8 Times Almost a Wife

After a long while, Ian finally let go of Jess Taylor, almost reluctantly, before heading in my direction.

Panicked, I turned and ran all the way home.

I hadn't even reached my door when his call came through.

His voice was laced with irritation. "Daphne, didn't I tell you to wait for me at the hotel? Where did you run off to?"

My throat burned with bitterness. Tears stung the corners of my eyes before I realized it.

I had wanted to confront him, ask him everything I'd held back. But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a soft, miserable explanation. "You weren't coming back, so I thought I'd wait for you at home."

There was a pause on the line. Then his tone softened, coaxing and gentle. "My bad. I got stuck in traffic. It took longer than I thought."

Not long after I sank into the couch, he came through the door.

He looked like a man whose date had been ruined and had come home in a foul mood. Without a word, he tossed the ointment onto me.

"Here, I bought the medicine. Put it on yourself."

I clutched the small tube tightly, staring blankly at his back. I bit my lip and forced myself to speak.

"You hit my face. Could you at least help me put it on?"

His eyes flicked toward me, filled with something sharp—disgust, maybe even contempt. He turned his head away.

His voice was cold and dismissive. "You brought it on yourself. Besides, don't you have hands? You're a grown woman. Are you blind or stupid? You can't figure things out on your own? Still waiting for someone to teach you?"

A string of accusations, each sharper than the last, each one stripping me bare. I lowered my head in shame.

But he hadn't always been like this.

I remembered once, while cooking, I'd nicked my finger—barely a scratch. He'd rushed over in a panic, fumbling for a bandage.

I had laughed, teased him for making such a big deal over nothing. Told him if he were a second slower, the wound might've healed on its own.

He'd cupped his hand over my mouth, eyes red with worry, begging me not to joke about it.

Now, I walked to the bathroom with the ointment and stared at myself in the mirror over the sink while I applied it.

From behind the closed door, I could hear him talking on the phone.

His voice was loud. I couldn't help but hear every word—and with each word, I felt my heart turn colder and colder.

"I'm going to the hospital tomorrow to see Grandpa. Jess, do you want to come with me?"

"Would that really be appropriate?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Grandpa's met you before. Besides, if you hadn't saved his life, he wouldn't even be here today. He's already recognized you as his future granddaughter-in-law."

"Don't say that... You're making me blush. You already have a fiancée. I guess I'm just not meant to have that kind of luck in this lifetime."

"I mean it. I'll only marry you. No one else."

The ointment slipped from my fingers and hit the sink with a loud thud.

Ian appeared in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed, phone call ended.

He saw me applying the medicine and, after a short pause, tried to ease into conversation.

"Daphne, I'm going to see Grandpa tomorrow. Do you want to come?"

Even though I already knew the truth, the pain still found a new place to dig in. My heart felt like it was unraveling from the inside out.

I looked at myself in the mirror, half my face bruised and swollen, like something monstrous.

"Do you think I'm in any condition to go see Grandpa like this? And even if I wanted to, would you really let me go?"

All these years together, every time I brought up visiting his grandfather, Ian always had a hundred excuses to shut it down, just like how he always put off the wedding.

To this day, I didn't even know what his grandfather looked like.

All I knew was that his Grandpa raised him, and was the closest family he had.

And yet, he'd already brought Jess to meet him who knows how many times.

Fighting back the ache in my nose, I pressed him again.

"If I said I wanted to go, would you really take me?"

He said nothing.

He took the ointment from my hand and began gently applying it to my face, finally offering me an empty promise.

"It's okay, Daphne. Once you've healed, I'll take you to see Grandpa. With how sweet and lovely you are, he'll like you for sure."

I didn't answer.

But deep inside, I was really confused.

Promises like these—how many had he made over the past three years?

Back then, I believed he meant well. I never pushed him.

But now I see it clearly: those promises were all just smoke.

The reason he never brought me to meet his grandfather was simple.

He never truly saw me as his fiancée.