She wasn’t the one. It’s that simple.
His second breakup already, and there were still almost four months before the end of the year. The time span of his relationships was shrinking – as was his patience. The problem was always the same. He hadn’t been enough in love to commit.
Now notorious for transitory relationships, he was a condition to be avoided – except by the spoiled, expectant debutantes who were raised to be corporate wives. In spite of that, he refused to accept that he was destined to live the rest of his life without passion; without desire.
If he allowed that future to play out, he would get the few children that he wanted, but they would exist merely to strengthen the nails holding him bound to the trophy wife’s trophy wall. She would eventually expect him to fulfill his craving for intimacy elsewhere.
That wasn’t the life his parents had led – they were fortunate. Both had been little more than half his current age when they had met; neither knowing much about the other until after love bloomed. But he was already approaching forty and well established in running his share of the family business.
A powerful son of an even more powerful family, he had – simply by the circumstance of birth – that which so many worked their whole lives for. Some achieved the life he was born into, most did not. But many had something that, for him, did not yet exist.
The one with whom he would gladly commit to an exchange of hearts. Certainly, it wasn’t too much to ask. Certainly, she must exist.
Screeching sea gulls interrupted his reverie. He looked up, his gray eyes following them as they slowly traversed the coast, looking for left-behind scraps to scavenge. They may find nothing, but they were always hopeful.
The wind gentle slapped against the sails; the waves lazily buffeted past the sloop. Finding the one could be as difficult as searching the ocean beneath it for a single, special drop of water.
Whoever and wherever she is, I shall find her. I shall not concede.