After Rejecting My Confession, My Uncle's Overwhelmed With Regret
For years, I stayed by my uncle's side after my father's tragic death in a car accident. But he turned his back on me, pushing me away with a coldness I never saw coming. And just when I thought he couldn't hurt me more, he sank even lower, using me as a scapegoat to shield his girlfriend. When I finally walked away, his regret lingered in the silence behind me-too little, too late.
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Chapter 2
After confessing my love to Henry when I was eighteen, I'd done it again and again, despite his rejections.
"It's okay," I'd tell myself. "I have time. I'll succeed eventually."
But then everything changed.
Half a year ago, I got a call from across the ocean.
"It's Mom," I said, barely able to believe it.
She explained, "After the accident, someone rescued me. I was in ICU for a month. I lost my memory, married that person, and had a child."
"Mom, I-"
"Recently, I got my memory back and I found you."
She wanted me to move abroad with her, but I refused. Henry was too important to me. I hoped he'd accept my feelings one day-until three months ago.
That day, I waited for Henry to come home for dinner, but he walked in with a girl.
"Henry, who is she?" I managed to ask.
He looked at me calmly. "This is my girlfriend. You should call her aunt, based on seniority."
The girl hit him playfully. "Aunt? That makes me sound old!"
She turned to me, smiling. "You must be Lola! Henry talks about you. Don't call me aunt; just call me Mary. I'm the same age as you."
My heart dropped.
"Same age?" I whispered, my heart sinking. Was I just too young?
While Mary changed, I couldn't hold back. "Henry, did you get a girlfriend to make me give up? To provoke me?"
He looked at me coldly. "Lola, why are you being so sentimental? I made it clear before: I'm your uncle. We can't be together."
That night, Mary stayed over at the house.
I sat in the garden for half the night, staring at Henry's room. Behind the curtains, I saw two figures entwined, kissing. When the light finally turned off, tears streamed down my face.
In that moment, I decided to give up on Henry.
The next morning, I packed my things and waited until he usually got up. I walked to his door and knocked.
After a moment, he opened the door, frowning. "What are you doing?"
I felt a bitter sting in my eyes. Ever since I confessed my love at eighteen, Henry had grown distant. He spoke coldly, stopped trying to make me happy, and no longer brought me my favorite cake. He even used work as an excuse to stay out late.
I knew he was avoiding me, hoping I'd back down. But how could I give up? I clung to him, acted sweetly, tried to show kindness, even as he became more indifferent.
"It's time," I told myself. "I need to let go."
But even with that decision, my heart ached. "Why does this hurt so much?"
"Uncle." My voice was dry and hoarse from the sleepless night.