The Shadow of You

I was the most pathetic, shameless doormat in Julian Vance’s life. So pathetic that when he checked into a hotel with another girl in the middle of the night, I was the one who drove over to deliver condoms to his door. Everyone assumed I couldn't live without him—that I loved him so deeply I threw away all my self-respect. Years later, though, his eyes turned red, and his voice broke: "Nina, I wish I was the one who died. If it meant you'd remember me for the rest of your life, it would have been worth it." I just shook my head and gave a bitter smile. Even if you share ninety percent of his face, Julian... you will never be him. When Luke left, my entire world crumbled into darkness. Nothing made sense anymore. I couldn't wrap my head around it. How could the guy who swore he loved me more than his own life suddenly stop loving me? How could someone so gentle utter words so heartless and freezing cold? He told me he had never loved me. He told me he had been sick and tired of my bad temper for a long time. He said being with me was just a casual way to pass the time when he was bored. He told me he wished he had never met me... And after that, he vanished into thin air. I called him like a crazy person and sent hundreds of messages, only to get blocked across every single app. Every new number I bought to reach out was blocked immediately. He avoided me like the plague. When I finally reached him on yet another burn phone, he sighed with utter disgust: "Nina, you're seriously annoying the hell out of me..." I cried until I passed out. The first time I tried to end my life, my parents found me in time. They rushed me to the ER, begging me through tears to hold on. My mom and dad wept beside my bed, telling me that a heartless bastard wasn't worth throwing my life away for. I kept silent. If dying could bring Luke back, it would be worth everything. It didn't matter if he stopped loving me. I still loved him. The second time, I was completely determined. I swallowed sleeping pills, slit my wrists, and was dragged back to the ER to have my stomach pumped. I stared blankly at the sterile white ceiling. My parents were sobbing hysterically, saying that if I tried it again, they would just go right alongside me. Suddenly, the curtain beside my bed was yanked open with a violent snap. "She's not even dead, so what the hell are you crying for? Can't a guy get some damn sleep around here?" I turned my head. The moment my eyes landed on the man in the next bed, I froze. He looked impossibly like Luke. His brows, his gaze, his silhouette—they were an eighty or ninety percent match. Except for the sharp temper. My Luke was always the gentlest soul on earth. After that day, the thought of dying vanished from my mind. I naively believed God had sent Julian Vance to me as a consolation prize. Looking at him felt just like seeing Luke again. Yet from the very second he crossed my path, Julian's own nightmare began. My selfish sin would ultimately drag his entire life into ruin. The day I was discharged, I threw myself into pursuing Julian, pretending it was love at first sight and a helpless, overwhelming crush. I poured all the guilt, devotion, and longing I owed Luke straight onto Julian. I didn't care whether he accepted it or sneered in my face. At first, he told me I was like an annoying piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Over time, though, he grew addicted to how well I treated him. He started bragging to his buddies about how loyal and obedient his little doormat was. When he complained that restaurant takeout tasted awful, I woke up early every single morning to pack fresh, homemade lunches and drop them off at his office. When he casually whined that his gaming keyboard wasn't responsive enough and mentioned his buddy had a thousand-dollar setup, I scraped together my savings and bought him the exact one. When he craved warm soup, I dragged my feverish body out of bed at four in the morning to make it from scratch, waiting outside his apartment before sunrise. Whenever he went out drinking, one call was all it took for me to rush over, pick up the tab, and drive him home. One night, standing just outside the bar's private lounge, I overheard his friends teasing him. "Yo, Julian, don't tell me you actually fell for that desperate girl?" "Her face is mid, her body is mid. Literally the only good thing about her is how hard she simps for you." Through their drunk laughter, Julian's voice rang out especially sharp. "Are you kidding me? As if I'd ever fall for someone like her. But hey, she does whatever I say. She runs around serving me like a live-in maid. Why turn down free help?"The burst of laughter behind the door turned my stomach. I felt like a trained monkey in a circus, put on display for everyone's amusement. Still, I acted like I heard nothing. I stepped in, paid the bill with a blank face, and drove him home just like always. Looking at that face—a face eighty percent identical to Luke's—I simply couldn't find the strength to let him go. If I couldn't keep Luke by my side, keeping his mirror image felt like the next best thing. Soon after, Julian's family began aggressively pressuring him to settle down. Under my relentless pursuit, he quickly agreed to make us an official couple just to escape his parents' nagging. After all, I never controlled him. I simply treated him with unconditional care, catering to his every need. Yet I never initiated any physical intimacy, nor did I bat an eye when he flirted with other women on SnapChat. In fact, I helped him pick out gifts for other girls and brainstormed cute ways for him to win them over. One night, he even called me to bring a box of condoms to his hotel room, and I drove through the pouring rain to deliver them without a word. Everyone whispered that I had lost all dignity, that I was a doormat with zero pride left. Julian thought it was weird at times, but his ego was too massive; he just chalked it up to his irresistible charm. He smugly convinced himself that I was totally addicted to him. Our relationship was nothing more than an unspoken transaction: we each took what we needed. Whenever I stared at Julian in a daze, I was always looking right through him, searching for Luke. I wondered what Luke was doing right now. Did he ever, even for a split second, think of me? Maybe when he was done wandering, he would come home. It was my fault. I wasn't gentle enough, wasn't sweet enough, wasn't attentive enough. If he ever returned, I promised myself I would fix every flaw until I was exactly who he wanted. As long as he came back, I wouldn't hold a single grudge. I would forgive him for walking out on me. I would happily trample my own dignity into the dirt for him. Luke and I met during the winter when we were both eight years old. Even now, I can clearly