Goodbye in the Pouring Rain

I am getting married.

When I said those words to Julian, he was standing in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone, looking like an abandoned statue.

It was the first time I had seen him since I left the city and moved back to my hometown.

Nine years ago, we fell in love.

Nine years later, citing his duties as the family heir, he told me he was entering an arranged marriage with the daughter of the Covey family.

"Victoria is well-mannered, understands the big picture, and makes an excellent candidate for a strategic alliance." His expression had been cold, his voice full of casual approval for another woman.

Choking back the agonizing pain in my chest, I asked him, "What about me?"

A flicker of pity crossed his eyes, but he didn't hesitate. "Jennifer, I know how proud you are. You'd never accept being the other woman, so I think it's best we part ways."

He also told me that my position at the company would always be waiting for me, that the penthouse downtown was mine to keep. Everything, he promised, would stay exactly the sameexcept our relationship.

But some things, once shattered, can never be pieced back together.

Now, I simply shook my head and told him I was sorry.

I decided to treat the past nine years like a long, inescapable dream.

And now that I was awake, it was time to start living again.

"I met with the Covey girl. She's impressivewell-mannered, understands the big picture. She makes an excellent candidate for a strategic alliance."

Julian said this while we were sitting in a high-end restaurant overlooking the city skyline, celebrating our nine-year anniversary.

The city lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows were so bright they almost stung my eyes.

I stared at him for three solid seconds, realizing he was dead serious.

A sharp, piercing agony bloomed in my chest, radiating outward until my fingertips went numb.

"What about me?"

By the time I managed to force the words out, my voice was a raw whisper.

I shouldn't have asked. It made me sound pathetic.

But I figured nine years of my life at least earned me the right to a straight answer.

Julian set his crystal glass down. The glass clinked softly against the marble table.

"Jennifer, I know how fiercely proud you are. You'd never accept being the other woman."

"Breaking up is the best option for both of us."

His tone was steady, entirely composed, and sickeningly consideratejust as he always was.

"But you don't need to worry. Your position at the firm will always be reserved for you, and I'm transferring the deed to the downtown penthouse to your name."

"You don't have to worry about your standard of living changing."

"Aside from our relationship, everything else will remain exactly as it is."

I heard myself let out a laugh.

It sounded awful, like glass breaking.

"You're very generous, Julian."

He didn't reply, just watched me quietly.

I knew that look entirely too well. It was a look of pity, of tolerance.

And of love.

That was what I couldn't wrap my head around. How could the man who was holding me just yesterday, swearing he loved me, coldly tell me we were done today?

"When's the wedding?" I asked.

"Next month."

"That's fast."

"The firm needs the capital injection right now," he said bluntly. "And the Coveys are offering a lot more than just cash."

They were offering status, elite connections, and the runway Julian needed to expand his empire over the next decade.

He had told me all about it. During those late nights, he used to hold me and talk about his ambitions, the suffocating pressure he felt, and how massive he wanted his company to become.

And back then, I used to say, "I'll help you."

God, I was stupid.

"Okay."

I stood up. My knees felt weak, but I forced myself to stay upright. "I agree to the breakup. But you can keep the job and the penthouse."

"I'll formally resign, and I'll pack my things."

Julian frowned. "Jennifer, don't make rash decisions out of spite. How are you going to survive in this city without that safety net?"

"It's not spite," I said, shaking my head slowly. I pulled the penthouse keys from my bag and dropped them on the table.

"Julian, it's been nine years. You should know I'm not that kind of woman."

"Besides, I highly doubt Victoria wants to see my face around the office."

I turned and walked toward the exit.

"Jennifer." He called after me.

I didn't look back. I pushed through the heavy glass doors.

As the elevator plummeted down from the penthouse level, the mirrored walls reflected a deathly pale face.

It took me a few seconds to realize it was my own.

My phone vibrated in my purse. Julian was calling.

I let it ring.

When I reached the parking garage, his driver, Arthur, was waiting by the town car.

Arthur looked surprised to see me alone. "Miss Jennifer... where's Mr. Vance?"

"I'm heading back on my own," I said.

"But"

"Arthur, you don't need to drive me anymore."

I walked out to the street, flagged down a passing cab, and climbed in.

I gave the driver the address to my tiny old studio apartmentthe one I had before Julian moved me in.

