”

“You weren’t always like this,” they said.

“That was a different time.”

My colleague smiled and said I’d changed for good. I agreed.

I stood by the window, gazing toward the Eiffel Tower in the distance. The sunset dyed the sky soft orange, breathtakingly beautiful. Years ago, I once stood just like this, dreaming of building a life and a home with someone. Those dreams were no longer needed now. I already had a home, one that belonged only to me.

Later, old mutual friends told me what happened to Ethan after he returned. He never dated anyone new. He quit his job and traveled alone for three months. When he came back, he sold the apartment we once shared. Half the money went to charity, and the rest he set aside. He opened a bank account in my name and kept making regular deposits each month.

I knew nothing of this until his mother called me in Paris. She spoke simply.

“Chloe, he knows he was wrong. He says he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness,

and asked me to pass along his apology.”

I held the phone in silence for a long time.

“Please take care of yourself, ma’am.” I ended the call.

That night, I stood by the window and watched the moon until dawn. It was full and bright, just like the night years ago, when Ethan pointed to it and promised to watch the moon with me every year. He kept that vow for six years, and we shared six Mid-Autumn nights together. This seventh year, I watched alone.

The moon remained the same, but the people had moved on. I felt no sorrow. Some people, once lost, are gone for a lifetime.

Not every “I’m sorry” deserves an “it’s okay.” Not every wait is worth turning back for.

I was doing perfectly fine here, and I needed no one to prove it.