No Trace of You

My fingers were numb by the time Preston finally returned to the service station. Half an hour earlier, hed claimed a stomach ache, so Id dashed to the pharmacy. When I returned, the car was gone. Thirteen calls, zero answers.

When he pulled up, his new intern Mona occupied my seat, wearing his wool coat and snuggled against my custom neck pillow. Preston exited, his first instinct to silence me. "Shh. Keep it down, she just fell asleep."

Mona stirred, offering an innocent smile. "Sorry, Claire. I get terrible motion sickness. Preston insisted I sit here. He said you wouldn't mind."

I stared at the pillow hed sourced specifically for my cervical spine issues. During the three-hour drive back, he fussed over herwas she cold, hungry, needing air? Meanwhile, I shivered in the back, gripped by abdominal pain that left cold sweat dripping down my spine.

Later, while he showered, I photographed the designer lipstick shed left behind and sent it to her. Since you love that seat so much, you can have his life too. I'm out.

By the time Preston walked out of the bathroom, I had already gathered my pillows and moved into the study. The freezing wind from the service station had settled into my bones, and I couldn't stop shivering.

The bedroom door wasn't fully closed.

Before long, Preston's soft, mumbled sleep-talk drifted down the hall. "Mona... sit up front... Claire won't mind..."

I clutched the edge of my pillow, my knuckles turning white.

Mona.

She had only been at his firm for three months, yet she was already occupying my seat, wearing his clothes, and using my things.

Preston and I had been together for ten years.

He used to tell me that the passenger seat would always be mine. Back when we were broke and he had just gotten his license, he had driven a beat-up old sedan with a broken air conditioner to pick me up.

Despite the scorching heat, he had laid his own linen shirt over the passenger seat, flashing me a brilliant smile. "Claire, this spot is yours forever. No one else is allowed."

It turned out that forever had an expiration date.

At five in the morning, the study door was thrown open.

The harsh overhead light flared on, and Preston stood in the doorway, his expression thunderous as he clutched his phone. "Claire, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you harassing Mona in the middle of the night?"

I squinted against the light. "She certainly ran to you quickly."

"What do you mean by that?" Preston scoffed, crossing his arms. "She's just a young girl, and you terrified her so badly she couldn't sleep all night. It's just a seat, Claire. Is it really worth this kind of drama?"

"Just a seat," I repeated slowly, letting out a bitter laugh. "If it's just a seat, why didn't you have her sit in the back?"

He hesitated, his defensive posture slipping for a fraction of a second before he recovered. "She has motion sickness. You know that."

"I didn't know that," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "I only know that my boyfriend complained of a stomach ache, and when I went to get him medicine, he drove off without me."

Preston's face stiffened.

"I waited at that service station in the freezing wind for forty-seven minutes," I continued. "I called you thirteen times. You claimed your phone was dead, but Mona's social media story from that exact hour shows your screen lit up on the dashboard."

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "She was using my phone to take a video. I didn't notice the calls."

"You didn't notice my calls, and you didn't notice me waiting in the cold," I said quietly. "But you certainly noticed the exact moment she fell asleep, warning me to close the door quietly."

Preston's irritation flared, his voice rising. "Claire, must you always be so dramatic?"

"I am not being dramatic," I replied.

He seemed to lose the last of his patience, his tone turning cold and dismissive. "Mona is new to the project team, and the client relations are incredibly delicate. She's young, and I'm just looking out for her. Why must you always jump to the dirtiest conclusions?"

Looking out for her.

I had looked out for him for ten years.

When his stomach lining ruptured, I had carried him to the hospital on my back in the middle of the night. When his first startup failed, I drained my savings account, giving up the down payment on my dream home to cover his payroll. When his insomnia got so bad he couldn't sleep, I spent months studying scent design just to formulate an herbal sachet that would soothe him.

Later, when he complained that my long hours at the fragrance lab made the house feel cold and empty, I gave up a prestigious promotion in the city center to take a quiet administrative job close to home.

And now, he was giving that care to someone else, all while accusing me of having a dirty mind.

I turned over, facing the wall. "Go care for whoever you want."

Preston's voice cut through the quiet room like a whip. "Can you stop playing the victim for once in your life? Just because your father ran off with a student and your mother tried to end her life, you think every man on earth is bound to betray you, don't you?"

The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating.

I slowly opened my eyes, staring at the dark wallpaper.

I was sixteen when my father walked out, taking every penny of our savings and leaving nothing but a divorce decree. My mother had dragged me to his university, waiting in the courtyard for a night and a day. When she finally drank that bottle of poison, it was our neighbor who kicked the door down to save her.