Arthur stood by the town car, looking like he wanted to say something.

But he didn't.

As the cab wound its way down the hillside roads, I finally broke down and looked back.

The restaurant was still lit up like a beacon. Through the massive glass windows, I could vaguely make out a silhouette. I knew it was Julian.

He was just standing there, unmoving.

I turned forward and squeezed my eyes shut.

Nine years.

From eighteen to twenty-seven. I gave the absolute best years of my life to that man.

I didn't go to the office the next day.

I emailed my formal resignation directly to Julian.

He replied almost instantly: Jennifer, stop being stubborn. I'm not approving this.

I didn't reply.

Around noon, my doorbell rang. It was Julian's personal attorney, a man in his fifties with wire-rimmed glasses named Mr. Caldwell.

"Miss Jennifer." Caldwell handed me a thick manila envelope. "Mr. Vance asked me to deliver this."

Inside was the deed transfer for the penthouse, already signed by Julian.

There was also paperwork for a twenty-million-dollar trust fund. I was listed as the sole beneficiary.

"Mr. Vance said that if you are absolutely determined to resign, you must accept this trust."

"Otherwise, he will refuse to process your resignation."

Caldwell pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "He said... this is what you deserve."

I gave a dry, humorless smile.

"Mr. Caldwell, please tell your boss that I don't want the penthouse, and I don't want his money."

"Miss Jennifer..."

I shoved the envelope back into his hands. "Also, my official resignation letter will be in his inbox later today. Per my contract, I have a one-month handover period, but starting right now, I will not be stepping foot in that building. If he has work-related questions, he can contact Chloe."

Chloe was my deputy assistant. She had been with me for four years; she could handle it.

Caldwell hesitated, looking like he wanted to argue, but eventually just sighed. "I understand."

He walked to the door, then paused and looked back. "Miss Jennifer, Mr. Vance... he really does care about you."

I stared at him in silence.

Caldwell let himself out. I tossed the envelope onto the worn sofa and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of water.

My hands were shaking so badly I spilled water on the counter.

It's okay, I told myself.

It's okay.

On the third day, Julian showed up.

When I opened the door, he was standing in the narrow hallway. He wore a crisp white shirt and dark trousers, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

There were faint dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't been sleeping.

"Jennifer," he said, his voice a bit raspy.

I blocked the doorway, refusing to let him in. "Do you need something?"

"We need to talk."

"I thought we covered everything the other night."

"Jennifer."

He said my name again, using that familiar, helpless tone. "Don't be like this."

I used to be so weak to that tone.

Every time he used it, my heart would soften.

Not anymore.

"Julian, if this isn't about work, I'd like to get some rest."

I grabbed the edge of the door, preparing to shut it in his face.

He slammed his hand against the wood, stopping it.

"Why won't you take the trust fund?"

"Because I don't want it."

"Jennifer, it's twenty million dollars, not pocket change. Take it, and you'll never have to worry about surviving."

I looked up at him. "Julian, I was with you for nine years, and it wasn't for a payout."

Julian let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. "I know."

"That's exactly why I want to give it to you," he said softly. "Jennifer, it's the only thing left I can do for you."

"Then do nothing," I fired back. "Let us walk away with some dignity. Is that too much to ask?"

He went dead silent.

Finally, he spoke. "I approved the resignation. But payroll will process your salary and your year-end bonus as usual. And I already had Caldwell open an account in your name. The trust funds are in it. The password is your birthday."

"Julian!"

"Just take it," he said, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Take it, so I can at least sleep at night."

With that, he turned and walked down the hall.

I shut the door, leaned against it, and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor.

It was hilarious, really.

He was the one marrying someone else, but he was begging me to ease his guilty conscience.

For the next two weeks, I didn't leave my apartment.

Chloe called a few times. She told me the whole office was buzzing with the news of Julian's wedding. The bride was the only daughter of the Covey empire.

"I heard she's gorgeous. Graduated from Oxford, plays the piano perfectly," Chloe whispered cautiously. "Jennifer... are you holding up okay?"

Chloe was one of the few people at the firm who actually knew about my relationship with the boss.

"I'm fine," I said. "I forwarded the handover files to your email. Call me if you can't figure something out."

