The Wait Never Ends

For four years of marriage, Cillian Newberry's catchphrase had always been "wait." Traveling could wait until he wrapped up his work. Celebrating our wedding anniversary could wait until his meeting was over. Visiting my parents back in my hometown could wait until he had the time. Today was my birthday. I made sure to ask him two weeks in advance if he would be home for dinner. After he promised me he would be there, I spent the entire afternoon preparing his favorite dishes and waited for him to come home. However, I waited from six o'clock until nine, but he never showed. Then, an entertainment news broadcast caught my attention. [The CEO of Newberry Corporation was spotted picking up his childhood sweetheart after work! Could this be a case of old flames rekindling their romance?] I subconsciously looked up upon hearing the reporting. The broadcast showed a man holding an umbrella while tightly embracing a woman dressed in light clothing. It was only a few steps from the building entrance to his car, yet he tilted the umbrella toward the woman the entire way, letting the rain soak his own shoulder. Then, I received a text from him. [Something came up. I'll be back in a bit.] I thought I was used to waiting. I thought I was content with waiting quietly at the table for him to come home, as I always had. When I looked at him in his rain-soaked suit on the television, I realized I was done waiting. Chapter 1 Margaret's POV I lit the candles by myself and made a birthday wish. “I wish I’d be happy this year.” In the past four years of my marriage with Cillian Newberry, it was the first wish I made that had nothing to do with him. My wishes used to be the same every year. I wished that I would spend forever with Cillian. Now, all I wanted was to be happy. After blowing out the candles, I cut a piece of cake for myself. It was a blueberry-flavored cake, which was his favorite. Even on my birthday, I curated everything to fit his taste. When I bit into the cake, I winced from how sour it tasted. It was impossible to force myself to enjoy something I did not like. The same principle applied to both things and people. No amount of effort could change one’s preference. I used an online application to buy a ticket for the last train tonight, bound for my hometown. Ever since we got married, I had not had the chance to return to my hometown even once. Whenever I brought up the idea of heading back for a visit, Cillian would tell me he was busy, and promised that he would take me when he had time. I waited endlessly, but the occasion never came. Today, I realized there was no use waiting for him anymore. I took the train home alone. While I prepared to carry my suitcase downstairs, the news was playing on the television. A reporter who noticed the windows of Cillian’s car were rolled down had boldly approached the car to interview him. “Mr. Newberry, do you think your wife is going to be upset if she finds out you were driving in the middle of a storm to pick up your childhood sweetheart?” “No, I’m just here to send an old friend back home.” Cillian, who was usually uninterested in responding to such questions, had chosen to answer today. There was an impeccable sort of warmth in his voice when he spoke. “Besides, my wife wouldn’t be angry with me. She’s always so gentle. Even as we speak, she’s waiting to have dinner with me at home.” By the time he reached this tone, I had walked to the doorway. I smiled to myself, then shut the door. Little did Cillian know, I was never waiting for him again. Chapter 2 When Cillian called me, I had already boarded the train. The ringtone snapped me out of my slumber. “Hello?” My voice was still a little hoarse. After a brief silence, I heard Cillian’s familiar voice. “Aren’t you home?” The fog in my mind suddenly lifted. I glanced at the screen. It was two hours past midnight. It took that long for him to take Beau Vox home. I felt a strange sense of relief at the thought that I did not stick around waiting for him like a fool. “No, I’m not home. I’m on a train heading back home.” “A train? Which home are you talking about?” Halfway through his sentence, he seemed to have realized that the home I was referring to was my hometown down south, where I was born and raised. Home was not our cold, frigid villa. “Why the sudden trip? Didn’t we talk about this last time?” Cillian’s deep voice was laced with confusion. The “last time” he was referring to was a month ago when my mother called to ask if I could head home with Cillian to celebrate my birthday with them this year. She asked because she and my father had not gotten the chance to celebrate my birthday in a long time. Fearing that she was putting me in a difficult position by making the request, she mindfully added that she understood if Cillian was busy with work and could not find time. She further clarified that she was only asking. Still, the sadness in her voice was unmistakable. I had to hold back tears when I asked Cillian if he would make time to head home with me. In response, he rubbed his temples and said with a weary look in his eyes, “Margaret, you should know how swamped I have been with work lately. How about I take you back to visit your parents after this period has passed?” I did not insist when I saw the dark circles under his eyes. Shortly after that, I stumbled into a post Beau made online. [Thanks to a certain someone for taking time out of