Goodbye to the Man I Sewed For - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
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After all this time, I finally stepped back onto familiar ground—but nothing felt the same.
Somehow, Ethan had gotten wind of my return. There he was, slumped against my doorstep like a stray dog, hair greasy and face unshaven.
I strode over and nudged him with my foot. "Move. You're blocking the door."
He dropped to his knees, clutching my leg like a drowning man. Begging. Swearing he'd dumped Linda. That I was the only one he ever loved.
The scar on my calf had healed, but the skin still prickled when touched. His grip made it burn.
Disgust twisted in my gut. I jerked free. "Not happening."
Later, the director invited me to dinner. When I opened the door, Ethan was still there, so I called security. They dragged him off so roughly he lost a shoe. I held his gaze as the elevator doors slid shut between us.
In the private room, I was measuring the director's shoulders when Ethan burst in, shoving past staff.
His eyes locked onto my hands on the director. "You've been together this whole time, haven't you?" His voice cracked. "Was this all some sick game?"
He stepped closer, raw desperation in his stare. "What does he have that I don't, Mia? I've apologized—what else do you want from me?"
I waved security over, apologized to the director, and slipped out the back.
Nathan had lined up meetings with agencies. My brand was gaining traction.
Linda's company, still clinging to her, reached out about a collaboration—clueless it was my brand. If she knew, she'd probably combust on the spot.
I wasn't self-destructive, but I wanted to see her face when the shoe dropped. That crushing feeling? She deserved to taste it.
I arrived fifteen minutes late.
Linda looked hollowed out, shadows under her eyes. I stepped in, heels clicking, and slowly removed my sunglasses.
"Long time no see."
She recoiled like she'd seen a ghost, then lunged—only for Ethan to appear out of nowhere and slap her across the face.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" he snarled. "You could've hurt Mia!"
I watched, amused, as chaos erupted. Linda clawed at him, screaming, "I hope you both rot in hell!"
Then—fast as a snake—she yanked a hairpin and slashed at Ethan's throat.
He dodged, but the pin gouged his cheek. Blood welled. Security wrestled Linda down while Ethan pressed a hand to the wound, face twisted in pain. I pulled out my phone.
"Nathan? Come get me. I'm exhausted."
By evening, footage of their brawl was everywhere. Fans who'd once shipped them now called them trash.
Linda got arrested. Ethan needed stitches—his pretty face forever scarred.
Later, the director told me Linda had been diagnosed with a mental disorder. She'd spend the rest of her days in a psychiatric ward, forgotten.
When the suit was finished, I thanked the director. He clasped my shoulder. "Make your brand shine."
On my last day, Ethan waited downstairs, his face a patchwork of jagged scars. "Don't go," he pleaded. "I've changed."
I stayed silent. Then he pulled something from his pocket—wine-red fabric, clumsily stitched back together.
My breath caught.
He'd salvaged the first suit I ever made him. Thread by thread.
Somehow, Ethan had gotten wind of my return. There he was, slumped against my doorstep like a stray dog, hair greasy and face unshaven.
I strode over and nudged him with my foot. "Move. You're blocking the door."
He dropped to his knees, clutching my leg like a drowning man. Begging. Swearing he'd dumped Linda. That I was the only one he ever loved.
The scar on my calf had healed, but the skin still prickled when touched. His grip made it burn.
Disgust twisted in my gut. I jerked free. "Not happening."
Later, the director invited me to dinner. When I opened the door, Ethan was still there, so I called security. They dragged him off so roughly he lost a shoe. I held his gaze as the elevator doors slid shut between us.
In the private room, I was measuring the director's shoulders when Ethan burst in, shoving past staff.
His eyes locked onto my hands on the director. "You've been together this whole time, haven't you?" His voice cracked. "Was this all some sick game?"
He stepped closer, raw desperation in his stare. "What does he have that I don't, Mia? I've apologized—what else do you want from me?"
I waved security over, apologized to the director, and slipped out the back.
Nathan had lined up meetings with agencies. My brand was gaining traction.
Linda's company, still clinging to her, reached out about a collaboration—clueless it was my brand. If she knew, she'd probably combust on the spot.
I wasn't self-destructive, but I wanted to see her face when the shoe dropped. That crushing feeling? She deserved to taste it.
I arrived fifteen minutes late.
Linda looked hollowed out, shadows under her eyes. I stepped in, heels clicking, and slowly removed my sunglasses.
"Long time no see."
She recoiled like she'd seen a ghost, then lunged—only for Ethan to appear out of nowhere and slap her across the face.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" he snarled. "You could've hurt Mia!"
I watched, amused, as chaos erupted. Linda clawed at him, screaming, "I hope you both rot in hell!"
Then—fast as a snake—she yanked a hairpin and slashed at Ethan's throat.
He dodged, but the pin gouged his cheek. Blood welled. Security wrestled Linda down while Ethan pressed a hand to the wound, face twisted in pain. I pulled out my phone.
"Nathan? Come get me. I'm exhausted."
By evening, footage of their brawl was everywhere. Fans who'd once shipped them now called them trash.
Linda got arrested. Ethan needed stitches—his pretty face forever scarred.
Later, the director told me Linda had been diagnosed with a mental disorder. She'd spend the rest of her days in a psychiatric ward, forgotten.
When the suit was finished, I thanked the director. He clasped my shoulder. "Make your brand shine."
On my last day, Ethan waited downstairs, his face a patchwork of jagged scars. "Don't go," he pleaded. "I've changed."
I stayed silent. Then he pulled something from his pocket—wine-red fabric, clumsily stitched back together.
My breath caught.
He'd salvaged the first suit I ever made him. Thread by thread.
End of Goodbye to the Man I Sewed For Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to Goodbye to the Man I Sewed For book page.