My Boyfriend Chose His Mistress Over My Dying Father

The night sky stretched above me like a promise as I folded the last corner of the wrapping paper. My fingers trembled slightly—not from exhaustion after the twelve-hour drive from Seattle, but from the anticipation thrumming through my veins. Seven years. Seven years since Raylan Thomas had first kissed me under a canopy of stars just like the one I'd spent weeks embroidering onto silk for our anniversary.

I held up the finished piece, letting the constellation map catch the dim light of my car's interior. Each silver thread represented a star from that night—the Big Dipper, Orion's Belt, the little cluster Raylan had pointed out and said looked like a heart. 'That's us,' he'd whispered then. 'Always finding each other in the dark.'

The memory made my chest ache with happiness as I tucked the gift into my bag. The Manhattan skyline glittered in the distance, a constellation of its own kind. Raylan didn't know I was coming. He thought I was still in Seattle, putting the finishing touches on a commission for his mother's birthday next month. The surprise would be perfect—I'd show up at his apartment, we'd celebrate our anniversary early, and maybe, finally, we'd talk about what came next. About closing the distance between our cities, about building something permanent together.

I pulled the spare key from my pocket as I climbed the stairs to his building. Three years of long distance hadn't changed us, I was sure of it. Raylan's weekly calls, his promises that this separation was temporary—it had all felt as solid as the key in my hand.

The hallway was quiet as I approached his door. I balanced the gift in one arm and turned the key with the other, my heart hammering against my ribs.

'Raylan?' I called softly, stepping into the darkened apartment. 'I have a surprise for—'

The words died in my throat.

The bedroom door was ajar, spilling warm light into the hallway. I moved toward it as if pulled by gravity, my body already knowing what my mind refused to accept. The door swung open fully under my hand.

Raylan sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around his waist. Beside him, a woman with glossy black hair and perfect makeup stretched languidly, not bothering to cover herself completely. Her red nails traced patterns on Raylan's bare shoulder.

'Aileen.' His voice was calm. Not shocked, not guilty—just calm. 'This was always going to happen. You just weren't paying attention.'

I couldn't breathe. The gift slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. 'What?'

'You knew who I was when we started dating,' he said, as if explaining something simple to a child. 'I was always going to end up here, with someone who could give me what I need.'

The woman—Destiny, I realized with sickening clarity—smiled without warmth. 'He's been mine for months,' she said, her voice smooth as silk. 'You were just... lingering.'

Footsteps sounded behind me. Mrs. Thomas emerged from the guest room, her face a mask of practiced regret. She took in my stricken expression, then bent to pick up my suitcase—the one I'd packed for a weekend of celebration.

'Destiny's family can give Raylan a future you never could,' she said, her voice gentle but firm as she carried my bag toward the door. 'You should have seen this coming, Aileen. It's not personal.'

The door clicked shut behind me with a finality that echoed through my bones. I stood alone in the hallway, still holding the wrapped gift no one would ever open.

The blizzard hit me like a wall as I stumbled out of the building. Snow whipped across my face, but I barely felt it. My hands shook so badly I could hardly grip the steering wheel as I pulled away from the curb. The city lights blurred into streaks of color through my tears.

Seven years. Seven years of believing in a future that had been a lie for months. Maybe longer.

I don't remember the drive to the interstate. I remember the snow suddenly becoming impossibly thick, the road disappearing beneath a white blanket. I remember the sickening lurch as my car hit ice, the world spinning, metal crunching against the guardrail.

Then darkness.

I woke to the sterile white of a hospital room, pain radiating through my chest with every breath. A nurse hovered nearby, her face creased with concern.

'Ms. Richardson? Can you hear me? We need to contact someone for you. Who should we call?'

I tried to speak, but only managed a pained gasp.

'We've called the emergency contact in your phone,' she continued, adjusting something on the IV drip. 'A Mr. Raylan Thomas? He should be here soon.'

The nurse stepped out. I lay there, broken and bleeding, waiting for the man who had just destroyed me to come and save me. The minutes stretched like hours.

When she returned, her expression had changed. 'Ms. Richardson, I'm sorry. Mr. Thomas said...' She hesitated. 'He said he doesn't know who you are. We'll try to reach someone else.'

I closed my eyes. No one was coming. The constellation map, the anniversary gift, seven years of love—all of it had been as substantial as starlight. Beautiful from a distance, but if you reached for it, your hand found nothing but empty space.