their busy schedule to take me hiking! I was in a bad mood, but now I feel revived!] It was the caption to a picture of her standing on the mountaintop with a radiant smile on her face. In the lower right corner of the picture, I caught a glimpse of a wrist. Having spent four years together, I recognized that it was Cillian's hand instantly. That was how I realized how much he was willing to take time out of his work if Beau needed him. He gladly took two days off work to take her hiking. Meanwhile, I had to wait for him endlessly. I stared outside the window, where I could make out faint shapes of the peaks of mountains in the darkness. When I spoke, my voice was faint, “I’m homesick.” I longed for the home where I could always find two figures waiting at the door for me regardless of what time I returned. After a prolonged moment of silence, Cillian spoke again, this time, with a hint of lament in his voice, “Are you upset because I came home late today? “I was held up by a friend for longer than I expected. I thought you would understand.” After another pause, he added, “I got you a birthday present. I didn't forget it was your birthday. Don’t…” “Cillian Newberry.” I cut him short and called him by his full name for the first time. I did not bother to state that I knew who this so-called “friend” was. All I did was announce calmly, “Let’s get divorced.” Chapter 3 I hung up on Cillian without giving him time to respond. As soon as I expressed my desire for a divorce, I felt a weight lift from my chest, a relief that had been a long time coming. Then, I switched off my phone and tried to get some rest. I ended up tossing and turning without being able to fall asleep. I figured it was because the sound of the train track was too loud. That was when I heard a voice coming from the bed above me. “Hi, sorry for disturbing you.” When I looked up, I met the curious eyes of a girl who looked only about eighteen or nineteen years old. “I heard you mentioning something about getting a divorce.” She suddenly waved her hand apologetically as if she was afraid of causing a misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your call! I just happened to be awake because I couldn’t sleep.” The panic in her eyes seemed honest enough. There was even a trace of concern within them. “I’m a university student majoring in mass communication, and I happen to be doing a research project about marriage. Do you mind if I conduct a brief interview with you?” She reached for her student ID from her bag and handed it to me. Her name, Anna McBride, was written on the card. Since she was looking at me expectantly, I agreed to it. Since we were the only two people in the compartment, she climbed down from her bed and sat across from me. When she looked at the ring I wore, she suddenly exclaimed, “I recognize that ring! An anonymous buyer won the bid for it at a grand auction four years ago. That was your husband?! “He must love you if he spent such a fortune on a ring for you. Why are you getting divorced from him?” When I met her puzzled gaze, I took off the ring and stated faintly, “Because this ring wasn’t originally meant for me.” Cillian and I belonged to two drastically different worlds. Back in university, he was well known as the son of the prestigious Newberry family. He had excellent grades in school and had good looks to boot. Everyone held him on a pedestal. It was no surprise that a lot of girls fawned over him. Meanwhile, I was from a rural town who worked my way into a university in the capital. My encounter with him was nothing beyond a coincidence. I was on my way to class with a stack of books clutched over my chest when a stray basketball flew toward me out of nowhere. When it struck me, my books scattered everywhere like feathers. I crouched down and clutched my shoulder in pain. The person who was responsible for the incident did not apologize. Rather, he yelled at me, reasoning that I was in the way and that I should apologize to him. His constant insults rang in my ears. I wanted to protest, but the excruciating pain left me without strength to speak at all. That was when a shadow suddenly fell over me. A glacial voice followed after. “Does that mean you owe me an apology if I hit you?” I looked up just in time to see Cillian slamming the basketball right against the man’s feet. Flecks of sunlight filtered through the treetops, showering him in a halo of light. I knew he was only helping me out of the goodness of his heart, that he could not stand the sight of a bully. There was no more to his motive other than that. Still, I could not help but start to foster feelings for him since then. Like many of his secret admirers, I began to keep an eye on news revolving around Cillian. I watched as he graduated, then studied abroad. When he came home, he inherited the family business and got engaged to his childhood sweetheart who studied abroad with him. On the day of his wedding, I brought a gift with me, as a way of putting an end to my puppy love. When I met him, he was seated on the couch in the dressing room, his figure shrouded in shadow. There was an air of depression about him, which was nothing like what one would expect from someone about to get married. Before I could even speak, Cillian looked up at me with an exhausted look in his eyes, and asked, “Margaret Hayes, will you marry me?” Chapter 4 I was in disbelief. I was surprised that Cillian even remembered me