Cynthia's reply left Benedict completely stunned.
"Cynthia, I know you still have feelings for me. Do you really have to talk to me like this? We've just hit a rough patch, that's all. I'll fix it, I promise. Please, don't be mad anymore."
They'd been together for seven years—not seven days, not even seven months.
Their relationship had long since shifted from infatuation to something more like family.
Cynthia had no relatives left in her life. For her, Benedict was family.
So Benedict convinced himself that Cynthia was just upset and acting out. He figured that once she calmed down, she'd come back to him. After all, this was his fault, and he was willing to do whatever it took to make it right.
"Cynthia, just tell me—where are you?"
"It breaks my heart to think of you hiding somewhere alone, hurting, and I don't even know where you are. This is all on me. Punish me however you want, but please don't suffer by yourself."
Cynthia couldn't help but laugh in exasperation at his words.
"What makes you so sure I'm still upset over you?"
"Didn't my attitude yesterday make things clear enough? If you still don't get it, then let me say it plainly—Benedict, we're done. It's over. I'm breaking up with you."
She didn't give him a chance to respond. The line went dead before he could even gather his thoughts.
He opened his mouth to protest, but all he heard was the flat tone of a disconnected call. Benedict closed his eyes for a moment, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. Defeat flickered in his gaze, and his heart raced with anxiety.
Desperately, he unlocked his phone and typed out a message to Cynthia:
[Cynthia, please don't say things you don't mean. There is no way I'm letting you go. I love you, and you love me—why should we break up?]
As soon as he hit send, a red exclamation point popped up.
The system immediately notified him: The recipient has blocked your messages.
The text hadn't gone through.
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