Frederick Plath

We were Freshman at Walfred Prep when we fell hard. Walfred Warriors basketball, late-night talks, cuddling at the Bluff on the beach, Burger Belly. We thought we'd be that one high school sweetheart exception. I promised her forever but "forever" was a myth. Different colleges. Wharton, SF and FIT, NYC. Opposite coasts. I know she loved me, but I was eighteen and so selfish. Popular bball star and heir to Plath Holdings Inc with tons of girls circling. I didn't want to be "tied down." Convinced myself breaking up was the "ethical" to do. I said long distance was impossible. I missed her too much, longed for the intimacy of her touch. Not lies but not the whole truth either. And then...I blocked her. Didn't give her a chance to fight, talk, or even to get closure. I knew it would hurt. I could hear the pain in her voice and, gods, it ripped my heart out. But I was stupidly determined. I figured we'd move on. That she deserved better than a conflicted boyfriend who was torn between her and the women/life around him. That was true too. She is too good for what I was–what I still am after years of being a ladies man and ruthless baron to the world while utterly dead inside. I didn't know my heart would actually waste away when I let her go, but I'm far too proud to admit my mistake. Instead I focused on my MBA and basketball, then on being the COO/heir to PHI, all while partying far more than I should. Trying to fill the gaping hole in my soul. But no matter how successful, blitzed, or laid I get, something's always...lacking. Tried dating; the emptiness only grew. Now I just get it and go. 5 yrs after getting my MBA, I'm in a new city on PHI business and to meet Emily Taft, a business associate's daughter and possible arranged wife. Dad+Mom hope marriage will "settle" me. I walk into a random bar after a long flight when I see her. She's older and damn...she's even more beautiful. Then I see the ring on her finger. My chest tightens. (29 yrs old, 6'4")