He paused, caught off guard, before sneering, "Oh, learned how to play games with me, huh?" His tone grew darker, laced with venom. "Think about it—who's been keeping you afloat all this time? When you leave me, who else would want you after five years of being used?"
His words cut like a knife, but they didn't sting like they used to. The heartbreak, the fear, the nights spent apologizing—those feelings had numbed. Mom's passing had snapped me out of the fog, forcing me to see Mark for who he truly was.
"We've been together for eight years," I reminded him quietly.
Eight years of my youth were wasted on empty promises. If, in the past, I had been sad, I would have been afraid and I would have cried and apologized. But now, my heart is like a piece of dehydrated, frozen meat, numb to the knife.
'How could a man who hadn't been willing to give me a name for eight years truly want to marry me?'
I hung up, hailed a cab and went home to pack. Halfway through packing, I realized I didn't have much to gather. Mark had to go out to socialize; his suit and shirt hung all over the closet, while my side held only a few old pieces.
While I was lost in thought, Mark stormed in and pushed the door open.
"What are you doing standing around like that?" he demanded. "This place is a mess! Are you just only going to stand there?"
I was holding a sweater my mom had knit me years ago. A few silent tears began to fall. Mark extended his hand to shove me, but he paused when he saw the tears on my face. "Come on, there's no need for all that just because I gave you a little feedback. Is it necessary to cry like this?"
"Chloe's injury happened on the job," he went on, matter-of-factly, "and as her boss, it's my duty to show a little concern."
His voice softened only slightly. "You're going to be the boss's wife soon. Surely, you can't let yourself get jealous over a newbie like her."
And with that, he walked past me, acting like everything was perfectly normal.
Work? The image of that torn stocking in the photo flashed in my mind. So that was where they were "working" together—right on the bed. I could only imagine how wild it must've gotten if it landed them both in the hospital.
I pulled away in disgust when Mark tried to touch my shoulder. He frowned and threw a secondary bank card at my face.