Funny how time blurs even the most solemn promises, how new love erases the old. I was about to toss everything into the trash when Mark walked in. When he saw that I wasn't cooking, his expression was a bit unhappy. He mockingly laughed after looking down and seeing the wedding sketches in my hands.
"This is the tacky nonsense you came up with after a whole day?" he scoffed. "It's ugly and outdated—just like you. I wouldn't mind if I were stingy, but stop embarrassing me with your penny-pinching. Honestly, I should have Chloe handle the choices. Her taste is way better than yours."
He had forgotten our promises and discarded the memories. Without a word, I tossed the sketch—and, with it, every remaining piece of our past—into the trash.
Mark looked at me with a frown. "Still angry, huh?" He exhaled as if offering the final solution to my ungrateful mood. "Fine, I've already contacted an overseas specialist to treat your mom's stroke. Maybe she'll be well enough to join our wedding." Then, with a surprising touch of condescension, he reached out and patted my head the same way he petted Chloe. "Happy now?"
My stomach turned. His lie was as obvious as revolting and I had no energy to confront it. Instead, I turned away, letting the tears fall in silence.
When I didn't respond, he grew impatient. He shoved me, his tone rough. "Did you hear me? Don't look at me like that! You're lucky I'm even trying to be nice. What good are you if you're just bitter all the time? Nowhere is better than Chloe and you have a foul temper, you deserve to be unpopular wherever you go."
My injured foot hit the edge of the coffee table, reopening the cuts, but he didn't even glance back before slamming the door on his way out.
This was his favorite game, his go-to routine for control as tearing me down with insults, cutting me off financially, freezing me out until I cracked until I was crawling back to him, blaming myself and begging for forgiveness. I'd knelt, apologized and even slapped myself to make him stay in the past. But no more. This time, he'd only come back to an empty apartment.
I packed only what he hated—the things he called ugly, tacky. His couple's mugs, my "cheap" sweaters. Then, I used his credit card to book a room at a nearby hotel.
Later that night, after a shower and a moment of calm, I saw Chloe's new social media post: she was flaunting a huge diamond ring.