Too Late for Regret: I Was Your Online Soulmate

Before my best friend died of cancer, the only thing she couldn't let go of was her online boyfrienda man she had never met in person.

Clutching my hand, she wept and begged me, Chloe, he suffers from severe depression. I'm so scared he won't survive this. Please, log into my Snapchat. Keep talking to him, but fade away slowly. When enough time has passed, break up with him. Okay?

With tear-filled eyes, I promised her I would.

I kept my promise. For three whole years, I talked to that man using Mia's identity. I stayed with him from his darkest depressive episodes until his career climbed back to the absolute peak. Then, I began to drift away.

Today, I decided three years was long enough. It was long enough for him to let go of a dying relationship.

So, I sent him a final message:

"We should stop talking. Let's break up."

But the very next second, the phone on the coffee table belonging to my fianc, Julian Vance, lit up.

Staring back at me from his screen was the exact breakup message I had just sent.

It turned out my dead best friend's online boyfriend was my fianc.

1

"Chloe, the water temperature is perfect. Go ahead and get in first. I'll join you after I dry my hair."

Julian's voice drifted from the bathroom, warm and caring through the thick steam.

I froze where I stood.

The bathroom door opened.

Julian walked out, wrapped in a towel, drying his hair. Seeing me standing rigidly in front of the coffee table, his footsteps hesitated.

"What's wrong? You look so pale."

He walked over, habitually reaching out to wrap his arm around my waist.

I took a sharp step back. My lower back slammed into the armrest of the sofa, sending a dull ache through my spine.

His hand hung empty in the air.

"Chloe?"

His gaze followed mine, landing on the illuminated phone screen.

His entire face froze.

The phone vibrated again. It was the custom notification ringtone he had set exclusively for that account.

He lunged forward, snatching the phone. His fingers trembled violently as he unlocked it, staring at those few words. He read them over and over, three times.

"No..." His voice was barely a whisper. "She wouldn't do this..."

He started typing, deleting, and typing again. But he couldn't bring himself to send a single word.

Then, he began to call.

Once. Twice. Three times.

In my pocket, Mia's old phone remained completely silent. I had kept it on mute all these years, terrified he would discover I was pretending to be someone else and misunderstand.

"Pick up... please, just pick up..." His voice shook, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

I had never seen him like this.

No, actually, I had.

But only in the chat logs with "Mia."

During his worst depressive episodes, he had begged her not to leave in this exact, pitiful voice.

Yet, in reality, the face he always showed me was perfectly composed, flawless, and distant.

"Julian," I finally spoke.

He didn't react. He kept dialing.

"Julian Vance!"

He snapped his head up. His eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted in pure rage.

"Shut up!"

The words hit me like a blow.

I stared at him in shock for a second, and then, I laughed.

Realizing what he had done, he quickly apologized, his tone instantly shifting back to that gentle, polite mask. "I'm sorry. I have an emergency I need to handle."

With that, he marched into the bedroom and began rummaging through his closet for clothes.

"What kind of emergency?"

He was in such a rush that he ripped a button right off his shirt and didn't even care.

"An urgent matter." He didn't even look at me.

"How urgent? We're supposed to try on wedding dresses tomorrow."

He stopped. Finally, he spared a glance for me.

There was no guilt in his eyes. Only the irritation of being held back.

"Go try them on yourself. Pick whatever style you want, and send me the bill."

"Send you the bill?" I repeated. "Julian, what could possibly be more important than our wedding?"

His face went completely cold. He looked at me as if I were a stranger.

"Chloe, you've always been so sensible."

"Why are you starting to be so dramatic now?"

Without waiting for my reply, he grabbed his car keys and slammed the door behind him.

2

"Miss Chloe, is your fianc still too busy to make it today?"

Inside the luxury bridal salon, the consultant wore a professional smile, but the underlying pity in her voice was unmistakable.

I sat alone in front of the floor-length mirror.

This was the second time he had stood me up.

The whispers of the employees nearby drifted into my ears:

"So she's the freelance illustrator? I wonder how she managed to bag a designer like Julian Vance."

"Mr. Vance hasn't shown up even once. This wedding might not even happen."

I ignored them.

Stepping into the fitting room, I pulled out Mia's old phone.

On the screen, Julian had sent hundreds of unread messages.

Mia, why are you ignoring me?

Did I do something wrong? Tell me, I'll change.

Please pick up. Just for a second.

Mia, are you leaving me?

Please, don't leave me.

There was also a sixty-second voice note.

After a long hesitation, I pressed play.

He was choking back tears, the roar of a car engine playing in the background.

"Mia... I was wrong... please give me another chance... I'll die without you... I really will..."

The man who had told me to "shut up" and called me "dramatic" last night was currently crying so hard he could barely breathe on another screen.

A knock sounded on the fitting room door.

"Miss Chloe, Mr. Carter is here."

Carter was Julian's best friend.

I hurriedly wiped my face, changed out of the wedding dress, and walked out.

Carter was lounging on the sofa. Seeing me, he pulled an Amex Black Card from his wallet and flicked it onto the table with a sharp slap.

"Paying the balance. Julian is busy. He doesn't have time to waste on this."

He stood up, walked over to me, and lowered his voice:

"Chloe, let's be real here."

"You know exactly why Julian chose you. You're quiet, low-maintenance, and you don't cause trouble."

"He's giving you the title of Mrs. Vance, so just behave. Don't go looking for love. That stuff has nothing to do with you."

I raised my hand to slap him.

But he caught my wrist mid-air, gripping it tightly.

