He Chose Wrong I Chose Better (Irene and Ewing) novel Chapter 3

Ewing was truly angry this time.

We lived under the same roof, but in separate rooms.-

The only thing connecting us was a cat.

We'd adopted Joy together.

Back then, my confession had been awkward—I'd blurted out, "Let's take care of her together."

He'd looked at me with gentle eyes, a hint of a smile on his lips, and nodded. That was his way of saying yes.

From then on, I did the feeding; he took care of the litter box.

But lately, Ewing had been coming home late every night.

So, I simply kept Joy in my room.

The little creature seemed lost, forlorn. She would usually curl up in front of Ewing's laptop, pawing at the keys and making a mess.

She couldn't speak, but somehow, I understood her wordless sense of grievance.

Then, unexpectedly, Magnolia messaged me.

"I can give you the watch back," she wrote. "We're both about to get married. Why be so petty?"

I ignored her.

I had always been a little obsessive about my things—if something belonged to me, I couldn't stand the thought of anyone else touching it.

Magnolia sent another message.

"That day was one of the lowest points in my life. A group of people laughed at my marriage, called it a joke."

"Don't blame Ewing."

I stared at the screen for a while before replying, my words sharp and cruel.

"So, what, your friends and family all died? So now you have to cling to my man for dear life?"

Moments later, Ewing stormed in from the guest room.

"Are you insane? How could you talk to Magnolia like that? We're done!"

The last time Ewing said "we're done" was when I accidentally broke the crystal glass Magnolia had given him.

After he'd yelled at me, I'd tried to hold back my tears and managed, "I'll buy you one exactly the same."

He'd exploded. "Do you have any idea what that glass means to me?"

Then, he'd sent a text: "We're done."

I'd called him from a payphone, desperate, my words dissolving into sobs.

He'd stayed silent for a long time, then finally said, "Aren't you embarrassed to cry like that in public?"

I'd stopped immediately, filling in the unspoken "Stop being so dramatic, will you?"

After a stunned pause, I replied, "Okay."

The moment I hung up, it felt as if a ton of cement had been poured into my chest, hardening in an instant.

When it came to Magnolia, Ewing's loyalty was absolute—a forbidden line I could never cross.

But so what?

Now, I just didn't care anymore.

I kept asking myself: What am I to him? Why force myself to chase after a standard I'll never reach?

Even when Ewing tried to provoke me by posting photos online, I felt nothing but a strange sense of calm.

He'd help her fix her laptop, save her a parking space, even order the same pair of shoes for her online.

She'd bring him lunch, grab his packages, even fix typos in his work drafts.

There were days, when Ewing was out of town for work, that we wouldn't speak for four or five days.

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