Never His First Choice

On the night I won the award, the spotlight was on me. The host announced my name—Heidi Stewart. The applause from the audience was warm, but I looked toward the entrance, empty and quiet. He said he'd come. This was my first solo design award. My phone vibrated in my skirt pocket—a message from Zane Quayle: "Heidi, something came up last minute... celebration dinner another day, promise." I forced a smile and finished the group photos. Backstage, I opened Instagram. The first post was from Zane—a video of him playing guitar. Quinn leaned against the piano, smiling. He sang softly, his eyes tenderly fixed on her. The caption read, "Always here to support my girl Quinn. Congrats on the big day!" It was posted three hours ago, right when I was walking on stage to accept my award. That night, I drove home alone. The streets were empty, with red lights at every corner. Every one of those sixty seconds waiting, I thought back to three years ago. That was the first time I won a small award. He'd skipped class and rushed into the venue, holding a red rose. He said, "From now on, I'll be there for every award you get." The key slid into the lock and turned. The house was pitch dark. I turned on the light, and my shadow stretched long. At one in the morning, I heard keys at the door. Zane pushed it open, carrying a gift box. "Heidi! I brought you a late-night snack—the seafood platter from that impossible-to-book, viral spot." He opened the box, revealing sashimi, sweet shrimp, and king crab legs. I looked at him quietly: "I'm allergic to seafood." He paused for a moment. "Ah... right, I was so caught up with work. I'll take you somewhere else tomorrow." He came over to hug me, but I stepped back. "Is today Quinn's coffee shop opening?" He tensed up for a moment. "Yeah, she begged me for a long time. It's her first time starting a business, so as her senior, I had to show some support. You know she doesn't really have anyone else around here." I said, "Today is also my awards ceremony. You said you'd come." He sighed, "Heidi, don't do this." "Awards ceremonies happen every year, but Quinn's opening only happens once." He suddenly asked, "Did you leave the group?" I froze for a moment, then remembered I'd left that chat group with all of us and Quinn too earlier the day. He said, "Quinn saw it and was pretty upset. She thinks maybe you're not satisfied with her; she's just a kid, sensitive like that." "You left the group chat, and now it's awkward for everyone." I looked at him, thinking about Zane, who stood up for me three years ago. "Zane." I spoke calmly, "We..." His phone rang with a special ringtone. He picked up right away, "Quinn? What's wrong?" "Don't cry, take your time. Flat tire? Send me your location—I'm on my way." He hung up and grabbed his coat. "Heidi, Quinn's car broke down halfway. It's dangerous, I've got to go get her. We'll talk about it tomorrow." Walking to the door, he looked back and said, "Add yourself to that group again, alright? Just do me this favor." The door shut behind him. I stood frozen, staring at the seafood and the trophy on the table, taking in the home we'd shared for two years. It felt like my chest suddenly emptied, and cold wind rushed inside.