He Said Caring For Girl Best Friend Was Duty, So I left Chapter 08

The day I left, the rain came down in sheets over Fairview.

Airport announcements echoed through the terminal again and again.

Owen pushed my suitcase beside me.

“Any regrets?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“The moment I made my decision, you never had to ask me that again.”

Owen didn’t press further. He just took my passport and walked me to the gate.

Outside the airport’s glass walls, a black Bentley sat quietly in the rain.

Derek was inside.

Through the crowd, he watched me in silence.

The truth was, he’d known I was leaving long before that day.

Company filings. Visa records. Flight bookings.

If he wanted to find out, he could. Simple as that.

But this time, he didn’t try to stop me.

He only sat there and watched me walk away. Step by step.

The boarding call came over the speakers.

Owen and I stood together and headed for the gate.

Neither of us looked back.

And Derek never got out of the car. Not even once.

He watched until the plane disappeared into the clouds.

His hand pressed against his chest as sobs tore through him.

After that, I hardly heard anything about Derek anymore.

Only occasional updates from friends back home.

The Hale Group continued to grow.

And Grace Hill Home was thriving.

People said Derek still visited every month.

He would stay there all day.

No one knew who he was waiting for.

In our third year abroad, Owen proposed.

There were flowers, a diamond ring—and an old photograph.

On the back were the words I knew so well.

Waiting for Wren to love me.

Owen’s ears were bright red. A nervous smile tugged at his lips.

“So… I don’t have to wait anymore, right?”

I laughed—then I was crying.

And finally, I nodded.

“No. You don’t have to wait anymore.”

In our fifth year abroad, I found out I was pregnant.

The day I went into labor, Owen’s hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold it together.

Meanwhile, I lay in the hospital bed, consumed by pain.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I heard our baby’s first cry.

The nurse took the baby out, and the room settled into quiet.

I glanced out the window without thinking—and froze.

A familiar figure stood in the garden below. Too far away to make out his face.

But I knew exactly who it was. Derek.

For a moment, I thought I was imagining things.

But when I looked again, he was gone.

The next day, a nurse came in for her rounds.

I asked casually, “Who was the man downstairs yesterday?”

The nurse looked surprised.

“You didn’t know him?”

I didn’t answer.

She sighed. “That man… he was a strange one.”

“He showed up the very first day you were admitted.”

“Every day he’d just sit down there. Never once came up.”

“He’d just stare at this window. Sometimes all day long.”

She paused. “Anyway, he left this morning. Asked me to give you this letter.”

I sat quietly for a long time.

Then I took the envelope and opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

Wren,

By the time you read this, I’ll be long gone.

Over the years, I’ve written you so many letters. Never sent a single one.

Because I knew you wouldn’t want to read them.

And then one day, it hit me.

I wasn’t waiting for you to forgive me.

I was waiting to forgive myself — to accept it.

To accept that you no longer belonged to me.

To accept that you would marry someone else.

To accept that the person growing old beside you would never be me.

Yesterday, I saw Owen holding your child.

And it hit me — something from years ago.

Mr. Collins once said, “When you grow up, take care of each other, okay?”

Back then, I was the first to promise.

I honestly believed no one in this world could ever love you more than I did.

Later, I learned that love isn’t about what you say. It’s about every choice you make.

And choice by choice, I let you slip away.

Wren, after you left, I went back to all the old places.

I walked the roads we used to walk when we were kids.

Went to see Mr. Collins at Cedar Ridge.

Made my way back to St. Anne’s Chapel too.

But I could never receive another God’s blessing.

Father Thomas told me something.

He said when two people aren’t meant to walk the same path anymore, even

God lets them go.

I didn’t believe him then. I do now.

So I guess this is goodbye.

I wish you peace, Wren.

I wish you happiness.

May your life be full of love and laughter.

Derek

The letter wasn’t long.

Still, I read it for a very long time.

Until I felt that familiar sting behind my eyes.

Owen came back in and saw the letter in my hands. He didn’t ask.

He just sat down on the edge of the bed and held my hand.

I gave his hand a squeeze.

Then I folded the letter and tucked it into the very back of the drawer.

Like putting away a chapter of youth that had already ended.

Time flew. Our daughter grew up little by little.

She called us Mommy and Daddy in her sweet voice.

She’d wrap herself around Owen and refuse to let go.

And she was always begging me to tell her stories about when I was little.

One spring, the three of us went back to Fairview.

We stopped by Grace Hill Home.

The sycamore trees in the courtyard had grown tall.

Kids were running across the playground, their laughter filling every corner of the yard.

Mr. Collins’s portrait still hung in the main hall, his smile as kind as ever.

Someone mentioned to me that after I left, every new building Derek put up had my name tucked into its name.

I stood there for a long moment.

And it came to me—life really does keep moving forward.

The regrets that once felt impossible to survive… eventually, they become stories. Just stories.

Stories we remember, stories we live through—and stories we finally learn to leave behind.