at all. After all, our only interaction since he helped me that one time had been the occasional nod whenever we bumped into each other. When he went abroad, we never saw each other again. I expected him to have forgotten about me. My heart was beating restlessly. I was confused by what was happening. All I knew was that becoming his wife was a pipe dream that I never imagined would come true. “I will.” Later, the makeup artist who was doing my makeup told me about how Cillian's fiancée had fled the wedding. The only thing she left behind was a note explaining how she did not want to get married so soon and that she wanted to pursue her dreams overseas. Suddenly, everything made sense. The esteemed Newberrys could not suffer the humiliation of having a runaway bride. Therefore, my convenient appearance helped to fill in Beau’s absence. Despite that, I chose to play my part and walk down the aisle. When we exchanged rings, the ring ended up being a size too large for my finger. Cillian paused for a moment, then promised me, “I’m sorry to have to put you through this. I'll buy you a new one after the wedding.” I whispered to him that it was alright. With that, I put on a ring that was not meant for me, and married someone who did not love me. I waited for four years after that. I received many pieces of jewelry befitting the title of Mrs. Newberry. I wore expensive gowns to banquets with Cillian and carried expensive bags… However, the ring was never adjusted for my finger. “What?! You had a crush on him for so many years, and were there for him when he was dumped by his fiancée!” Anna's voice was seething with rage after hearing my story. “He’s unbelievable! He said that he’d get you a new ring, but ended up forgetting about it! So much for you saving him!” I looked at the ring which shone brilliantly, even in the dim light. I was no longer interested in finding out whether he truly forgot or if he was simply unwilling to get rid of the ring meant for Beau. I pulled my gaze away from the ring, and put it in my pocket. For the past four years, I had to be constantly vigilant of the ring slipping off since it was a size too big. I no longer had to worry about that. Anna, who was still young and naïve, continued to hold her fantasies about an idealistic love. “Still, your story sounds like something out of a novel.” She reflected with wonder in her eyes. “This is a classic trope in romantic stories! The female protagonist is disheartened after the original lover returns, only for the male protagonist to realize who he truly loved all along. Maybe your husband does love you, but he just doesn’t know it yet?” I chuckled at her innocent remark. In the first year of our marriage, Cillian and I treated each other with respect. Life was uneventful. Back then, like Anna, I believed our love would grow over time. I believed that one day, Cillian would fall in love with me. That was, until Beau returned in the second year of our marriage. Chapter 5 It was an ordinary day, just like any other, when we found out about Beau’s return. Cillian and I had plans for dinner that evening. Since I had time during the afternoon, I decided to head to his office earlier and wait for him to finish work. Even after eight o’clock, well past our agreed-upon dinnertime, his office door remained tightly shut. After speaking to his secretary, I was told an important client came to meet him the same afternoon. Since Cillian was the head of the corporation, it was normal for someone to visit in person to discuss work with him. I did not think much of it and decided to keep waiting for him in the lounge. I did not notice the hesitant look in his secretary’s eyes. By nine, the door finally opened. When I saw the “client,” my heart dropped. It was Beau. She was back. Cillian glanced at his watch before assuming his usual apologetic look. “Sorry to have kept you waiting so long.” He stood sideways to introduce her to me. “This is Beau Vox, she’s my…” he paused briefly before continuing, “Friend.” Beau gently brushed her hair before extending a hand toward me. “Hello, you must be Margaret. Cillian has been talking about you. “I’m so sorry for taking so long. I haven't seen Cillian for two years, and we just lost track of time catching up!” When I looked at the way she stood next to him and was greeting me with such confidence, something occurred to me. For the first time, I realized how grueling the word “wait” could be. We had been married for over a year by that point. I would often visit Cillian’s office to wait for him, but I had to go to the lounge every time. I had never been inside his office. Unlike Beau, who had the privilege of meeting him in his office. Cillian once told me that he drew sharp boundaries between personal life and work. The office was strictly a domain for his work. That was when I realized that there were always exceptions made. The only difference was that the exception did not apply to me. Meanwhile, Beau glanced out the window and suggested with a smile, “It’s getting late. Let me treat you and Margaret to something at our favorite restaurant we used to go to!” “Sure.” Cillian answered without a thought before suddenly recalling something, then explained sheepishly to me, “It’s been two years since she’s been back. Let’s go to the restaurant she picked. We can go to the place we reserved another time.” Cillian had always been busy with work. I often got stood up by him. Whenever