recall the crisp, icy smell of that afternoon. The snow had blanketed everything. I ran downstairs to build a snowman like I always did. In a quiet corner of the neighborhood, a gang of local kids was picking on a frail little boy, shoving freezing snowballs down his coat collar and throwing them right into his face. His cheeks were bright red. He huddled against the brick wall, cowering, not daring to argue or fight back. He just took the abuse while the bullies cackled. I couldn't stand seeing someone picked on. I lunged forward, packed a snowball, and slammed it straight into the ringleader's head. I had a fierce temper back then and could easily fight off three boys at once. The neighborhood kids always called me a tomboy behind my back. "Look out! The tomboy's here to protect the wimp!" they shouted, laughing nervously as they scattered. I hurled several more hard snowballs at their backs until I finally ran out of breath. "Are you stupid? They beat you up and you don't even hit back?" I snapped, rolling my eyes at the boy. He looked up. Meeting those wide, terrified, tear-filled eyes, my voice instantly softened. "What's your name? I'm Nina. Don't be scared anymore. From now on, I've got your back. I'll protect you." "...I'm Luke." From that day on, Luke became my shadow. Even though he was a couple of months older than me, he always trailed behind, calling me "Nina" with pure admiration. He told me that being around me made him feel safe, like having a fierce older sister. He said no one had ever treated him that kindly before.Only after we got closer did I realize the truth. His timid, fragile nature came entirely from the home he grew up in. Luke wasn't biological to Mr. and Mrs. Miller; they had adopted him from an orphanage. Years into their marriage, they hadn't been able to conceive, so they filed for adoption. The heartbreaking part was that they never adopted him out of love. Mrs. Miller had visited a psychic who claimed the couple was destined to be childless, but suggested that adopting a child with a "blessed sibling chart" might trigger good fortune and bring a biological baby into the family. That was the only reason they brought Luke home. Unfortunately, after taking him in, Mrs. Miller still never got pregnant. They turned all their bitter resentment and frustration straight onto Luke. They blamed him for failing to bring them a child, cursing him as a useless mouth to feed. Screaming at him and hitting him became a daily routine. More than once, gossiping with neighbors on the porch, Mrs. Miller would complain loudly: "It's all that useless boy's fault! If I'd picked a different kid at the shelter, I'd have a house full of my own babies by now!" Every time I heard that, I wanted to charge over and tear into them. Luke always grabbed my arm, holding me back. "Don't you hate them?" I asked, my heart breaking for him. "No," Luke whispered with a faint, sorrowful smile. "They gave me a home." During middle school, when kids go through growth spurts, Luke was perpetually starving. He never dared to eat his fill at dinner because he was terrified Mrs. Miller would yell at him. So, I started nagging my mom to cook extra food and pack oversized portions for my school lunch. At lunchtime, I would pretend I couldn't finish it, shoving half my food onto his tray claiming I didn't want to waste it. I guarded his fragile pride with everything I had, terrified that an awkward word might embarrass him. I thought I was being so sneaky until one week when Luke called in sick for two days. I told my mom I didn't have much of an appetite and asked her to pack less food. "Did Luke take the day off?" my mom asked casually from the stove. My jaw dropped. It turned out my parents had known about my little cover-up the entire time. "Poor kid," my mom sighed quietly, her eyes softening. When we were little, I once invited Luke over for dinner. When he went home, Mrs. Miller beat him black and blue with a broomstick. "Do we starve you here? Do we not clothe you? Begging for scraps like a stray dog—you're completely humiliating this family!" His desperate sobs echoed down the hallway that night. I sat curled on my bedroom floor, crying silently into my knees. Later in high school, Luke spent every winter break and summer vacation working part-time jobs. He kept a tiny fraction for bare living expenses and handed every remaining dollar to the Millers. Only then did their icy expressions thaw slightly. "If we hadn't paid to raise you, you'd still be rotting in an orphanage. Handing over your paycheck is the bare minimum you owe us." On my birthday, Luke used his summer earnings to buy me a high-end thermos. He scolded me gently, telling me I drank too much iced coffee and needed warm water when I felt sick. I teased him for being a total dork, but the second I got home, I carefully locked that thermos in my bedside drawer, treating it like the most precious treasure on earth. After we graduated college, Luke finally confessed to me. He used two full months' salary to plan an elaborate, breathtaking proposal. He told me he had grown up, and from now on, it was his turn to protect me. He sang our favorite song, holding a giant bouquet of bright sunflowers, taking steady, nervous steps toward me. He looked like a prince walking straight out of a fairytale. He said I was just like a sunflower—warm, radiant, and full of life. He called me his personal sun. But what he never realized was that he had always been my sun, too. In that moment, I truly believed I was the happiest woman alive. And he truly kept his word, spoiling me beyond belief. Being with him meant I never had to worry about a single detail. He was my rock, my safe harbor. Whenever we went out for seafood, I never once had to peel my own shrimp. He saved every penny to buy me cute dresses and sweet surprises, carefully curating tiny sparks of romance. He wouldn't spend a dime on decent clothes for himself, but he dropped an entire paycheck without flinching to buy us front-row concert tickets. When I sprained my ankle, he stayed at the clinic for two straight weeks, barely getting a full night's sleep while he watched over me. He would squeeze my hand, his eyes brimming with tender guilt. "Nina, I'm sorry you have to deal with this. I swear I'm going to work harder so I can give you the life you deserve." He always felt he was falling short, unaware that those quiet days were the happiest times of my life. My parents adored him, and the Millers treated me warmly. I was convinced we would walk hand in hand forever. I took Luke's endless devotion completely for granted, saving my worst, most selfish moods for the person closest to me. I believed with absolute certainty that he was a gift sent from heaven. I was arrogant enough to think he would never, ever walk away. Until the day he broke up with me.