Fated Encounters

Chapter 18

The house was cold when Angela returned that evening. It wasn’t just the autumn chill creeping in through the cracks in the windows—it was the air between her and Patrick, thick with tension and unspoken words. Angela couldn’t erase the image of him sitting there with Stephanie, his hand in hers, their shared history hovering between them like a ghost.

Patrick was in the living room when she walked in, his eyes fixed on his phone as if the world outside of it didn’t exist. The same hollow expression, the same silence. Angela’s stomach twisted with a mix of anger and heartache. She had hoped, in some foolish part of herself, that maybe after their talk he would have come to her. Maybe he would have chosen her. But instead, he had gone to Stephanie, the one person who could break her in a way no one else could.

She had tried to be understanding. She had tried to give him space, to support him through his grief. But now she realized it wasn’t just grief that had built a wall between them—it was his inability to let go of the past. And she wasn’t going to wait around for him to figure it out any longer.

“Where were you?” Angela asked, her voice sharper than she intended as she tossed her bag onto the table. The sound of the door closing echoed in the empty house.

Patrick glanced up, barely registering her presence. “Out,” he muttered, returning his focus to his phone.

Angela’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. “With Stephanie?”

That caught his attention. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, a hint of irritation in them. “Angela, don’t start.”

Her breath hitched, the anger bubbling up to the surface. “Don’t start? Patrick, I followed you. I saw you with her.”

Patrick froze, his expression hardening. “You followed me?”

“Are you seriously going to make that the issue right now?” Angela’s voice cracked with frustration. “You said things were going to be different, that you were going to try. But then you run off to meet her, and you expect me to just sit here and wait while you decide who you want to be with?”

He stood up, his frustration matching hers now. “It’s not like that. I was talking to her, trying to explain—”

“Explain what?!” Angela’s voice rose, her fists clenched at her sides. “That you’re still in love with her? That you can’t let her go? Because that’s exactly what it looked like.”

Patrick ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I don’t love her, Angela. I told you, things are complicated—”

“No, Patrick,” she interrupted, her voice trembling with hurt. “You are making it complicated. You can’t string me along while you sit there trying to figure out your feelings for someone else.”

He looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not stringing you along.”

“Then what do you call it?” Angela’s voice was quieter now, but the pain in it was undeniable. “You keep saying you need me, but every time I turn around, you’re with her. You tell me you care, but you’re still holding onto her like I’m some kind of backup plan.”

Patrick’s face twisted with frustration. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” she shot back, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “I’ve been here. I’ve tried to be patient, to help you through everything, even when it’s broken me. But you haven’t chosen me, Patrick. Not once.”

The words hung in the air, raw and brutal. For a moment, they just stared at each other, both too hurt to say anything more. Then Patrick sighed, rubbing his temples. “I never asked you to do all of this.”

Angela’s breath caught in her throat. His words felt like a punch to the chest. “What?”

“I never asked you to wait,” he said, his voice quieter now, but the damage was done. “I never asked you to hold on.”

Angela stared at him, her heart breaking all over again. He might as well have said he didn’t care—because that’s how it felt. Like all the love she’d poured into him meant nothing. Like she meant nothing.

Her voice trembled as she spoke, barely above a whisper. “You didn’t have to ask.”

Patrick looked away, guilt flashing across his face, but it was too late. The words had already lodged themselves in her heart.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.”

Without waiting for his response, Angela turned and walked upstairs, her legs shaky beneath her. She felt hollow, like the fight had drained the last bit of energy she had left. When she reached her room, she closed the door softly behind her and leaned against it, staring blankly at the floor.

Everything she had feared, everything she had tried to ignore, was right there in front of her. She would never be enough for him. Not while he still held onto Stephanie, not while he couldn’t see that the love she offered wasn’t something to be taken for granted.

That night, Angela made her decision.

She packed her things quietly, not bothering to make much noise. There was no point in dragging out the inevitable. Patrick wouldn’t come after her. He wouldn’t check on her. He hadn’t cared enough to fight for her before, and she knew deep down that he wouldn’t fight for her now.

When she finished packing, Angela left her room and walked down the hallway, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. She paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back toward Patrick’s room. The door was closed, the light beneath it dim. He was probably still on his phone—still avoiding her, still refusing to deal with the mess they had become.

She took a deep breath, her heart heavy, and walked away.

By the time Patrick woke up the next morning, Angela was already gone. She hadn’t left a trace, not even a lingering scent for Rex to follow. She had scattered the powder she’d prepared beforehand, making sure no one would find her.

Two days passed, and Patrick didn’t even check on her. He moved through the house as if nothing had changed, as if her absence was just part of the routine. It wasn’t until the second evening that he finally noticed.

He wandered into her room, expecting to find her there, maybe reading or sitting quietly like she often did. But the room was empty, her belongings gone. For the first time in days, a pang of unease hit him.

“Angela?” he called out, moving from room to room, but there was no answer.

It wasn’t until he found the note—lying on her neatly made bed—that the full weight of her departure sank in. His hands shook as he unfolded it, his heart racing as he read the words she had left behind.

“I’ll never be enough for you. Please be happy with Stephanie.”

Patrick stood there, the note crumpled in his hand, as the silence of the house closed in around him.

And for the first time in a long time, he realized what he had truly lost.