he showed up, it was not surprising for him to be late. He was so busy that I had gotten used to his requests for me to “wait” and the constant assurances of “next time.” That day, those familiar phrases hurt me more than usual. I tried to explain that the restaurant we reserved was about to shut down for good because the owner wanted to move back to his hometown. In fact, it was their final day of operation. There was no next time. When I watched the two of them walking side by side toward the elevator, I held my tongue. I figured Cillian would not hold on to any feelings for her, seeing as she left him to go overseas on the day of their wedding. He only obliged out of their past friendship. Surely, that was it. After that meal, it suddenly dawned on me that perhaps he had never forgotten Beau. Chapter 6 In the first year of our marriage, I did share the occasional tender moment with Cillian. We would exchange a knowing smile whenever we ordered the same dish at the same time. I felt warmth whenever he draped his suit jacket over my shoulders when we attended banquets, or when he kissed me on the forehead on some mornings… They may appear insignificant, but to me, they signified that Cillian was starting to develop feelings for me. That was, until we arrived at the restaurant. Cillian did not even need to ask Beau what she wanted to eat. He effortlessly listed a series of dishes to the waiter. Finally, he wrapped up his order with an important note, “Extra spicy, please.” Throughout the entire process, Beau sat opposite him with her chin propped against her hand while staring at him intently. After the waiter left, a smile played on her lips. “I’m surprised you remember what I like to eat.” Cillian was in the middle of cleaning his hands with a hand towel before he paused. Then, he explained without so much as a change in his demeanor, “I’ve brought Margaret here in the past too. I remembered them because they were their signature dishes and they tasted wonderful.” It was a lie. He did bring me here once. We ordered the exact same dishes. I remembered how his gastroenteritis flared up that night because he could not stomach spicy food. “I see,” Beau drawled out her voice with an inscrutable look in her eyes, “I remember you couldn’t stomach spicy food. You used to just watch while I ate! I’m surprised your appetite changed in just a little over a year.” No. At that moment, I realized Cillian had not changed at all. His preference in food and in people had never changed. That meal tasted like wax in my mouth. The entire time, they chatted enthusiastically about the time they spent together while studying overseas. I was relegated to a spectator in my own marriage. I watched blankly as they reminisced about the passion and reckless abandon of their youth. After dinner, the driver came to take me and Cillian home. Cillian offered to take Beau back to her place. Beau refused and insisted she would get a taxi herself. Cillian did not insist. After I got into the car with him, he did not signal for the driver to depart. Instead, he waited in the car and silently watched while Beau waited by the roadside. It was only when a taxi pulled up in front of her that Cillian signaled for the driver to take us home. He shut his eyes, and leaned back in his seat to take a nap. Suddenly, the quiet of the night was broken with a sharp, shrill scream. Beau, who had just opened the car door, was dragged into an alley by a couple of drunken men. Cillian's expression transformed in an instant. He shot out of the car. I had never seen him so angry. Even after his bodyguards joined him and helped subdue the group of drunken men, he would not stop. He pinned down the leader among them and punched him repeatedly until his face was bruised and swollen. Even then, he did not stop. When I noticed some passersby recording with their phones, I stepped in to pull Cillian away, worried that the footage might end up online. I barely touched his arm before he abruptly flung me away without even glancing at me. I was thrown to the floor. When I gritted my teeth and tried to get up, I felt a sharp pain shoot through my body. I looked down to see a dark red stain on the floor. That was how I lost my child before I even knew I had a child at all. Chapter 7 When I stepped out of the operating room, Cillian stayed by my bedside. His tie, which was usually fixed properly, was off-center. There were still stark blood stains on his white shirt. The pair of eyes that were usually calm and still now contained a look of pain that could not be wiped off. Cillian closed his eyes for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was raspy, “I’m sorry, Margaret. I didn't know it was you.” I looked away. That was the first time I ignored him. I did not speak for the entire week that followed. Did I resent him? Probably. If it were not for him, I would not have lost my child. However, I resented myself even more. If I had realized I was pregnant, I would not have gone to him. Cillian must have felt guilty too because he made a point of spending time with me at the hospital nearly every day despite his usual complaints about how busy he was. However, I remained silent. One night, I dreamt of a girl with pigtails running up to me and throwing her arms around my leg. “Mommy, don’t be sad. I’ll be back.” I woke up to a pillow wet with tears. When Cillian came to the hospital the next day, I broke my silence