“I thought it was something serious, but it turns out you just needed some food. Low blood sugar, that’s all.”
“Good thing you’re awake now. If you’d stayed out much longer, I think this young man might’ve shed a few tears.”
Embarrassment heated my cheeks as I bowed my head and muttered a quick thank-you.
He didn’t reply.
Puzzled, I glanced up and froze when our eyes met. His gaze held a familiar shyness, his expression tentative.
“It’s you!” I blurted in surprise.
His ears flushed a deep crimson, and he mumbled, barely louder than a whisper, “Yes.” Later, I came to know his name and his story, and eventually, his hand in mine became a constant. That handholding stretched into seven long years.
I had always known he was an orphan, adopted by a couple who later had a daughter of their own.
After his adoptive parents passed away, Dorothea became the only family he had left in the world.
I understood that being abandoned as a child left him with wounds he tried to hide, scars that made the idea of building a family feel like a fragile dream.
And so, I waited. Year after year, I waited for him to find his way to me.
Seven years slipped by, yet not once did he mention marriage.
Every time I tried to bring it up, he would evade the topic, skillfully steering the conversation elsewhere.
I convinced myself it was just a matter of time.
But what I hadn’t seen, what I had foolishly ignored, was the presence of another woman standing between us all along.
It was always her. She could summon him with a single phone call, claiming to be unwell, even if I had traveled miles just to see him.
On my birthday, I spent hours getting ready, imagining a perfect evening together. I had set the scene, dressed in my best, my heart brimming with hope.
But then, a message from her arrived, a flimsy excuse about being scared of the dark during a power outage. And just like that, he left me behind, pulling on his jacket without so much as a glance back.
Through every bitter moment of disappointment, I clung to one thought.
“She’s his sister. Blood ties or not, she’s still the bond his adoptive parents left him. She’s his responsibility.”
But now, as I stood there watching them, her leaning into him, his arms around her protectively, a realization hit me like a bolt of lightning.
Dorothea’s face, her delicate features, bore an uncanny resemblance to mine. Seven points of similarity, clear as day.