Novelas y relatos de You'll Regret Losing Her

Her stomach twisted. She had to regain control. She launched into her presentation, her voice a marvel of detached professionalism. She laid out her concept, “The Sky is the Limit,” complete with flawless graphics and financial projections. It was a brilliant performance, a testament to the woman she had become. A woman who could stand in a room with the man who had shattered her and still command the space.

I’ve seen how she keeps her distance, lowers her gaze and steps out of Zarah’s path like she’s trying not to be seen. “Don’t tell me you regret letting her go, Aiden.” I don’t answer. I just stand there, staring past her. “It’s good she’s gone,” she continues. “That girl is a curse. And the fact that you’ve been bedding her all this time—” She lets out a short, disgusted breath. “—it’s a shame on you.” Something inside me snaps tight. “You will never understand losing someone,” I grit out, the words rough against my teeth. “And it’s something you will never understand—”

"And what mattered, Ethan? What were you supposed to fight for?" "You," I said simply. "I should have fought for you." She stared at me for a long moment. I could see emotions warring behind her eyes, anger, hurt, something that might have been grief. "You're five years too late," she said finally. "I know." "I don't forgive you." "I don't expect you to." "And whatever you're hoping for, reconciliation, closure, absolution, you're not going to get it from me." "I know that too." I did. But I'd need to try anyway. "I just wanted you to know that not a day has gone by that I haven't regretted losing you."

"I'm busy. Get some rest. I'll come see you after work." Lea didn't respond. I figured she was deeply disappointed with my decision. I let out a rough sigh. Even so, I wanted to disappoint Anna even less. My phone vibrated again. A message from Lea. "You're a bastard, Dylan. Two months from now, if you're still dragging this out, you'll regret it." Regret what? Not marrying her? I ran my fingers through my hair, pushing it back, then leaned against the window behind me. Wasn't that all I'd wanted all this time?

“People are just funny like that. They don’t know how to cherish what they have, and only regret it after they lose it. “But regret doesn’t change anything. He’s already gone abroad. The apartment has been sold too. From now on, there’s nothing left between you two!”

Asked questions. Demanded answers. Kyle simply accepted her silence. As though her comfort mattered more than his curiosity. And somehow… That hurt even more. Because kindness was harder to defend against. The music shifted. Another slow melody. Neither moved away. Neither seemed eager for the dance to end. “Have you ever loved someone so much,” Irina whispered suddenly, “that losing them felt like losing part of yourself?” The question escaped before she could stop it. Immediately she regretted it. Kyle’s eyes never left hers.

Something had stood here, long since reclaimed. She felt it before she understood it: grief, very old, not aimed at anything still living. It was the weight of loss felt so many times by so many people it had stopped being personal and become geographical. The accumulated emotional residue of everything that had ended there: people leaving, people dying, fires going out. None of it was hers. All of it was, suddenly, in her. "Stop," she said.

He said he wanted to keep the photos in his wallet so that he could show off his beautiful wife to everyone. I was smiling brightly in the photo. But Alexander's eyes were red as he turned to look at my parents. He gave them a sad, apologetic smile and said, "I've transferred the marital home to you. Nothing I do will ever make up for what Izzy had endured, and I'm sorry for taking your precious daughter away from you. "I have nothing to give you to atone for my mistakes. I can only hope that I'll get to see Izzy again in the afterlife."

Did she hate me as much as I hated myself? I stood and walked to the window, staring out at the packlands. I had everything I thought I wanted—status, power, a mate that made me look strong. But without Aurora, it all felt empty. If I ever found her, would she even look at me? Could I ever make her forgive me? Or was I doomed to live with this regret, this unrelenting ache, for the rest of my life? “Moon Goddess,” I whispered, my voice breaking, “if you’re listening…please, just let her be safe.

Never again or I’ll lose more and more. I already lost more than I could ever lose. I don’t want to have any more regrets. If I have to be ruthless, I would. I’ll keep on moving forward. Slowly but surely, leaving a part of me and my past behind.