for the first time. “I want to go home.” Ever since then, we made a silent agreement not to talk about the child we lost. I did not ask about him and Beau either, pretending as if everything was back to normal. The only notable difference was that the frequency of Cillian talking about how busy he was had gone down. I rarely heard him tell me “next time” either. However, on the occasions when he did tell me he was busy or used his usual “next time,” I would find glimpses of him on Beau’s page. What kept me going was the love I had carried for him since my youth, and the future I had once dreamed we would have together. It all ended today. Cillian had missed yet another appointment, and with it, whatever love I had left for him finally died. Perhaps that was also why we never had another child. Somewhere deep down, my child must have known they did not want to have a father who was never there. That was why I chose to leave. After hearing my story, Anna’s eyes were rimmed with red. “I…” Her voice was caught in her throat. Though she wanted to comfort me, she did not know where to start. “Don’t worry, I’ll compile this interview with everything I’ve got! I’ll make your scumbag husband regret what he did to you!” I smiled and hugged her when I saw the determined look on her face. “Sure, I’ll be waiting for it.” For my part, I did not care whether Cillian regretted what he did or not. “Our next stop is Roddemhill. Passengers who are…” I hardly realized it was day already. It was my stop. After exchanging contact information with Anna, I picked up my suitcase and stepped off the train. The first thing I did after leaving the station was take a taxi to the nearest law firm. After the lawyer drafted the divorce papers, I picked up a pen and carefully signed the documents. The next thing I did was to pack the ring that was not meant for me along with the divorce papers in a parcel before I had the firm mail it to Newberry Corporation. The recipient, needless to say, was Cillian. After everything was done, I took a bus home. It was only a thirty-minute bus ride back home, but for me, it took four whole years. When I stood in front of my mother with my suitcase in hand, she covered her mouth in disbelief. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears. After rubbing her eyes to make sure she was not dreaming, she immediately embraced me while sobbing, “You silly girl, you should’ve told me you were coming back!” It sounded like she was complaining, but the joy in her voice was unmistakable. Then, she looked behind me before asking softly, “Where’s Cillian? He didn’t come with you?” I lowered my eyes and gave a soft hum. My mother did not pester me with questions. She took the suitcase from me and excitedly led me into the house. “Let me call your father and have him come back! He’s playing chess at the park right now. I’m sure he’d be so happy to see you. We’re going to have a feast tonight! “No, I need to tell him to swing by the market to buy some pork ribs and fish, your favorite dish…” My mother went on and on and on. This was the most peaceful I had felt in four years. The boat that had been adrift had finally returned to its harbor. After rambling a little longer, my mother comically smacked her forehead before nudging me toward my bedroom. “Oh no, I was so excited that I forgot that you must be tired from the journey home. Go on and take a nap. I’ll wake you up when dinner is ready.” Even after she closed the door, I could hear the sound of her humming a tune. I lay on the bed that reminded me of another life. It smelled like the sun, and there was hardly a trace of dust. Finally, I switched on my phone. Cillian happened to call around the same time. I answered. “Are you home?” “Yes.” “What did you mean when you said you wanted a divorce last night? I wanted to call you back, but it wouldn’t go through.” Maybe it was just my imagination, but I could sense a hint of lament in his voice. I shook my head to dismiss the very idea of it. I figured Cillian would make sense of it eventually when he received the divorce papers. “I had something shipped to you. You’ll understand once you see it.” With that, I hung up and blocked his number. ... Third-Person POV For Cillian, it was only the second time his wife had ever hung up on him. When he tried to call again, he realized it would not go through. He had been blocked. He was confused. What was the reason Margaret was causing such a scene? Was it because he came home late? She had never been so upset about that in the past. He wearily rubbed his temples. Cillian barely slept a wink last night. Then again, he reasoned everything was fine since Margaret mentioned she was shipping something to him. Perhaps this meant she had calmed down. After a couple more days, once he had finished his work, he would find time to head down to Roddemhill to collect her. With that in mind, he went back to work. The next day, his secretary, Dorsey Friedman, went to him with a parcel. “Sir, this is from Roddemhill.” Cillian was signing documents and did not even bother to look up when he ordered, “Open it. Take a look at what's inside.” He spoke with a hint of joy. After a rustling sound, Dorsey froze. Held in suspense, Cillian looked up with a frown. “Why aren't you saying anything?” Dorsey clenched his jaw. His hands were shaking as he reached for the divorce papers and handed them to Cillian. “Mr. Newberry, they’re… Divorce papers.”