Eleanor Shultz stiffened a bit when she saw that the piece of paper was still in pristine condition.
When did she lose hope in him?
Was it when he was holding her, being intimate with her, yet telling her, "Don't even dream that I would love you."
Those words made it clear. In his heart, she was nothing, just a sex tool.
But now...
She lifted her gaze, looking at the spiraling Bernard Laurence.
In her memory, he was always aloof, never losing his composure like this.
It left her puzzled. Back then, when they were together, he didn't feel anything for her.
Now, he's confronting her with the fragments of sentences she once wrote. What did they signify?
What indeed?
It’s the end.
She wrote them to remind herself that he did not love her. Once written, it was meant to be over.
This unrequited love, it ended completely after he said those words, after she understood.
Eleanor kept silent for a moment, raising her hand to take the letter from him.
She looked at it quietly for a while, then, without hesitation, ripped it in half.
Bernard tried to snatch the letter back, but it was too late...
All he could do was watch in disbelief as she destroyed the letter...
His eyes were bloodshot, he couldn't believe what he was seeing, "Why..."
Eleanor cracked a faint smile, "Mr. Laurence, I wrote this letter just for kicks, I never intended to leave you anything, please don't get it twisted."
Bernard's face turned pale, his swollen eyes fixed on the torn letter on the floor.
How did he get through the countless days and nights of the past three years...
Sleeping pills, and the brief text on this letter sustained him.
He told himself that she left a message for him, which meant she did have him in her heart.
He was like a fool, refusing to believe it.
Only now did he see into her heart clearly.
Suppressing his infinite pain, he bent down to pick up the torn letter.
Paper is easily torn, just like love. When it's torn, everything can never go back to the way it was.
The moment he pushed her away, she destroyed their past.
It was only fair...
He didn't blame her.
He only blamed himself. Why didn't he cherish her when she was by his side?
He held the letter tightly, stumbling away. The once haughty and cold figure now seemed so lonely and fragile.
"Bernard..."
When his hand was on the car door, a familiar voice echoed in his ear.
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Is this the end ?...