Chapter 165 Fred’s Quiet Witness
Fred sat on the leather couch in his living room, the soft light from the television flickering across his face.
He had left the TV on for background noise while sorting through some paperwork, but when the news anchor’s voice mentioned Anabelle’s name, his hands froze mid-motion.
“Tonight, we feature Anabelle Brooks,” the host said cheerfully. “Founder of Belle Interiors, one of the fastest-growing interior design companies in the city.”
Fred slowly set his papers aside. His eyes fixed on the screen as Anabelle appeared — poised, elegant, and radiant.
She stood on a small stage, smiling graciously as she accepted an award. The golden trophy shimmered under the bright lights, but it was her calm confidence that caught his attention most.
“She has done it,” he murmured softly.
On the screen, the reporter moved closer with a microphone. “Miss Brooks, congratulations on your award. How does it feel to be recognized among the top designers in the country?”
Anabelle smiled warmly. “It feels incredible. I’ve worked hard for this, but I couldn’t have done it without my amazing team. This award belongs to all of us.”
Her voice was calm, professional — yet it still carried the same gentle tone he remembered from that quiet night in her office months ago, when they had shared coffee and laughter.
Fred leaned back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Still humble,” he said under his breath.
The interview continued. The host asked about her upcoming projects, and Anabelle spoke with passion, her eyes bright with purpose.
Behind her stood a large banner with the words National Design Excellence Award Ceremony. The audience clapped, the cameras flashed, and for a brief moment, Fred felt an ache deep in his chest.
He turned down the volume and sat quietly. The sound of rain tapped softly against his window, filling the silence.
“Guess you don’t need my coffee breaks anymore, huh?” he whispered to himself, a sad but fond smile forming.
He thought back to that night in her office — the way she had laughed when he teased her about overworking, the quiet strength in her eyes, the calm she carried even after all her storms. He had loved her then, though he had never said it out loud.
Fred got up and walked to his small bookshelf. There, among old novels and travel guides, was a framed photo of the two of them from one of her early design events.
They had been standing close, smiling — not as lovers, but as two people who understood each other without needing many words.
He picked up the frame and ran his thumb over the glass. “You did it, Ana,” he said softly. “You really did.”
His phone buzzed on the table. It was his sister, calling as she usually did on weekends.
“Hey, big brother,” she said cheerfully. “Did you see the news? That designer woman you always talk about — Anabelle Brooks? She’s everywhere!”
Fred chuckled faintly. “Yeah, I saw.”
“She’s amazing,” his sister continued. “I read that she’s opening offices overseas soon. You must be proud, huh?”
“Very proud,” he said quietly.
His sister hesitated, sensing something in his tone. “You still think about her, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer immediately. “Sometimes,” he finally admitted. “Not like before. It’s just… seeing her like that — she’s become everything she dreamed of.”
“She deserves it,” his sister said softly.
“She does,” Fred agreed. “She’s worked harder than anyone I know.”
After they hung up, Fred turned off the TV but didn’t move from the couch. He sat there in the dim light, thinking of the woman who had once sat across from him, sketching ideas while sipping lukewarm coffee.
He remembered her laugh, her stubbornness, her determination to rebuild herself from nothing.
The next morning, on his way to work, he stopped by a small café. As he waited for his order, his eyes caught a magazine on the counter.
On the cover was Anabelle again — smiling beside a luxurious living room she had designed. The headline read: “Anabelle Brooks: The Woman Redefining Modern Elegance.”
He picked it up, flipping through the pages. The article was filled with photos of her projects — hotels, penthouses, galleries.
There was even a picture of her with a group of international designers, standing confidently among them.
“She looks so happy,” he murmured.
The barista called his name, handing him his coffee. He smiled politely, paid, and tucked the magazine under his arm before leaving.
At his small office, his colleague Mark noticed the magazine. “Isn’t that the designer you used to help with her first projects?”
Fred nodded. “That’s her.”
Mark grinned. “She’s a big deal now. Maybe she’ll hire you one day.”
Fred laughed softly. “Maybe.”
But deep down, he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to work for her. He only wanted her to be happy — even if it was from afar.
At lunchtime, Fred went to the park nearby. He sat on a bench beneath a tree, sipping his coffee and flipping through the magazine again. The wind rustled the pages gently.
He stopped at a picture of her standing in front of one of her completed projects — a modern art gallery with glass walls and soft lighting. She was wearing a white suit, her posture straight and confident, her eyes bright with pride.
“You look at peace now,” he said quietly. “That’s all I ever wanted for you.”
He closed the magazine and leaned back, watching people pass by — some laughing, some rushing, some lost in thought. Life kept moving, just as it always did.
When he returned home that evening, the rain had started again. He turned on the television once more, half hoping to see her face again. Instead, there was a repeat of the interview from earlier. He didn’t change the channel.
As Anabelle’s voice filled the room again, Fred smiled faintly. He could almost imagine her sitting across from him, still the same woman who found strength in her silence.
He lifted his coffee mug in a small toast toward the screen. “To you, Ana. To everything you’ve built.”
For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to walk into one of her designed spaces — to see her working again, focused and graceful. He wondered if she would still remember him, if she would still laugh the same way.
But then he shook his head. Some things weren’t meant to be revisited. Some people were meant to admire from afar, quietly, without disturbing their peace.
As the program ended and the credits rolled, Fred turned off the TV and sat in the gentle silence of his apartment.
His heart was heavy, but it was also full — full of pride, respect, and a quiet love that asked for nothing in return.
“Keep shining, Anabelle,” he whispered into the stillness.