He Never Loved Me, Until I Left

"Claire, are you really sure?" Mr. Davis pushed up his glasses, his tone tinged with surprise. "The company values you highly; they even hinted at a promotion next quarter at the last senior management meeting."

I sighed, expressing my genuine regret.

But I still sincerely told him that my husband's work focus had completely shifted to Chicago, and I didn't want a long-term separation, as it wouldn't be good for our child's development. "You know how important a stable, loving family environment is for a child's mental and physical health."

Mr. Davis nodded, a hint of sympathy flashing in his eyes. "Indeed. Well then, I wish you all the best in Chicago."

Walking out of the HR department, I subconsciously glanced in the direction of the marketing department.

Behind the glass door of the break room, Richard was pouring coffee. His dark gray custom-made suit perfectly outlined his tall figure, the silver cufflinks gleaming coldly under the light. He was still as perfect as a work of art.

Although legally, this work of art was my closest partner.

Yet, he was also the person who hated me the most in the world.

I was just about to go in and ask him if he was free this afternoon to attend our son Leo's school play performance. I didn't expect him to be involved the whole time, but Leo had rehearsed for this performance for a whole month, eagerly anticipating his appearance every day.

The moment our eyes met, his gaze instantly turned cold, and he frowned slightly, seemingly extremely displeased by my presence in his work area.

He picked up his coffee and was about to turn away when, almost simultaneously, his young assistant, Chloe, walked in smiling, her fingers casually hooking the hem of his suit jacket: "Richard, there are a few parts of this proposal I don't quite understand..."

"Hmm, come to my office in a bit." His voice immediately softened, and he even leaned down slightly to listen to her.

That patience and gentleness left me feeling choked with emotion.

I stopped, watching their retreating figures. My phone suddenly vibrated; it was a voice message from Leo.

"Mom, is Dad coming today? I'm playing Peter Pan today, and I really want him to see me fly!"

My vision blurred for a second. Through the glass of the corridor, Richard was gently tidying Chloe's hair, which had been ruffled by the air conditioning. Although I had already guessed the outcome, I still sent a text message:

"There's a play at school this afternoon, and Leo is the lead. Can you come and watch?"

There was no reply for a long time.

I closed my eyes. I should have known. He doesn't love me, so how could he possibly have any feelings for our child?

But soon, everyone will be relieved.

In the school auditorium, Leo, wearing a beautiful cape, stood on tiptoe, peering through the velvet curtain at the audience.

"Mom, is Dad here?"

I knelt down to adjust his tie, trying to make my voice sound relaxed and natural: "Dad had an emergency board meeting, but he asked Mom to record the whole thing. He'll definitely watch it tonight."

The light in Leo's eyes dimmed, but only for a moment. The next second, he smiled brightly: "It's okay! Mom is enough here!"

My six-year-old son had already learned to read people's expressions, even knowing how to comfort me by pretending to be happy.

I hugged him tightly. I'm sorry, it's my fault.

The performance was a great success, and Leo shone brightly on stage. Afterwards, he received a "Best Little Actor of the Year" award from his drama teacher—a portable neck massage pillow. He excitedly hugged the box and rushed into my arms: "Mom! This is perfect for Dad! He always complains about his neck hurting when he looks at reports on the computer!"

My heart clenched. No wonder he was so happy to receive such a seemingly harmless prize; his mind was filled with thoughts of his father.

Back home, I prepared a celebratory pizza and cupcakes for Leo. Leo didn't even take off his costume, still wearing his paper crown, and sat drawing on the coffee table. His little hands gripped the massage pillow tightly, occasionally glancing up at the front door.

Seven o'clock in the evening. Nine o'clock.

Still no sign of Richard, and my text message remained unanswered.

"Mom..." Leo's voice was soft, "Is Dad going to miss my celebration again?"

He was clearly on the verge of tears, but he was desperately trying to hold back.

I ruffled his blond hair. "Good boy, Daddy's just been too busy."

"It's okay!" Leo suddenly laughed, his eyes reddening. "Mom's here with me! Let's eat cake together!"

Just as I lit the wish candle on his cupcake, my phone screen lit up—it was an Instagram notification. Chloe had updated her status.