After that, our relatives treated us like we were cursed. It was Preston's mother who finally took me into their home.

Preston was seventeen then. He had slipped a warm, roasted sweet potato into my frozen hands, whispering, "Claire, my home is your home now. I will never make you wait."

I had believed him. I had staked the best ten years of my life on that promise.

And now, he was using my deepest, most agonizing trauma to shield another woman.

Preston seemed to realize he had gone too far, his mouth opening slightly before he closed it, let out a frustrated sigh, and turned away. "I'm heading to the office. You need to calm down."

The heavy front door slammed shut, rattling the windows. I sat in the silent study, unable to move.

My phone lit up. It was a message from Mona.

Claire, did Preston yell at you? Please don't be mad at him. He was just worried about me.

A second later, another image arrived.

Oh, by the way, I forgot to leave your neck pillow in the car. But Preston said you probably have plenty of them anyway.

I stared at the glowing screen, the pain in my abdomen turning into a cold, hollow ache. I turned the phone over, leaving the messages unanswered.

As the sun slowly rose outside the window, I found myself thinking of my mother sitting in that cold courtyard, waiting for a man who was never coming back. I had promised myself I would never become her.

But I had been waiting in the exact same spot for ten years. I just hadn't realized it.

At nine in the morning, the property manager called. "Miss Lin, we noticed a new temporary access code was registered to your garage yesterday. Did you authorize this?"

I stood on the balcony, looking down. Preston's black SUV was just pulling into the driveway.

The passenger window slid down, and Mona leaned her head out, waving cheerfully at the security guard. Around her slender wrist, she was wearing my delicate pearl bracelet.

I hung up the phone.

Ten minutes later, Preston stepped into the apartment, carrying a bag of breakfast. There was fresh soy milk, warm pastries, and a small box of the sweet plum cakes I used to love.

He set them on the table, his voice softening. "I went too far this morning. I'm sorry. Eat something first; your stomach is terrible."

I stared at the plum cakes. He used to drive across the city every weekend just to buy them for me. But as the years went on, he became too busy. He forgot my favorite foods, and he forgot that I couldn't drink black coffee on an empty stomach.

Now, he was bringing them to me like a peace offering, or perhaps a form of charity.

"Did you buy these for her too?" I asked quietly.

Preston's hands froze, and his expression instantly turned cold. "Claire, that's enough."

I pulled a pale pink hair tie from my pocket and placed it on the table, followed by the designer lipstick. "What about these?"

He glanced at them. "Just things she dropped in the car."

"Then why did the car's air freshener change from cedarwood to sweet peach? How did the glitter from her socks end up on the passenger floor mat? Why is her lip balm in the center console? And why is her yoga mat in the trunk?"

I paused, holding up the security log. "And this. Why does she have an access code to our private garage?"

Preston's face twisted with frustration, but there was no guilt in his eyes, only anger at being questioned. "She had to retrieve some urgent project files from the house while I was out. I gave her a temporary code."

"Temporary?" I let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "She posted a picture of herself in our walk-in closet, wearing my silk robe, with the caption: Channeling my inner elegant lady. Preston says it looks perfect on me."

Preston slammed his hand down on the table, rattling the plates. "Enough!"

The hot soy milk spilled over the edge of the cup, splashing onto my hand. I winced, pulling my hand back as the heat stung my skin.

He saw it, but he quickly averted his eyes. "Mona is young and naive; she just likes to take pictures. It's not as deep as you're making it out to be. Look at yourself, Claire. You've become obsessed, tracking my every move like a paranoid warden."

I looked up at him. "And how am I supposed to behave?"

He let out a cold laugh. "Like a normal person. Look at Mona: she's young, sharp, and ambitious. She can draft a perfect proposal, handle difficult clients, and hold her own at business dinners. What about you? You've been an administrator for seven years, with no career growth and no ambition. Aside from cooking, cleaning, and organizing the house, what do you actually do?"

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Claire, you've turned into a complete bore."

A bore.

My eyes stung, but I refused to let the tears fall.

Seven years ago, I had received a prestigious offer from a major fragrance laboratory in the south. But that was the year Preston's startup was failing, and he was hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer. He had clutched my hand from his hospital bed, begging me, "Claire, don't leave. I need to know you're here when I come home."

So, I stayed. I took a simple, quiet administrative job with no overtime so I could care for him, study his medications, and prepare warm meals for him every night.

