I Funded Her Dream, He Got the Feast

Gabriel's POV

By the time I took my seat, Natalie Prescott, my girlfriend, had already left the restaurant with Ryan Mitchell, her new intern.

From my table upstairs, I could clearly see them standing together on the sidewalk, their fingers intertwined.

A breeze swept down the street. Ryan unwound his cashmere scarf and gently draped it around Natalie's neck before opening her car door. Then he reached into the back seat and pulled out a massive bouquet of blue roses.

I couldn't hear what he said, but Natalie covered her mouth in delighted surprise before throwing her arms around him and kissing him. A few blue petals drifted to the ground.

I'd seen those roses before in a wedding planning magazine. I still remembered reading their meaning aloud when Natalie and I had flipped through it together.

"A once-in-a-lifetime miracle. An irreplaceable spark of love."

I'd been so taken with the idea that I'd turned to her and said, "Natalie, let's use blue roses at our wedding, too!"

She hadn't even looked up from what she was doing. "They're impractical and overpriced. There's no point wasting money on something like that."

After that, I'd never bring it up again. The wedding magazine had long since been shoved into a drawer, where it sat forgotten, gathering dust. Yet the blue roses I'd once dreamed of having at our wedding were now in Natalie's arms, given to her by another man.

Ryan was just an intern, after all. There was no way he could afford a bouquet like that on his salary. The money had almost certainly come from Natalie herself.

So it wasn't that blue roses were too expensive or not worth the money. It was simply that I wasn't worth spending that money on, even though I was supposed to be the man she'd marry.

When the server brought out my food, she glanced down at Natalie and Ryan, who still seemed reluctant to say goodbye, and smiled enviously.

"Ms. Prescott and Mr. Mitchell are so sweet together. They come here every Saturday. When Mr. Mitchell first started coming, he didn't even know how to use a knife and fork properly. Ms. Prescott taught him herself, step by step."

"Every Saturday?" I asked, stunned.

"Yep! Mr. Mitchell really loves our food, and Ms. Prescott always leaves us a generous tip whenever they come in. That's why I remember them so well."

She finished setting down my order. One steak sat in front of me, while the other had been placed on the empty seat across from me.

I cut off a piece and put it in my mouth. The steak tasted unbearably bitter, but I forced myself to swallow it anyway. I knew exactly where that bitterness was coming from.

Last Saturday, I had a high fever that wouldn't come down. I texted Natalie and asked her to bring home a bottle of electrolyte water. Her reply was brief.

"Drinking more warm water will help more than anything else."

The Saturday before that, a pipe had sprung a leak at home, and I'd asked her for help. "Just handle it yourself."

I knew she was busy, so I hadn't pushed. I'd gone to the hardware store to buy a wrench and fixed the pipe myself when I got back.

I just hadn't realized what she'd been so busy doing. She'd been spending every Saturday playing out a romantic fantasy with a younger man while I sat at home, believing her excuses and telling myself I should be more understanding.

The bitterness creeping up my throat dragged me back to the present. I lowered my head and mechanically cut into my steak, forcing down one bite after another. I swallowed each mouthful along with the ache in my chest, as though eating enough could somehow make up for everything I'd lost.

Somehow, I couldn't shake the thought that if I ate enough, at least I wouldn't be the only one getting the short end of the stick.

My phone vibrated, and a message from Natalie lit up the screen. "Where are you? Why isn't anyone home?"

When Natalie was building her business from the ground up, I gave up my own career to support hers. I'd handled everything behind the scenes so she could focus on work, from managing the household to the little things she never had time for.

She never bothered carrying a house key when she went out. She didn't need one. No matter how late she came home, I was always there to let her in.

I replied, "I'm celebrating our anniversary."

She sent back a question mark, then quickly deleted it. A moment later, another message appeared.

"Whatever you're doing, get home now. I have a business trip tomorrow."

The meaning behind her words was obvious. She wanted me to come home and pack her bags for her.

I didn't bother replying. Instead, I muted her notifications and returned to my meal.

The restaurant glittered under the warm lights, with couples sitting close together at tables all around me. I was the only one shamelessly devouring a meal meant for two, all by myself.

The steak, which had cost hundreds of dollars, slid down my throat without the slightest hint of flavor, leaving nothing but bitterness behind.

I kept eating until the restaurant closed. Only then did I finally head home.

When I arrived, Natalie's car was already gone. On the front steps sat a neatly packed container of steak, a quiet reminder that she'd been home at some point.