The 99th Time He Gave Up On Me Novels & Stories

On it was a single number—99. It was the number of times they had let me down over the years. Adrian frowned, unable to make sense of it. He tossed my diary onto the floor and ordered, "Stop writing this nonsense. Nina wants to eat the garlic shrimp you make. Go wash your hands and get downstairs. Consider it an apology for that snarky remark you made to her earlier." I only hummed in response before I got up and headed downstairs. Adrian was surprised that I didn't throw a tantrum. After all, every time my family asked me to make garlic shrimp, I would always cry and whine as if it were some huge injustice.

I lifted my wine glass. “If he hadn’t stood me up over and over again, I probably would’ve never left. I would’ve stayed trapped inside that gilded cage forever, living as his shadow, his nanny, his disposable tool. He gave me ninety-nine chances to see the truth clearly, and he also gave me the courage to leave.” “So you really don’t hate him?” “I don’t hate him,” I said calmly. “I just don’t love him anymore.” After the party ended, Cecilia drove me home.

The first time we divorced, I had lost control and thrown his things out of the house. By the fourth divorce, I begged him to leave his luggage behind, terrified he might never return. The eighth time, I had learned to pack his things obediently, careful not to upset him. My breakdowns, my pleas, and my obedience always brought him back to me. Each time, he honored his promises. And each time, we divorced again, just like before. Three days ago, he had given me a gift. It wasn't expensive, but it was thoughtful—a necklace in a style I liked.

I brushed off the heavy perfume that was not mine clinging to him and forgave him, my voice barely above a whisper. I figured it was only fair to forgive him 99 times, just like those 99 rejections before we got married. However, then came the second, third, fourth times… Five years in, and he had ditched me time and again for his true love, Wren. Even later, before he went to chase after his dream girl, he started giving me keys to a new house. From the first to the ninety-ninth time. Each time, I let it slide. However, now, it was the hundredth time.

And he was willing to humiliate me for a lie. Suddenly, the weight on my chest lifted. The struggle was gone. "You want an apology?" I asked. I walked over to the desk and picked up his half-full glass of champagne. Owen narrowed his eyes. "Finally, you’re showing some sense." "I’m sorry, Owen," I said softly. "I’m sorry it took me three years to realize that you aren't worth the breath in my lungs." With a quick motion, I twisted the gold band off my finger. The mating ring, the symbol of my prison, clinked as I dropped it into the champagne. It sank to the bottom, the bubbles fizzing around the diamonds.

When pushed to desperation, one could unleash limitless potential. I spotted a gun carelessly discarded on the floor behind them. I'd seen Mom use one before, and because I idolized her, I'd memorized many of her moves and techniques. I lunged and grabbed the gun from the ground. Amid the haze of memory, I managed to load it. Then, I shot twice without hesitation. The recoil numbed my shoulder to the point where I couldn't feel it anymore. After killing all four of them, I collapsed to the ground, utterly drained of all strength.

“Donate them to the family charity.” He looked at me for a while and then nodded, though uncertainty still showed on his face. “Alright,” he said. He paused. “About what happened earlier… I know you're not yourself. You've been through a lot. But Chiara is dying. We need to accept that and be kind to her. Can you do that for me? " I nodded slowly. “I understand.” Enzo relaxed a little. “I knew you would understand.” I did not answer. I pulled a divorce agreement from the drawer and handed it to him.

“You don’t understand—” “I understand perfectly.” I take a shaky step forward, staring straight into her eyes. “I’ve been giving you and Enid my blood since I was a kid. Every time you cried and told me it shouldn’t be me, I believed you. I thought you loved me. But you only ever loved what I could give.” She shakes her head, crying harder. “Now Enid’s fine,” I continue, my voice breaking. “She doesn’t need me anymore. Can’t you just let me go? Please?”

“Don’t do this. Don’t give up on us.” Us. The word hurt like a fresh bruise. How could he ask me not to give up when he had never even given us a chance? He kept calling my name outside, like if he said it enough times it would rewind the last four years and make him brave. I didn’t answer. I waited until his footsteps finally faded. Only then did I slide down the door and cover my mouth with my hand so no one would hear the sound I refused to make while he was here.

he pleads, his voice tinged with longing and regret. "No," I choke out, tears threatening to spill over. I shake my head, a mixture of pain and resolve coursing through me. "I already gave you a second chance. I'm sick of having to give everyone a second chance." A bitter edge creeps into my voice, fueled by years of disappointment and broken promises. "My father was given all the chances in the world to be in my life. I gave Jovan a second chance, and look where that got me." The weight of my words hangs heavy in the air, a testament to the walls I've built around my heart. "I shouldn't have to give everyone more than one chance to love me."