"Mad?" He squeezed harder. "Just a warning, Julian is in a terrible mood lately. Don't go looking for trouble. If you don't want this spot, there's a line of girls waiting to take it."

He threw my hand back, causing me to stumble.

"The pin is his birthday. Pick whatever dress you want. You're only wearing it once anyway."

He adjusted his suit jacket and walked out.

I stood alone in the empty bridal shop.

In my hand was my fianc's desperate weeping for another version of "me."

On the table lay the black card his friend had thrown at me.

"Miss Chloe, are you happy with this dress?" the consultant asked.

"No," I replied. "I don't want it anymore."

3

When I got back from the bridal shop, I felt dizzy and exhausted. I went straight to bed.

In the middle of the night, a sharp, agonizing pain shot through my abdomen. Cold sweat drenched my pajamas, and my vision blurred.

Fumbling for my phone, I called Julian.

It rang for a long time before he finally answered.

"Yeah?" The sound of airport announcements echoed in the background.

My heart sank.

"Julian... my stomach hurts so bad I can't get up... can you come back and take me to the hospital..."

Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds.

"Chloe, I have an urgent matter right now. You're an adult. Can't you just call an Uber?"

An urgent matter.

Your "Mia" wanted to break up with you. Of course it was a matter of life and death.

I lay on the cold floor, my limbs freezing.

Then, driven by some twisted impulse, I picked up Mia's old phone and typed out a single line:

"I want to see you."

Send.

Almost instantly, I heard Julian shouting to someone on the other end of our phone call.

"Rebook it! Rebook the flight to Seattle immediately! Take the earliest flight! I don't care how much it costs!"

Seattle.

That was the city I had randomly chosen for "Mia" to make the lie sound more realistic.

He was really at the airport.

He was truly abandoning me for someone who didn't even exist.

"Julian," I spoke into the receiver.

"What if I die tonight?"

His voice was colder than ice.

"Stop threatening me with death. Your drama is honestly suffocating."

He hung up.

I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The pain surged again, sharper and more violent than before.

Curling into a tight ball, my consciousness began to slip.

Using the absolute last ounce of my strength, I dialed 91

"Acute ruptured appendicitis! If she had come any later, it would have turned into peritonitis!"

"Where is her family? There's no one here to even sign the consent forms!"

The surgery lasted three hours.

I was hospitalized for three days.

Julian didn't make a single call, nor did he send a single text.

Meanwhile, Mia's phone was bombarded with hundreds of messages every single day:

Mia, I'm in Seattle. Where are you?

I've looked everywhere you might be. Why won't you see me?

I'm waiting for you at the cafe. I'll wait until you show up.

I turned off the phone, expressionless.

It was raining on the day I was discharged.

I handled the paperwork myself and took a cab back to the apartment we had shared for three years.

When I opened the door, everything was exactly as I had left it.

4

I began to pack my bags.

No tears, no yelling.

I neatly folded the clothes he had bought me and left them in the closet. My own clothes went straight into my suitcase.

I placed the dust covers back over the painting tools he had gifted me in the study.

One by one, I erased every trace of my existence from the apartment.

When Julian finally returned, this was the scene that greeted him.

He had waited in Seattle for three days without ever seeing "Mia." He looked exhausted and disheveled, with stubble on his chin and bloodshot eyes.

Seeing me zipping up my suitcase, he froze.

"What are you doing?" his voice rasped.

I didn't answer. I knelt down to move the monstera plant from the coffee table to the floor, then slid the engagement ring off my finger.

It was a pink diamond. He had slipped it onto my finger himself the day he proposed.

Back then, he had said, "Chloe, marry me. Let me take care of you for the rest of your life."

I placed the ring and the keys side-by-side right in the middle of the coffee table.

"Chloe, I asked you a question!" His tone shifted. He marched over and grabbed my wrist. "What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?"

I looked up into his eyes.

"Julian, I'm not throwing a tantrum."

He blinked, loosening his grip. Massaging his temples, he tried a softer approach. "Fine. I admit my attitude was bad the other day."

He pulled a credit card from his wallet and forced it into my hand.

"I'll double your allowance for this month. Put the ring back on. Stop acting out."

Money. It was always money.

"That night, my appendix ruptured," I said, my voice completely flat. "I almost died."

His hand went limp. Panic flashed across his face, though he quickly tried to suppress it.

"...Is it serious?"

"The doctor said if I had been a step later, I wouldn't be here."

His lips parted slightly.

"I'm sor"

"Save it." I pushed the card, the ring, and the keys back toward him. "You don't need to apologize, and I don't plan on forgiving you."

I grabbed my suitcase and turned toward the door.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind, gripping me with terrifying force.

"Chloe... let me explain. I really had something extremely important to do that night..."

"I know," I said quietly. "Your Mia wanted to break up with you."

His entire body stiffened.

"How... how do you know about that?"

I pried his hands off me, turned around, and offered him a small smile.

"Julian, I've always known."

He took a half-step back, all the color draining from his face.

Then, his expression shifted.

The panic vanished, replaced by the same cold, calculating look he used to crush his opponents in business meetings.

"Did you spy on me?"

"It doesn't matter." I lifted my suitcase. "We're done. The wedding is off."

"Chloe," his voice echoed behind me. "Have you really thought this through?"

I didn't stop.

"What can you do on your own? Paint? Does your monthly income even cover rent in this city?"

My hand tightened around the handle of my suitcase.

"Once you walk out that door, no one is going to catch you when you fall."

I pulled the door open.

"You're going to regret this."

The hallway was dead silent. I dragged my suitcase toward the elevator, never looking back.