Chapter 500 The Dress
My brother jabbed my forehead with his finger, clearly pissed off. "I just don't get it. Why are you into that unreliable Ryan? And Grace, didn't she ditch him because he wasn't successful enough when she went abroad? Now that Ryan's doing well, she's back and trying to get back with him, even though she knows he's with you. She clings to him every day."
My brother was so mad he could barely breathe, and he looked like he wanted to punch Ryan.
But I felt numb, having seen and experienced too much over the years. It had been five years, and even though Ryan was technically my boyfriend, he often acted like I didn't exist.
Indifference had become his norm. He treated me like a pet—showing affection only when he felt like it. When he was bored, he'd cuddle and pay attention to me, but as soon as something else caught his interest, I was left forgotten, often going days without a word from him.
Because I liked him first, I always thought it was my job to give more.
So, every time he acted this way, I'd make excuses for him and tell myself to change something about me, thinking that if I became better, he'd like me more.
But the truth was, whether he liked or disliked me didn't come from my changes; it depended on where his heart was.
My brother asked, "What did he do this time that made you want to break up? Did you catch them having sex behind your back?"
He never liked Ryan's cold demeanor, and he couldn't stand how I always put Ryan first, trusting and being good to him without any principles.
I picked up my phone and sent my brother a few pictures.
My brother looked through the photos one by one, finally stopping at a picture of a shirt.
I had given Ryan the light blue shirt with subtle patterns. It was mature and steady without being old-fashioned, and he looked great in it.
One day, I found it in the dirty laundry basket, ready to wash it, but noticed red lipstick stains on the collar, shoulders, and chest.
I usually wear light makeup and only a slightly tinted lip balm, and I hadn't been close to him for almost a month.
All the evidence pointed to the fact that the lipstick marks weren't from me.
Thinking back, I realized it had been Grace's silent provocation.
Another picture showed a pink skirt hanging on the clothesline on Ryan's bedroom balcony, fluttering in the wind.
Ryan's family was well-off, and he lived a comfortable life, insisting on hand-washing his clothes.
After we started dating, I hand-washed all his clothes.
When I was in pain during my period and asked him to wash a white shirt for me, he impatiently said that the washing machine did a better job and that he didn't know how to hand-wash clothes.
I told him I was really in pain and just needed him to wash that one shirt. However, he got angry, slammed the door, and left, not returning for the rest of the day. Half an hour after he left, a delivery arrived with a white shirt for me.Later, Ryan hand-washed a skirt for Grace and hung it right next to his bed, not caring if I saw it or felt hurt.
I humbled myself for love, but he didn't cherish me and trampled on my dignity.
Looking back now, the pain was still so vivid. I could hardly believe that someone I had loved so much could care so little about me.
Seeing that skirt made me realize that Ryan wasn't cold to everyone, nor was he incapable of washing clothes. He was just cold to me because he didn't value me. I wasn't important enough for him to hand-wash my clothes.
That skirt was what Grace wore when our families met.
Ryan and I had been together for years, and he was at the age to get married, so we arranged for our families to meet and discuss the wedding.
I was so happy that day. I got up early, dressed up carefully, tried on over ten dresses, and changed my hairstyle several times.
Then I went to the mall, shopping from the first floor to the seventh, picking out the perfect gifts and ordering a beautiful fruit cake.
I did everything I could.
I wanted to be at my best that day because it marked a new chapter in my relationship with Ryan.
We would no longer be just boyfriend and girlfriend but an engaged couple.
But as I stood at the hotel entrance, waiting for Ryan, I saw him get out of the car, walk around to the passenger side, and gently help Grace out.
It was drizzling, and to keep Grace from getting wet, Ryan took off his jacket and held it over her, supporting her.
Grace wore a pink dress, her hair in a ponytail, leaning into Ryan's arm.
I was stunned, feeling like I had fallen into an ice pit, my heart freezing.
With Grace's presence, the planned wedding discussion turned into a simple family gathering.
Finnley and Delphine chatted with my parents, repeatedly telling Ryan to take care of Grace because they had watched her grow up, and she was like family to them.
My parents, being tolerant, were visibly displeased.
And I, like a fool, forced a smile and played the host, while inside, I felt as if a gaping hole had been carved out of me—cold and painful, almost numb.
Ryan took care of Grace the whole time, serving her food and soup.
My dad, being a man, couldn't say much, but my mom couldn't stand it and asked, "Ryan, do you remember what today is? Since you arrived, you've been taking care of Ms. Powell without even looking at my daughter. Are you here to discuss the wedding or to show off your affection for Ms. Powell?"
Ryan, peeling shrimp for Grace, fumbled and dropped the shrimp head on her dress.
No one expected that to happen.
Grace looked at me with teary eyes, her lips quivering, and tears streaming down her face. She clung to Ryan's arm and said, "I shouldn't have come. I'm causing trouble, aren't I? I'm sorry. I'll leave now."
She picked up her purse and stood up to leave. Ryan glared at me, didn't say a word to my parents, grabbed his jacket, and took Grace's hand. He said, "Grace's dress is dirty. I'll take her to buy a new one."
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