Chapter 3

Smooth. Final.

Once that was done, I collapsed onto the bed.

I had chased Brad for three years.

I fell for him in college and pursued him relentlessly for two whole years before he finally agreed to date me.

After we got together, I told myself I had to cherish him, that I had to work hard to make this relationship last.

He complained my cooking was bland, so I signed up for culinary classes for three months.

He said I didn't look flattering in dresses, so I packed away every single skirt and dress in my closet.

I thought if I gave him enough, he would finally see my worth.

Instead, all he ever saw were my flaws.

I had been terrified to walk away because I felt I had invested too much time. Giving up felt like wasting those years.

The sunk cost was too high. It paralyzed me.

Yet today, standing on that abandoned roadside watching his car disappear, clarity finally hit me.

If I didn't let go now, the price I’d pay would be the rest of my life.

Cooking one more meal wouldn't make him love me.

Swallowing one more insult wouldn't make him value me.

In his eyes, my devotion was a given, my tolerance an obligation.

Exhaustion pulled me under like a heavy tide. I didn't even turn off the lamp before drifting into sleep.

It was the most peaceful rest I’d had in six months.

The next morning, sunlight slipped through the gap in the blackout curtains.

I checked my phone: 10:00 AM.

I checked out and called a cab to our shared apartment.

On the ride over, I made my decision: pack my belongings and move out today.

This relationship was dead. There was no point in dragging out the funeral.

When I stepped into the foyer, I saw a pair of white sneakers by the door.

Women’s sneakers, size six.

My shoe size is an eight.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar.

I walked over and pushed it open.

There were two people in bed.

Brad and Natalie.

Her head rested on his shoulder, both tucked beneath the same duvet.

Brad woke up first. Seeing me standing in the doorway, his face flickered through surprise, guilt, and finally settled into anger.

"Why are you back?"

His very first words were not an explanation, but an interrogation.

Natalie stirred awake, gasped, and pulled the sheets up to her shoulders.

"Chloe, let me explain..."

"Don't bother," Brad cut in, sitting up and scowling.

"Chloe, you stormed off yesterday, and now you come back acting like you have an attitude?"

"How do you even have the nerve to show up?"

He was actually trying to play the victim.

I looked at him, feeling as if I were looking at a complete stranger.

"Brad, you brought her into our apartment?"

"Natalie got drunk last night and had nowhere to crash, so I let her—"

"Sleep in your bed? With you?"

He choked on his words.

Natalie piped up meekly, "Chloe, it’s really not what you think. I was just exhausted and dozed off by accident."

Classic cliché nonsense. I was sick to death of it.

"Brad, we're through."