I No Longer Dream of Tender Nights

The Last Straw

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Theo Foster's deep voice came through. "The Foster family's moving in half a month. I'll come get you then."

Jeanne froze for half a second, then let out a soft laugh. She hadn't said a word about leaving, yet he already knew. And the worst part was—he was right.

"Alright."

With Theo's capabilities, once she left, even if Darren turned the world upside down, he would never find her again.

That night, Jeanne didn't reply to any of Darren's messages. He grew anxious enough to leave work early and change to an earlier flight. But the moment he opened the front door, he stopped short, the panic in his eyes melting away. Under the warm glow of the living room lights, Jeanne was sitting on the couch, watching TV.

"Jeanne? You're home?" He rushed over in a few quick strides. "I sent you so many messages…" He didn't even finish before pulling her into his arms, pressing his chin against the top of her head, and rubbing gently. "Thank God you're okay. I was so scared… Jeanne, I can't live without you."

The affection in his eyes was real. Jeanne knew he truly loved her—but she also knew he didn't love her alone.

A lump rose in her throat, and she dug her nails into her palm to steady herself. For a fleeting moment, she almost told him everything. But then reason returned. If she said it, she'd never be able to walk away.

She slipped out of his embrace, forcing her voice to stay calm. "The race got postponed. My phone was off, so I didn't see your messages."

Darren didn't notice the storm beneath her calm. He just smiled, reaching out to playfully tap her nose. "No harm done. Don't pout—I'm not mad. You must be hungry." He jangled his car keys, his shirt and trousers sharp and crisp, his jacket slung casually over his arm. "I booked a table at that barbecue place you've been craving. Come on, princess, let's eat to your heart's content."

He extended his hand toward her, palm up.

Jeanne's gaze lingered on that hand, and for a second, her mind blurred.

She was 18 again, on a bright afternoon, standing on the basketball court. A boy in a sweat-soaked white T-shirt grinned at her, a basketball tucked under his arm, his smile full of sunshine. "Come on, princess, my treat today—eat as much as you want!"

Back then, his heart had belonged to her and her alone.

Jeanne followed him to the barbecue restaurant. He hadn't changed—still the same man who never served anyone but somehow always took care of her. He rolled up his sleeves, portioned for her meticulously, always giving her the first bite. Her plate piled higher and higher until it looked like a tiny mountain.

It wasn't until his phone started ringing nonstop that she snapped out of the daze.

"Answer it," she murmured, stirring her gravy bowl.

Darren glanced at the screen, coaxed her with a smile, and stepped outside to take the call. When he came back, his eyes were filled with urgency and guilt. "Jeanne, there's an emergency surgery. I have to go. I'm sorry I can't finish this meal with you—but I'll take a day off tomorrow, I promise."

Jeanne had already seen the caller's name. She didn't call him out on his lie—she just nodded. "Go ahead."

Relieved, Darren left without another word.

…

Staring at the empty seat across from her, Jeanne felt a sharp sting in her chest, as though someone had driven a needle straight into her heart. She tried to collect herself and pick up her cutlery again—but a video call notification flashed on her screen—Alyssa Carver.

She declined it. Alyssa called again. And again. After more than ten tries, Jeanne finally answered.

Alyssa's tone was sweet, her smile deceptively innocent. "Jeanne, you're not eating barbecue, are you? I thought so. No wonder someone came home smelling like grilled meat."

She put heavy emphasis on the word home. Jeanne caught the provocation instantly, and her face went cold. "Alyssa, you're being childish. Have you forgotten who the legal wife is right now? What do you think would happen if I sent this chat to Darren—who would he choose to keep?"

A flicker of panic flashed in Alyssa's eyes, but she quickly covered it with a smile. "Send it then. Don't hang up, though. Let's see who's really being childish."

Jeanne didn't even know why she didn't end the call. Maybe a part of her still wanted to see—still needed to know.

Moments later, the camera shifted, and Darren appeared in the background. Alyssa immediately turned around, snuggling into his chest, blocking his view of the screen.

"Darren," she said softly, "are you still mad about me running off back then? If I hadn't left… would you have married Jeanne? Or would you have chosen me?"

Darren frowned. "Why ask pointless questions?"

"I just want to know…" Alyssa's eyes reddened, her voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean anything by it…"

After a few seconds of silence, Jeanne saw his lips move. His voice came out hoarse. "Yes."

That single word hollowed her out completely.

So that was it. From the very beginning, she had never been the only one in his heart.

She suddenly remembered their wedding day—Darren holding her hand in front of a room full of guests, swearing on his beloved grandmother's name.

"I, Darren Walsh, swear to love Jeanne Dotson and only her, in this life and the next. My body, my money, my life—all of it belongs to her. She can make mistakes, she can fall out of love, she can even love someone else—so long as she never leaves me."

She had cried uncontrollably that day, thinking she had found the truest love in the world. But now she knew—that vow had been a lie from the start. She had never been his only one. Not before, not now, and never in the future. She was just the stand-in he'd used to fill a void, a pawn in his unfinished love story.

A twisted smile pulled at her lips as tears streamed down her face. She had thought that, at the very least, she'd once been loved fiercely. But the whole time, she'd only been a thief—someone occupying a place that never belonged to her.

Bowing her head, she clutched her chest, trying to breathe through the pain. The lump in her throat wouldn't go down, and tears kept falling onto the table, one after another.

…

That night, Darren didn't come home. Instead, Jeanne received a photo of him sleeping—sent by Alyssa.

She stared at his peaceful face until dawn, her heart growing colder and quieter by the second. Then, she picked up her phone and dialed her friend, who was also an attorney, Amber Lane. "Amber… can you draft me a divorce agreement?"