Heartbroken, I’d swallowed my feelings and returned to being just friends.
I thought we’d have no more intersections in life.
Then, one night, Clinton had shown up drunk outside my dorm, shouting my name, “Suzy, I was wrong! Gemma never loved me. She left me to go abroad with someone else.”
That night had changed everything between us.
Later, Clinton had made a grand gesture to confess his feelings and promised we’d marry after graduation. Two years later, we had a lavish wedding and a beautiful baby girl.
At first, Clinton had been learning how to be a good husband and father. He’d devoted every spare moment to Ivy—listening to her babbling and watching her take her first steps.
When Ivy called him “Daddy” for the first time, he had cried tears of joy.
Clinton would treat Ivy’s crude crayon drawing of our family like a masterpiece and proudly display it.
Once, they were molding clay figures together, and Ivy had asked giddily, “Daddy, look! I made our family of three. Do you like it?”
