10 Years Where I Loved You The Most Novels & Stories

5 years at that moment seemed like nothing to them. They acted so naturally that they didn't realize how harmonious they could be. Not even a word was spoken but it felt like they knew exactly what the person in front of them thought and they acted exactly as expected. Time froze as they looked into each other's eyes. It's been 5 years, their appearances have changed quite a bit, yet they can tell at first glance that that's their childhood friend. Just then, Lydia's phone buzzed.

I chuckled and hung up. I stayed there in silence until nightfall. Three hours left for the countdown. I packed all my luggage and bought a plane ticket for the next day. Two hours left for the countdown. I cut every photo of the two of us, leaving only myself in the album. One hour left for the countdown. I neatly placed the divorce settlement agreement on the table. I thought about leaving a note. In the end, I decided against it. Instead, I kept the words to myself. "Honey, this is the last time I'll call you that. I have secretly loved you for ten years. Loving someone for ten years is hard. In the end, I chose to let go. Congratulations to you, and congratulations to me."

I opened my mouth to tell her to get lust, tell her I wasn't interested in whatever she was willing to offer — but my mouth failed to utter the sentence. I knew I should have gotten up and gone somewhere else. Somewhere without people trying to fix things that couldn't be fixed. But the scotch was warm in my veins and my head was fuzzy and suddenly I was talking. "I've been in love with her for ten years," I heard myself say.

He ended the call. For a moment, everything was quiet. I stayed hidden, shaking, trying to control my breathing. The pain was so deep I felt like I was breaking apart inside. Ten years. Ten years I had believed he loved me. Ten years I had sacrificed everything for him. I had given up my dreams, my career, my freedom. I had stayed when my body was starving for touch. I had cried alone at night feeling ugly and worthless. And all that time, he had been planning to throw me away like garbage. A small, broken sob escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"Listen carefully. I have my own life. I won't revolve it around you, nor will I ask for your compassion. "This isn't out of stubbornness or spite; I truly want to build my future with him." I had once bitterly wondered why Jade ended up taking my place, but I came to realize that true love never kept anyone waiting forever. An unresolved story spanning 20 years could only bring regret. Wesley had sacrificed 20 years of friendship for an assistant he'd known for just two months. So, what reason did I still have to hold on to the past?

grief and loneliness making me reckless. “I thought about you every day. Wanted you every day. Hated myself for it every day.” “Oh my god.” She sat up slightly. “I thought I was imagining it. The way you looked at me sometimes. The way you’d leave rooms when I entered. I thought—” “You weren’t imagining it.” “I thought about you too,” she whispered. “Sometimes. When Michael and I…” She stopped. “I feel so guilty even saying it.” “Michael’s gone.” “I know. But does that make this okay? Does that make it okay that I want…” She looked at me, eyes desperate. “That I want you?” My heart stopped. “Sophia, we shouldn’t—” “Tell me you want me too. Tell me I’m not alone in this.” “Yo

I placed the papers on the table, neat and tidy. I was going to leave a message for her, but I did not go through with it. Instead, I said it in my mind, 'Hey honey, this is the last time I'm calling you that, I guess. I spent ten years in love with you. It's really hard doing that, I know, but I'm giving up anyway. Congratulations, to both you and me.' I grabbed my suitcase. The moment the countdown was over, I put my hand on the doorknob.

Inside the ballroom they were still screaming, still crying, still filming. But out here it was just me and the storm. And the pain. God, the pain. It wasn’t the kind that made you scream. It was quieter. Deeper. The kind that settled in your chest and made every breath feel like swallowing glass. Ten years. Ten years of believing he loved me. Ten years of being the girl who stayed.

For a moment there I let myself wander in the thought that he still was. But no. There was no way he could be; anybody in their right mind would know not to wait that long for someone, not three or four, but ten years. “Rose, I'll continue to remind you—” And me, “That it's been ten years,” “Well, it's been ten years, and I still love you.” I scoff. “Well, thank you, but we never went out of contact. Alex and I haven't had a single conversation in ten years.”

And I was alone in between. Not ready to forgive. Not ready to trust. Not ready to love. But not ready to leave either. I closed the door. And for the first time in ten years, I let myself cry.