I was Michael’s fiancée, bound by a decade of shared history as childhood sweethearts. Yet, after the wedding ceremony, he repeatedly found excuses to postpone signing our marriage certificate.

During our honeymoon, when I voiced my concerns, a few instigating words from his "first love" were all it took for him to abandon me in a chaotic foreign country I had never set foot in before.

Three years later, we met again.

The man lazily sized me up and said, “Three years alone in a foreign land. Do you realize your mistake now?”

Alone? I squeezed the pregnancy test report in my hand. I got married two years ago.

Looking at Michael, fuming in the hospital, it took me a moment to even recognize him. “You are... Michael?”

——

The Michael I once knew couldn’t wait to stay far away from me, avoiding me like the plague. But now, the moment he spotted me from afar, he hurried over in a frenzy.

"Sherry, what are you doing at the hospital?" His sharp, accusatory tone cut through me like a blade.

If it weren’t for the need to collect my mother’s personal belongings, I would’ve never set foot in Langdale again.

I pressed my lips together, preparing to explain. But before I could say a word, he seized my hand with a grip so tight it sent a jolt of pain up my arm. I wrenched against him, desperate to break free, but his hold only grew fiercer.

"What’s wrong with you?" I snapped, struggling with all my strength. His sneering expression only twisted further, fueling my frustration.

“Three years alone in a foreign country—do you finally see where you went wrong?” His familiar, condescending expression was back.

I was his childhood sweetheart, bound to him by a decade-long entanglement and an arranged engagement. Yet Michael had only ever looked at me with disdain, as if I were beneath him.

Thinking of my newly confirmed pregnancy, I decided it wasn’t worth a fight. Keeping my tone steady, I said, “Let go of me first. If you’ve got something to say, let’s talk outside.”

His gaze swept over me again, colder this time and his voice dripped with mockery. “You’re putting on quite the show this time. But don’t waste your energy pulling these childish stunts again.”

Then, with a sneer, he added, “Honestly, if you were half as sensible as Patty, I’d have already married you.”

Still the same arrogant Michael Lester from my memories.

I didn’t have long to dwell on the past before a familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Mikey, I just finished my checkup! Everything’s great!”

Patricia Oliver skipped over to Michael and threw herself into his arms, smirking at me with an air of superiority.

“Sherry, long time no see.” Her voice dripped with mockery. “I didn’t expect our reunion would be in a hospital. What’s wrong? Still pretending to be sick to beg for Mikey’s attention?”

In just a few words, Patricia labeled me a faker.

The eagerness in Michael’s eyes vanished entirely, replaced by smug satisfaction as he looked down on me once again.

“Sherry, it’s been three years and you’re still playing your old tricks,” Michael said arrogantly.

Watching Michael’s smug arrogance and Patricia’s passive-aggressive smirk, a wave of irritation surged through me.

“I’m not faking anything! I’m here for a legitimate checkup!” I shot back, my patience wearing thin.

No sooner had the words left my mouth than Patricia dove into Michael’s arms, her eyes welling with crocodile tears.

“Mikey, Sherry’s being so mean to me! Is she going to hit me?”

Michael’s face clouded over as he turned to me, his voice heavy with reproach. “Sherry, you’re always so unreasonable!”

It was always the same. Every time I tried to have a conversation with Michael, Patricia would slide in with her thinly veiled jabs, pushing all the right buttons to provoke me. The moment I lost my temper, she’d flip the script—playing the helpless victim, crying to Michael that I was the one bullying her.

And without fail, it would end the same way: me taking the blame, while she walked away unscathed.

Looking at the two of them basking in their twisted harmony, I cleared my throat, ready to lay it out clearly for Patricia. Stop playing these games. I don’t care about Michael anymore.

But before I could speak, Michael suddenly grabbed my shoulder, his grip firm and his tone icy enough to send chills down my spine.

“Apologize! If you don’t apologize to Patty today, you’re not leaving this hospital!”

Apologize?

For what?

I had come to the hospital for a simple checkup. And now, out of nowhere, I was supposed to apologize to this toxic duo?

“I’ve done nothing wrong, so why should I apologize? If anyone owes an apology, it’s the two of you—to me!”

Smack!

Before I could react, Michael slapped and shoved me to the ground.

The cold tiles sent an icy chill deep into my bones and a sharp pain shot through my twisted ankle, making me gasp. My hands instinctively flew to my belly and only after confirming the baby was fine did I breathe a sigh of relief.

Before I could say a word, Michael wrapped his arm around Patricia and strode off without a second glance. His parting words were as cutting as ever, “Still pretending to have stomach pain? That act is getting old.”

Watching their intertwined figures fade into the distance, I couldn’t help but remember how it had been three years ago.

I’d been doubled over in pain during my period, complaining about why we had to spend our honeymoon in a war-torn country. Patricia chimed in, calling me dramatic and Michael, without hesitation, abandoned me there. With Patricia on his arm, he left without looking back.

Three years passed without a single word from him. And now, at our first meeting, he demanded I admit fault and apologize.

A kind stranger helped me to my feet, their concern evident as they assisted me to get checked out at the hospital.

After thanking them, I hailed a cab and returned to the home I hadn’t seen in years.

After a quick clean-up, I excitedly shared the results of my pregnancy checkup on social media. My husband, Alex Kinght, replied almost instantly, thrilled, promising he’d be home soon to celebrate with me.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, Michael suddenly started bombarding me with phone calls.

The moment I picked up, his aggressive tone came through loud and clear. “Sherry, what’s the meaning of this? Are you trying to force me into marriage with that post on your feed?”

