Goodbye to the Man I Sewed For - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

I'd lost count of how many times I'd heard that excuse over the years. Back then, I told myself Ethan was just dedicated to his work—that's why I kept forgiving his neglect, again and again.
He never noticed I'd stopped drinking milk years ago. Or that I hadn't eaten breakfast alone in ages.
"I see. Don't push yourself too hard," I said.
Ethan took my hand and pressed a kiss to my fingers, his voice softening as he asked if I wanted to visit the set. Since I'd already made up my mind to leave, I figured one last bye wouldn't hurt. I agreed and climbed into the car.
By the time we arrived, it was noon. A scene had just wrapped, and the moment Linda spotted Ethan, she rushed over.
"Ethan! You're so late—I missed you!"
He stepped forward, falling into place beside her like it was second nature. "Had some things to handle this morning. You still not focused on filming?"
The crew's stares burned into me as I lingered behind them. They looked like the picture-perfect couple—radiant, effortless.
When Ethan finally turned and noticed my silence, he offered a half-hearted explanation. "Don't read into it. Linda just gets carried away sometimes."
I turned and walked off, my silence answer enough. Satisfied I wasn't making a scene, Ethan disappeared into the makeup room.
Not long after, Linda cornered me. The sweet, innocent act dropped like a mask. "Ethan doesn't love you. What do you even do besides stitch clothes? You've seen the fans—everyone knows we're the perfect match."
I didn't bother arguing, but before I could walk away, she grabbed me—hard. Her grip sent me crashing into a light stand. Metal rods clattered down, one slashing across my calf. Pain shot through me like fire.
Ethan was there in an instant—scooping up Linda, who was completely unharmed. His glare could've turned me to ash.
"I thought you were done with this drama. How long are you going to keep pulling stunts like this? Linda and I are just friends. Who are you trying to prove something to?"
With that, he stormed off, Linda in his arms. The crew's whispers prickled against my skin. I glanced down at the bleeding gash on my leg and laughed—bitter, hollow.
Funny. Back when I used to sew his costumes, I'd nick my fingers or bruise my hands constantly. Every time, Ethan would carry me to the couch, gently dab medicine on my wounds, and whisper that seeing me hurt made his chest ache.
The memory flickered and died. Gripping the railing, I forced myself up.
I took a cab to the hospital, trailing Ethan's car the whole way.
By the time I arrived, they were already trending. The photo showed Ethan tenderly tipping a water bottle to Linda's lips, her face glowing—not a scratch on her.
Four stitches later, I sat on the icy hospital bench, my calf throbbing. Rain lashed the windows. I hadn't brought an umbrella. For a foolish second, I thought maybe Ethan would drive me home.
Then I saw them through the door. Linda draped over his shoulder, pouting. "This jacket's hideous. Can you fold it into a pillow for me?"
Without missing a beat, Ethan shrugged it off, tucking it beneath her feet. "If it weren't for today—to keep Mia happy—I wouldn't have worn it again."
My stomach dropped. That jacket had cost me sleepless nights. He'd once called it the most precious gift he'd ever received. Now it was a footrest for Linda.
Suddenly, her words made sense.
I ran into the rain, hailed a cab, and went home to pack.
Three days. That's all I had left. I listed everything I didn't need online. By the time I finished, only one suitcase remained.
Linda's tweet popped up—a photo of Ethan's back.
"Ethan took care of me all day. Fans, don't worry about me."
I deleted fifty tweets from my account.