Chapter 10
Later, I met Chad in Lakewood. He came to find me, and I agreed to see him.
We sat across from each other at an outdoor café. The arrogance that once filled his eyes was gone. His posture was strangely humble.
“I wasn’t trying to drag things out on purpose,” he said. “The truth is, I never really wanted to divorce you.”
“Olivia, what if I told you I could change? Cut ties with all the other women. No more messing around. I could give you
the loyalty you always wanted. Could we start over?”
I took a sip of my coffee and reminded him flatly. “Chad, we just got divorced.”
“So what? If you say yes, I’ll marry you again.”
I smiled to myself, silently.
Men are pathetic at their core.
You try to control them, and they act like they’re starved for attention. You stop caring, and they come crawling back on
their own, begging to be held again.
As if afraid I wouldn’t believe him, he kept promising. “This time, no prenup. If I break my word, you can shrink my
fortune all over again.”
I looked up at him calmly, my eyes perfectly still.
That night in Cherryhill, in the March fog. I once believed those words, “Say the word and I’ll marry you tomorrow,” were
my salvation.
But then I suffered through that marriage. The loneliness I endured alone, the coldness I received, every bit of it was my
own personal hell.
Now, listening to these hollow words of regret, I felt nothing.
‘Chad, compared to marrying you again, I’d rather take your money and go love someone more deserving than you.”
He looked like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. The color drained from his face along with the
last bit of hope in his eyes.
I stood up and walked away. This time, he didn’t follow.
After that. I heard things about Chad from Samantha.
He seemed to have turned into a different person. He settled down. No more chasing women, no more swapping
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girlfriends like changing clothes. The parade of women around him disappeared.
Apparently, the paparazzi in Cherryhill followed Chad for six months and came up with nothing. They eventually gave
up, mourning the loss of their golden goose.
I don’t know who he was trying to prove something to. But I no longer believed in reformed playboys,
On my second New Year in Lakewood, I didn’t go back to Cherryhill. I stayed in Lakewood alone.
But I didn’t expect someone to knock on my door that evening.
I opened the door. Benjamin stood there.
His coat was dark with rain, his expression tired from the cold night.
On that rainy winter night in Lakewood, he was the first person to wish me a happy new year.
I couldn’t help asking. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your family?”
He looked at me deeply. “I should be. But I wanted to be here.”
My cheeks grew warm. I was silent for a long time.
The warm yellow light from inside the apartment softened his weary features.
Then he suddenly smiled and pulled an envelope from the inside of his coat. He handed it to me.
That envelope marked the beginning of something new between us.
Much later, I asked Benjamin when he first started liking me. His answer caught me off guard.
“That day on the Seine riverboat. The key you threw landed right at my feet.”
Another time, when we were deep in our romance, I pretended to be jealous and asked him about that eight-year
relationship. Had he truly let it go?
He pulled me into his arms. No excuses. No lies.
“I loved her deeply. But just like the rain in Lakewood, no matter how hard it falls, it always stops eventually. I waited
until after the rain stopped before I came to you.”
He took my hand and gently rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. “I came to you clean. That’s the least I could give you.”
Maybe before we found each other, we had both been caught in a long, cold rain.
But rain always stops eventually. And when it does, we learn to start over.
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