“Let me warn you, pulling such a cheap stunt after three years—be careful, or I’ll really cancel the engagement!”

I adjusted my pillow, already annoyed and replied calmly, “This has nothing to do with you.”

Michael’s tone turned icier. “Still playing hard to get, huh? Now all our mutual friends are messaging me, asking how you ended up pregnant. What do you want me to say to them?”

I turned off the lights, my voice indifferent. “Don’t explain anything. Like I said, this has nothing to do with you.”

Then I hung up without hesitation.

Beep, beep, beep.

Michael’s calls came relentlessly, the constant ringing drilling into my nerves. Exasperated, I blocked his number, tossed my phone aside and finally managed to drift off to sleep.

The next morning, I woke to find my other social media accounts swamped with messages from him, each more infuriating than the last.

“Sherry, you’ve gotten bold, haven’t you? Hanging up on me now?”

“Let me warn you—this little hard-to-get game of yours better end. If I cancel the engagement, don’t come running back, crying for forgiveness!”

"What's wrong with you? Take me off your blocklist immediately!"

So noisy. I blocked him everywhere.

Bam, bam, bam!

Someone was pounding on my door.

When I opened it, there stood Michael, furious.

"Why did you block me?"

The man before me looked disheveled, far from his usual polished self, as though he hadn’t slept all night.

I racked my brain, trying to figure out what I could have done to wrong him, before cautiously asking, "Why are you here? What do you want?"

His anger flared even more. He grabbed my wrist in a tight grip, towering over me as he barked his demands.

"Unblock me right now! And go apologize to Patty! You scared her so badly yesterday that her depression has flared up again. You OWE it to her to fix this!"

Ah, of course. This was about placating his precious Patricia again.

I replied calmly, my tone devoid of emotion, "Tomorrow is my mother’s death anniversary. I came back to collect her past belongings."

"After that, I’ll never return. I’ll be out of your lives for good. You can tell Patricia that—she’ll be thrilled."

I thought my words would soothe Patricia, but to my surprise, Michael’s expression darkened, his face twisting with anger.

"What nonsense are you spouting? You’re still being passive-aggressive!"

For heaven’s sake, I was being completely sincere.

Massaging my temples, I sighed, unwilling to argue further. "Go home, Michael. I wish you and Patricia a long and happy life together."

Michael’s expression shifted unpredictably as he listened to me. After a long pause, he grabbed my hand, as though he had made up his mind.

“I admit it—you win this time. Come back with me and I’ll tell my mother we’ll get the marriage license.”

A marriage license?

If this were three years ago, those words would have made me overjoyed. Back then, I was a starry-eyed girl whose biggest dream was to marry Michael.

But now? I had already married the love of my life two years ago. I even had a baby growing inside me.

Michael seemed puzzled by my lack of excitement. He must have been expecting the old me, the one who would light up and eagerly orbit around him at the mere mention of marriage. My indifference threw him off, his discomfort plain to see.

After a moment of thought, I realized I did owe Mrs. Lester an explanation. After all, our engagement had been arranged since birth.

Finally, I nodded and agreed to go back with him.

Michael immediately switched to his smug, self-assured demeanor, as though he’d won some grand victory.

He probably still believed I was the same naive girl who would melt at the mere suggestion of getting a license.

When we got to the car, he tried to guide me into the passenger seat, but I stepped aside without hesitation and climbed into the back.

He frowned at me. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I’ll just sit in the back.”

There was a time when I believed the front passenger seat was a wife’s rightful spot and I would make a fuss over it with him. But now, I was married to someone else and sitting there felt inappropriate.

Michael was quiet for a moment. The car, which used to be filled with my chatter whenever I was around, was now steeped in silence.

As we stopped at a red light, he suddenly broke it. “Why aren’t you fighting for the passenger seat anymore?”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “What?”

He turned to look at me, his gaze intense. “Why didn’t you take the passenger seat just now? I remember how you always used to say it was your ‘exclusive territory.’”

His words brought back memories of a different time—when I still loved him.

Back then, I could talk to him endlessly and I mimicked those lovey-dovey couples I saw online, declaring that a boyfriend’s passenger seat was the wife’s “exclusive territory.”

I had argued with him over it countless times.

He used to find it childish, brushing me off with impatience, while Patricia would conveniently claim she got carsick and slip into the passenger seat. Every time, she’d smirk triumphantly at me.

Whenever I suggested calling Patricia a cab or buying her motion sickness medicine, Michael would immediately jump to her defense.

“Sherry, why are you always so inconsiderate? Does Patty sitting in the car really bother you that much?”

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t angry, just a bit jealous. I wanted to explain that I could easily arrange a luxury car for Patricia, one that would make sure she wouldn’t feel a thing.

But every word got stuck in my throat, silenced by Michael’s sharp rebuke.

Now, hearing him bring up my supposed attachment to the front seat felt almost surreal. All that remained in my memory were his scoldings and Patricia’s smug, victorious smirks.

Maybe there had always been signs. The aloof and self-restrained Michael had always made exceptions for Patricia. I should have walked away long ago instead of letting myself become the punchline of a ten-year joke.

When I didn’t respond, Michael pulled the car over and turned to look at me. “Sherry?”

His voice brought me back to the moment. I smiled quietly, not offering much of an answer.

“I was childish back then, always putting you in a tough spot. That was my fault. Looking back, it was silly of me.”

When we arrived at the Lester Family estate, Michael walked over to help me out of the car, reaching instinctively for my hand.

I stepped away without thinking, my face calm, distant.

Michael’s expression darkened. “Still playing hard to get, Sherry?”