8
After a long silence, he spoke again.
I found it laughable. I laughed hysterically.
“Lucas, do you know what I told myself when
I heard that?
He stared at me, hopeful.
“What?”
I looked at his face, unchanged from the past.
But his face was meticulously made up.
“I said, I never regret meeting you, and I’m
willing to give you one last chance.”
I said calmly.
He trembled, his eyes shining with
excitement.
But before he could speak, I continued.
“But you’ve already used that chance.”
“You didn’t even let go of Mia’s hand when
apologizing.”
“I was home for two hours before leaving,
where were you?”
I pressed the call button.
When the nurse arrived, I said coldly,
“Please have this man leave my room. I don’t
want to see him again. And please give this
video to the police.”
く
“Izzie, don’t, you need someone to take care
of you. You need me.”
He was desperate.
But I was firm.
“After you became famous, you weren’t there
when I had a stomach bleed from business
drinking. You weren’t there when I bought this
mansion. You weren’t even there when I was
about to propose to you.”
“Lucas, don’t forget, my injury is also thanks
to you.”
“Get out.”
Security removed him at my insistence.
Lucas visited a few more times, but I didn’t
see him.
The footage from my camera was irrefutable
evidence.
Mia was sentenced to death.
A month later, I returned home.
Thankfully, the doctors were skilled, and my
arm healed well. I just couldn’t overexert it.
When I landed, I heard of Lucas’s suicide.
He’d killed himself after leaving the police
station.
The police report said he was distraught after
seeing the video of Mia hurting me and
hearing her confession.
My heart was numb, but thinking of nineteen-
year–old Lucas, gentle and kind, still caused a
pang of discomfort.
Now I had money, I could enjoy life.
I sold my company and began traveling the
world.
Three years later, I met a man I could rely on.
He was completely different from Lucas. He
didn’t like to look to the future.
One day, I smelled a familiar scent in our
bedroom.
It was the first gift I’d bought for nineteen-
year–old Lucas – an inexpensive perfume.
He’d never used it, only sparingly on formal
occasions.
I didn’t see him that day.
Only a voice carried on the wind.
“Izzie, goodbye, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
I stared out the window, whispering,
“No matter what happened to Lucas later, you
never did anything wrong, nineteen–year–old
you.”
