I Stopped Chasing Him After Ten Years And Never Looked Back Chapter 08

I Stopped Chasing Him After Ten Years And Never Looked Back – Chapter 8

The third month, the beginnings of Tisha Leto Design Studio took shape slowly.

Not an official studio, just my home office.

But my clients grew from one bakery to three brands.

One that made handmade soap, one that made original jewelry, and one local independent bookstore.

My income went from three thousand dollars to twelve thousand.

Not much, but enough.

Alison helped me register a design account. I had fewer than five hundred followers.

But every comment was sincere praise.

[Your style is so comfortable.] [The color matching is so high-end.] [Can you make a tutorial?]

I looked at those comments, and something very strange rose in my chest.

It wasn’t the feeling of being needed; it was the feeling of being seen.

These two feelings were similar, but not the same.

Being needed meant “You’re useful to me.”

Being seen meant “You have value on your own.”

Jared needed me, but he had never seen me.

That was the difference.

Something happened that night.

I finished drawing, washed my hands, and was about to leave the study to heat up some milk for Cora.

I opened the door, and Jared was standing there. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing.

He was holding a glass of water, like he wanted to bring it in but didn’t dare knock.

“Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I asked.

“Waiting for you.” Three words.

He actually said “Waiting for you.”

I walked past him and went to the kitchen. He followed.

This would’ve been absolutely impossible before.

Before, Jared always retreated whenever I chased after him.

Now he followed.

The kitchen light was warm yellow. He leaned against the fridge and watched me heat up the milk.

“Tisha.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been ignoring me lately.”

“I’m not. I reply when you talk.”

“But you weren’t like this before.”

“Before was before.”

He was quiet for a long time.

“Do you not love me anymore?”

The milk gurgled and bubbled in the pot.

These words I’d waited ten years to hear.

Not waiting for him to say “I don’t love you anymore,” but waiting for him to be afraid that I didn’t love him anymore.

In ten years, I’d asked him a million times.

“Do you love me?” “Do you care?” “Can you just reply to one message?”

His answer was always “Can you stop being dramatic?”

Now he stood in the kitchen, his eyes red, asking if I loved him.

I turned off the stove and poured the milk into Cora’s cup.

Then I turned around and looked at him.

“I’ve been asking you this for ten years.” I looked him in the eyes, my voice calm.

“Now you know what it feels like to get no reply.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

I picked up the milk and walked away.

When I reached the living room, I heard a dull thud from the kitchen that sounded like a fist hitting the countertop.

I didn’t look back.