I handed him my resignation letter today. I thought his face would twist in anger, but it didn't. Instead, I saw shock… pain… as if someone had torn his heart apart in front of me.
This was the man who never trembled, never bent—not even for billion-dollar deals. Yet the moment I slipped that letter into his hands, he dropped to his knees before me. With tears in his eyes, he begged—begged me not to leave him.
And still, I walked away.
How could I stay, knowing that my presence would only bring him more pain? But how could I leave, when leaving carved me hollow inside? In that moment, I became someone I could hardly recognize—heartless, cruel, shattering the man I once loved by my own hand.
I left him crying in that office, wailing in despair, his voice echoing behind me. His eyes—those eyes full of helplessness and ruin—still haunt me.
What did I gain from it? Nothing but this ache. This unbearable loneliness.