He had held me close then, calling me his sanctuary.

But now that the storm had passed and his company was successful, he found his sanctuary boring.

I stood up, deleting the access log from my phone.

Preston frowned. "What are you doing now?"

I looked at him, my voice entirely flat. "Since she's so perfect, you should be with her. Let's break up."

Preston's first reaction wasn't panic; it was a dismissive, arrogant smirk. "Are we doing this again, Claire?" He leaned back, looking entirely unbothered. "Whenever we fight, you just go stay at my mother's house for a few days. How long do you want me to chase you this time? A day? A week?"

I didn't answer.

"I have a dinner with a major client tonight, so don't wait up," he said, checking his watch. "And remember, Mona's father is the key decision-maker for our upcoming merger. Don't make trouble for her and ruin my business."

After the door closed, I slowly cleared the table, throwing every bit of the untouched breakfast into the trash.

It turned out she wasn't just naive; she was useful. And I was not.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a short video from Mona.

In the video, Preston was sitting at the head of a banquet table, surrounded by business partners.

Someone laughed, clinking their glass. "Preston, what's the plan with the girl at home? It's been ten years; aren't you going to marry her?"

Preston took a sip of his wine, his expression entirely relaxed. "She's not going anywhere."

Another man leaned in. "What about Miss Mona here? She's already got the passenger seat; is she getting the ring next?"

Mona shifted closer to him, her voice sweet and teasing. "Preston, is that seat mine forever?"

Preston didn't pull away. He simply smiled, murmuring, "Yes, it's yours."

The video ended, followed by a final text from Mona.

Claire, you planted the tree, but I'm the one enjoying the shade. Thanks for training him so well for me.

I stared at the screen, a strange, hollow clarity settling over me. Preston didn't cross those boundaries by accident; he simply believed I would never leave.

I dialed my supervisor's number. "Hi, Helen. I'd like to submit my resignation."

Helen was silent for a moment. "Claire, are you sure? You've been so steady here. The head office's fragrance division actually asked about you last month, wondering if you'd be interested in returning to the creative line."

My throat tightened. "Yes, Helen. I'm sure."

"Alright," Helen sighed gently. "I won't process the paperwork just yet. I'll hold your file for a couple of days. We all need to leave ourselves a way out."

After hanging up, I pulled my suitcase from the closet. As I unzipped it, a small velvet box rolled out.

I opened it, expecting jewelry, but found a pair of matching leather keychains.

The pink one was engraved with: Mona's Spot.

The black one was engraved with: Preston.

At the bottom of the box was a sticky note: Once I have the seat, the man is next.

I took a photo and sent it to Preston.

She's certainly eager to make it official.

He didn't reply. Instead, Mona sent me a screenshot of a digital invitation.

It was a formal, elegant design: Preston & Mona's Engagement Preview.

Location: The Grand Plaza.

Time: Tonight at 8:00 PM.

Below it was the seating chart. Near the main table, there was a single, isolated seat labeled: Claire, Observer.

Then, a text from Preston arrived.

Come to the Grand Plaza tonight. I'll explain.

I stared at the message, realizing I no longer cared whether he loved me or not. I only wanted to know if, in the process of turning our ten years into a complete joke, he had ever felt a single shred of regret.

At eight that evening, I walked into the Grand Plaza.

I wasn't there for an explanation; I was there to close the book.

The venue was brilliantly lit, the rain having just stopped outside. As I approached the private dining suite, the doors were slightly ajar, and the sounds of laughter drifted out.

"Preston, now that the preview is set, when do we get the actual wedding invitations?"

Mona's voice was sweet as honey. "That depends on when Preston decides to make me permanent."

"Is there really any difference at this point?" someone joked.

I pushed the door open, and the laughter died down instantly. Preston sat at the head of the table, his jacket draped over his chair, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

He frowned the moment he saw me. "Why didn't you knock?"

I held up my phone, displaying the invitation and the video. "Explain."

Mona stood up immediately, her eyes turning watery. "Claire, please don't misunderstand. The team made that seating chart as a joke; I had no idea."

I looked at her. "Was the video a joke too?"

Her face paled, but she quickly managed to squeeze out a few tears. "I was just trying to keep the mood light. Why do you always have to make everything so difficult, Claire?"

Preston stubbed out his cigarette, his voice flat. "Claire, don't make a scene here."

I let out a soft laugh. "You invited me here for an explanation, didn't you?"

He remained silent.

Mona stepped forward, grabbing my arm. "Let's talk outside, Claire. Don't embarrass Preston in front of his partners."