"Mr. Vance has been in an awful mood lately. He made the Marketing Director cry during a meeting yesterday."

I didn't say anything.

"He asked me where you were yesterday," Chloe admitted quietly. "I told him I didn't know."

"Good."

After hanging up, I scrolled through my phone. Julian had sent three messages. I hadn't replied to any of them.

The first was from four days ago: The penthouse deed is finalized. The keys are at the concierge desk.

The second was from two days ago: The trust account is active. Remember to change the password.

The third was sent at 2:00 AM last night: Jennifer, pick up the phone.

I had missed a few calls from him.

It wasn't intentional. I had just been asleep.

I thought about it for a minute, then typed out a final reply: Stop contacting me. Happy wedding.

Send. Block.

Just like that.

Another week passed, and I finished packing.

After nine years in the city, I barely had anything to show for it. Two large suitcasesone for clothes, one for books and random belongings.

I gathered all the jewelry Julian had bought me over the years, stuffed it into a box, and originally planned to mail it back to him.

But then I realized how dramatic that felt.

So I shoved the box into the very bottom of my suitcase, out of sight, out of mind.

I left the keys to the apartment on the coffee table.

My train back to my rural hometown left at 3:00 PM.

My mom had called last month to tell me they finished renovating the old house, and she'd saved the sunny south-facing bedroom for me.

"When are you coming back for a visit?" she had asked.

I told her I was slammed with work, maybe by the holidays.

I didn't have to wait until the holidays anymore.

The station wasn't too crowded. I dragged my luggage through the terminal, waiting in line for ticket check. The sky was overcast, looking like it was about to pour.

"Jennifer!"

Someone yelled my name.

I turned around and saw Julian scrambling out of his car. He didn't even bother closing the door before sprinting toward me.

He rarely ever lost his composure like this. His hair was windblown, his tie completely askew.

People were turning their heads to stare.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, out of breath.

"Home."

"To your hometown?"

"Yes."

"When are you coming back?"

I looked at him flatly. "I'm not."

Julian's face went completely rigid.

"Jennifer, stop acting out." He reached out to grab my arm, but I took a step back, dodging him.

"Julian. Please conduct yourself appropriately."

His hand hovered in mid-air.

He stood behind me for a long moment before quietly saying, "I'll wait for you to come back."

I ignored him.

What he didn't realize was that I was never coming back.

The train lurched into motion.

I sat by the window, watching the massive metropolis slowly shrink into the distance.

The towering skyscrapers, the neon lights, the city I had given nine years of my life toit all faded away until there was nothing left.

My phone buzzed. An unknown number.

Jennifer, call me when you get there.

It was Julian. He was using a different number.

I didn't save it, and I didn't text back.

Three hours later, I arrived. After two bus transfers, it was 7:00 PM by the time I finally reached my small town.

It was a quiet place near the coast.

The streets were empty, lit by dim yellow streetlamps. I could hear the clatter of dishware and the hum of televisions drifting from the houses.

I dragged my suitcases down the street.

As I passed the local diner, the owner recognized me. "Hey! Isn't that Jennifer? You're back?"

"Yeah, Mr. Harris."

"Long time no see! Your mom was just saying you were craving my clam chowder. I'll save you a fresh bowl!"

I smiled. "I'll be by tomorrow."

When I reached my house, the porch light was on.

I knocked. My mom opened the door, freezing when she saw me standing there with two massive suitcases.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I missed home, so I came back," I said.

She looked at me, then looked at the bags. She didn't press. "Did you eat? There's soup on the stove."

"I ate."

"Then have some tea. I brewed some chamomile this afternoon; it'll help you sleep."

"Okay." I hauled my bags inside.

I stayed home for a week.

I slept in until my body woke me up naturally. I ate my mom's home cooking, wandered around the small town in the afternoons, and watched terrible TV shows with her at night.

It was so peaceful. So overwhelmingly normal that my past nine years felt like a hallucination.

Until one afternoon, two months later, my phone rang.

It was a city number, but it wasn't Julian's.

I answered it.

"Miss Jennifer, this is Mr. Caldwell."

"Do you need something?"

"Mr. Vance is in the hospital." Caldwell sounded frantic. "Acute stomach hemorrhage. He was admitted last night. Right before he lost consciousness, he told me to call you. He wants to see you."