They Buried A Promise For Ten Years, They Broke It In Ten Minutes Chapter 10

They Buried A Promise For Ten Years, They Broke It In Ten Minutes Chapter 10

“Ava, I want to apologize.” 

The message came on Christmas Eve in London. 

Lily’s profile picture had changed–from the selfie 

that everyone used to love, to a single dried flower. 

I was sitting on the couch, a blanket over my 

knees, watching the Christmas lights blink outside. 

the window. 

I didn’t reply. 

She sent another long message. 

“A lot has happened these past few months. 

Ethan and Owen have both changed a lot since you left. Ethan started drinking. Owen barely talks to anyone. I stayed in that circle by myself, and I realized–without you there, they don’t really treat 

me the same.” 

I read it and felt nothing. 

Not satisfaction. 

Not sadness. 

Just quiet. 

She kept typing. 

“I’ll admit it. I liked being their favorite. I knew Ethan had a girlfriend, but he never once told me to stop. So I told myself it meant he didn’t really care about you.” 

“Then you left, and he fell apart. That’s when I understood. He loved you. He just never thought you’d actually leave.” 

The last message: “I’m sorry.” 

I stared at those three words. 

Three months ago, I might have cried. 

I might have softened. 

I might have forgiven. 

Not now. 

Ava: [I got your apology. But it doesn’t need my 

acceptance to be real. That part is yours to deal 

with.] 

I set the phone down. 

Outside, neighbors were hanging wreaths, their laughter drifting through the wall. 

I got up and poured myself a cup of black tea. 

My phone lit up again. 

This time, Ethan. 

Just four words. 

Ethan: [Merry Christmas.] 

No long paragraphs. No pleading. No outburst. 

I looked at it and turned off the screen. 

I didn’t reply. 

That evening, I walked to a nearby church. 

I’m not religious. I just wanted to see the warm 

lights and hear the choir. 

I sat in the back row, the organ music humming in 

my chest. 

An older woman with white hair sat beside me. 

She turned and asked, with an accent, 

“Alone tonight?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s brave.” 

I smiled. 

That was the second time someone had called me 

brave since I came to London. 

When I left the church, light snow was falling. 

I walked through it, my breath turning to white 

mist. 

My phone buzzed. An email from the firm. 

I’d been nominated as deputy lead on the next 

project. 

I stood under a streetlight and read it, then slipped 

the phone back into my pocket. 

Snow landed on my shoulder and melted. 

I didn’t have an umbrella. 

On the way home, I passed a small store that was still open and bought a cheap bottle of British 

cider. 

Not homemade wine. 

Just a cheap bottle of British cider. 

At home, I opened it and poured a glass. 

I held it up to the quiet snowy night. 

I wasn’t toasting anyone. 

I just took a sip. 

Sour. Dry. Cold. 

But it was the taste I chose. 

My phone lit up one last time. 

Ethan had posted on Instagram–no caption, just a photo. 

An empty hole where the old oak tree used to be. 

The school had renovated the grounds, and the 

tree was gone. 

I looked at it for two seconds and scrolled past. 

The tree was gone. The wine was gone. The people were gone. 

Some things weren’t a loss because they ended. 

They were a loss because they were never truly appreciated in the first place. 

I finished the glass, washed it, and set it on the 

drying rack. 

I turned off the light. 

At some point, the snow outside stopped falling, 

and the streetlights made soft circles on the road. 

Tomorrow was Christmas. The firm was closed. 

I planned to sleep in, then spend the afternoon at 

the café on the corner. 

Alone. 

Not lonely. 

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to 

pretend I wasn’t alone in a room full of people.