Her manicured fingers dug sharply into my wrist.

The corridor outside was deserted and quiet. I silently tapped the record button on my phone, keeping it at my side.

The moment the doors closed behind us, the tears vanished from Mona's face, replaced by a cold, triumphant smirk. "I'm surprised you actually showed up."

"Did you put those keychains in my suitcase?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, crossing her arms. "How else were you going to realize it's time for you to pack up and leave?"

I turned to walk back to the room, but she stepped into my path, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Claire, stop clinging to your ten-year history. If he wanted to marry you, he wouldn't have kept you waiting for ten years, would he?"

I paused, and her smirk widened. "The passenger seat belongs to the girl who can keep things fresh. You've been there too long; it's time to step aside."

She leaned closer, her eyes flashing with malice. "And honestly, didn't your mother spend her whole life waiting for a man, only to end up discarded anyway? Don't be like her, Claire. It's pathetic."

Slap!

My hand connected sharply with her cheek, sending her head snapping to the side.

She froze in shock for a second, then let out a piercing shriek.

The suite doors flew open, and Preston rushed out, his expression dark with anger. Mona immediately collapsed against him, sobbing hysterically. "Preston, I was just trying to apologize to her, and she suddenly hit me..."

Before I could speak, Mona grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward the elevator that led to the underground garage. "You said I took your things! I'll give them back to you right now! Let's go to the car!"

She was surprisingly strong, dragging me toward the elevator doors before I could shake her off. Preston followed close behind, his voice tight with suppressed fury. "Claire, have you completely lost your mind?"

We descended into the concrete garage in silence.

Preston's black SUV sat in its reserved space, the passenger door wide open, with Mona's designer handbag resting on the leather seat. As we approached, the car's automated system activated, and a sweet, recorded voice played through the speakers.

It was no longer my voice saying, Preston, welcome home.

Instead, Mona's voice chimed cheerfully, Preston, have a wonderful day!

I stood there, a sudden, cold laughter bubbling up in my chest.

It wasn't just the passenger seat. He had allowed her to systematically erase every trace of my existence from his life.

My old jade pendant, which I had bought at a temple to keep him safe, was lying on the dirty floor mat under the passenger seat, its silk cord snapped in two.

Mona knelt down to retrieve it, holding it up with a smug smile. "This old thing is so tacky. I was planning on buying him a designer replacement anyway."

I reached out to take it from her.

But the moment my hand closed around it, she yanked her hand back, deliberately losing her balance and falling backward. As she fell, she gave me a sharp, sudden shove.

I stumbled back, my bare arm colliding with the hot, exposed exhaust pipe of a parked motorcycle nearby.

A sickening sizzle echoed in the quiet garage, followed by an agonizing flash of pain that made my vision blur.

Preston didn't even look at me. He immediately threw himself onto the concrete, pulling Mona into his arms, his voice shaking with concern. "Mona, are you alright?"

Mona sobbed, shaking her head. "I'm okay... Claire didn't mean to do it. She was just angry about the pendant."

Preston looked up at me, his eyes colder than the winter wind. "Claire, when did you become so vicious? Is a cheap piece of jade really worth hurting someone over?"

I clutched my burning arm, the skin already blistering, my entire body shaking with pain. "She spoke about my mother," I whispered.

Preston let out an impatient scoff. "And was she wrong? Your mother spent her life waiting for a man who didn't want her, and you're doing the exact same thing. What's the difference?"

The concrete garage seemed to spin around me, the bright fluorescent lights blindingly white.

I stared at him, the man who had sat with me in the dark on every anniversary of my mother's death, whispering that she was the victim of a cruel, unfaithful man.

And now, he was using that same tragedy to justify my humiliation.

I couldn't make a single sound.

Preston noticed my pale face and finally saw the raw, blistered skin on my arm. He frowned slightly. "What happened to your arm?"

Before I could answer, Mona let out a soft whimper. "Preston, my ankle... I think it's broken. It hurts so much..."

His attention snapped right back to her. He scooped her into his arms, carrying her toward the car, casting a final, indifferent glance over his shoulder.

"Go get your arm cleaned up at the clinic. Once you're done, apologize to Mona, and we'll put this behind us."

I stood alone in the empty garage, the scent of sweet peach lingering in the cold air.

I bent down, picking up the broken jade pendant from the concrete, its surface covered in dirt, much like the last ten years of my life.

I pulled out my phone and stopped the recording.

I had given him one last chance to be a decent human being, and he had thrown it away.