I knew she was gone before anyone said a word. She turned off her phone and went totally rogue. That was the first sign and then she was gone more than 5 hours. I’m pretty sure you don’t do your nails for five fucking hours. The look in her eyes when she said she was going for a “nail appointment” had already told me everything. I should have noticed her eyes, now remembering her empty eyes, I should have known that she’s going to leave. Not for a break—not for fresh air. She was running.
I sat alone by the pool, watching the surface ripple. It was quiet—the kind of quiet that only shows up when something is over. My phone sat beside me. No texts. No missed calls. Not that I expected one.
I stared at the water and whispered aloud to myself, “It’s done.”
It had to be.
I couldn’t keep doing this—this back and forth, this hoping that we’d find love in the middle of war. Catherine was never going to want this marriage. And maybe… maybe she never wanted me. I stayed up all night, thinking and writing on my notes about my feelings. I found myself writing a letter for her. I thanked her for everything and hope I just hope she’s happy with her decision
It’s short, only consisted of 5 sentences.
I got up and walked inside the Ashton estate, feeling like I was moving underwater. Every step felt heavier than it should have.
Tim was in his study, reading as if the world hadn’t just collapsed. I knocked and stepped in. “Hey, you got a minute?”
“Of course,” he said, setting his book down.
I sat across from him, feeling like a weight was pressing on my chest. “I don’t know how to say this exactly, but…” I looked him in the eye.
“I want to call off the wedding.” He just smiled—calm, composed, like he expected it.
“Very well then,” he said simply.
I stared. “Wait… you’re not mad?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I mean, I know how much you and my grandfather wanted this.”
“We still do,” he said, removing his glasses. “But we also respect your decision.”
“I think Catherine still has feelings for her ex. And even if she doesn’t, I know she doesn’t feel that way about me.” He studied me for a moment.
“I really like her, Tim,” I confessed, my voice dropping. “I didn’t mean to, but I do. I like her so much that it hurts now.”
“And yet, you’re still walking away?”
I nodded. “Because she deserves that choice. She still wants to work, to explore her life. She’s not ready. And I don’t want to be the man who chains her down.” I took out a white envelope with her name written on it from my pocket.
I gave it to Tim and he looked at it before taking it. “Farewell letter, I just hope she’s happy.”
Tim let out a long breath and gave me a warm, fatherly smile. “You’re a good man, Jacob. I know you are and thank you for loving Catherine.”
I swallowed hard. “I’ve already booked a flight back to Toronto. I’ll cancel the wedding, the invitations, everything. She doesn’t have to handle any of it. I’ll take the fall.”
He stood and gave me a hug. “Take care of yourself, son.” I nodded and left the room, thinking the hardest part was over.
***
Two years.
Two whole years without her voice, without her sarcastic smile, without those battles that felt like flirting and that silence that echoed louder than shouting. I told myself I moved on. Threw myself into the oil industry. Opened subsidiaries across Europe. Made headlines. Signed billion-dollar deals. Posed for photos that made me look invincible.
But nothing I built could erase her and then, today, it all came undone in an airport lounge.
I was walking toward my flight with Brad when I heard her voice. Calm and controlled. And then she asked the question I never thought I’d hear again:
"How is Jacob?"
She still thought about me. Of course she did, because I never stopped thinking about her.
Brad was baiting her, throwing out lines, "Why don’t you call him?", "Will you come to the charity event?", "Do you miss him?", and every time she responded, my heart cracked open a little more.
She missed me, but she didn’t call. She wanted me, but she ran. She watched my company rise from the headlines, but she never reached out. And yet… here she was.
When I stepped forward and she finally saw me, it was like watching someone see a ghost. She froze. Completely. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t because what do you say to the person who haunted your dreams for 700 nights?
I told Brad, “Let’s go.”
She didn’t stop me, not at first. But then, just as I reached the gate, I felt her hand grab the back of my suit jacket. I turned slowly, already knowing it was her. Her eyes were wild. Lips parted like she had a million things to say—but only one made it out:
“I’ll… I’ll see you in New York.”
That was it. That’s all she gave me.
No apology. No "I missed you." No "why didn’t you chase me?" Just a promise. Or maybe a threat. A thread of something unfinished. II walked away. Because I had to. If I didn’t, I might’ve said everything I wasn’t ready to say.
That I never stopped loving her. That I left because I thought she deserved freedom—but I died a little every day without her. That I wanted to marry her. Still. That I didn’t need an heir. I needed her. But I couldn’t say it, not yet.
So I boarded the plane and for the first time in years…
I hoped she’d chase me.