Chapter 2

Mark came home late the next night, looking tired from a long day at work. He dropped his briefcase by the door and loosened his tie, the familiar rhythm of our evenings.

He expected to find me in the kitchen, a warm meal waiting on the table, a smile on my face. That was our routine. That was the Ava he knew.

Tonight, the kitchen was dark. The table was empty.

I was sitting on the couch in the living room, a packed suitcase at my feet.

He stopped, his eyes falling on the suitcase. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.

"What's this? Are you going somewhere?"

I didn't answer. I just looked at him.

He sighed, the sound sharp with irritation. "Ava, I said I was sorry about the funeral. I'm exhausted. Can we please not do this right now?"

"Do what, Mark? Expect my boyfriend to show up for me? Expect him not to try and give away my dead father's house?"

"I told you, Chloe is in a tough spot!" he shot back, his voice rising. "She's fragile. She's been through a lot. You're supposed to be understanding. Why are you suddenly being so selfish?"

Selfish. The word hung in the air between us. For three years, I had built my life around his needs, his career, his happiness. I managed our home, supported his ambitions, and soothed his anxieties. I had been anything but selfish.

"She tried to kill herself, Ava," he said, his voice dropping, trying to sound reasonable. "What was I supposed to do, leave her alone?"

The excuse was always the same. Chloe was always on the verge of a breakdown, a crisis only Mark could solve. My pain, my grief, my needs-they were always secondary.

"You're making this about you," he continued, his tone turning accusatory. "You're trying to make me feel guilty for helping someone who is genuinely suffering. That's not the woman I fell in love with."

He threatened me with the loss of his love, as if it were a weapon. As if the woman he fell in love with was a doormat, a person with no needs of her own.

I finally realized it. In his mind, I wasn't a partner. I was a service provider. The moment I stopped providing that service, I became a problem. I became selfish and ugly.

I heard his phone buzz. He glanced at it, his face softening instantly. It was a text from Chloe. I didn't need to see the screen to know.

I stood up, my movements calm and deliberate. "I'm not that woman anymore, Mark."

He was still looking at his phone, a small smile on his lips as he typed a reply. He was in his own world, a world where I was just background noise.

He looked up, finally seeming to register my words. "What are you talking about?"

He walked over to the closet and pulled out a small, velvet box. He opened it. Inside was a diamond necklace.

"Here," he said, holding it out. "I got you something. To make up for everything. Now can we just go back to normal?"

He thought he could buy my forgiveness. He thought a piece of jewelry could erase the fact that he left me alone to bury my father. That he tried to give away my inheritance.

I looked at the necklace, then back at his face. There was no love there. Just a transaction.

"No," I said, my voice clear and steady. "We can't."

His face hardened. The smile was gone, replaced by a cold fury. He saw my rejection not as a statement of my pain, but as an act of defiance.

"Fine," he spat, snapping the box shut. "Be that way. If you want to throw a tantrum, do it on your own time."

He grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door and slammed it shut behind him.

I knew where he was going. He was going to Chloe. The thought didn't even hurt anymore. It was just a fact.