- 5.
I flipped the plane ticket over to show him,
the name of a city two thousand miles away
staring him in the face.
Mark scowled. “Why are you suddenly going
so far? And not even telling me? What if
something happens?”
I shrugged, all nonchalant. “No biggie. Just a
normal work transfer.”
Mark grabbed my wrist, not buying it for a
second. “So sudden? We just wrapped a
project together. You’re just gonna ditch it?”
I gently pried his fingers off, creating some
く
“The project’s in the home stretch. My partner
can handle the rest. I’ve got other stuff lined
up.”
But that small step back seemed to hit Mark
hard.
He looked at me, all lost and confused, his
outstretched hand trembling slightly, not quite
daring to reach for me again.
Like a puppy that had just been abandoned,
wanting to come closer, but too afraid to
move.
Mark rushed out, then came back with a
massive bouquet of roses.
Nine hundred and ninety–nine of them.
L
The kind of over–the–top gesture I’d never
gotten from Mark, not during our dating
years, not during our marriage.
Mark shoved the flowers in my face. “I made
wedding plans, babe. Just this weekend!”
“Claire, don’t go. You’ve always wanted this.
wedding, right? I promise, I’ll be there with
you, all weekend.”
I stared at the mountain of flowers,
remembering when we’d first gotten married,
and all I’d asked for was one single rose.
Back then, Mark had refused.
Later, I found out in his journal that he
thought roses were only for the ones you truly
<
Now, faced with this giant display, the
excitement I should have felt was replaced by
a calm nothingness.
I guess I really was done.
I took the flowers from Mark, and right in
front of him, chucked them in the trash can
outside the old house.
Mark’s expression shifted from hopeful to
stunned, and I thought I’d feel some kind of
thrill.
Like I’d finally gotten my revenge and was
enjoying it.
But I didn’t.
Nothing Mark did mattered to me anymore.
L
“Claire…” Mark breathed my name, but the
next words seemed to choke in his throat.
Like anything he said would be rejected.
Like he couldn’t get the answer he wanted.
“I don’t need your flowers, Mark. I’m leaving.
Goodbye.”
It was the first time in five years I’d really said
his name, and I hoped it would be the last.
I dragged my suitcase out, the heavy weight
carrying everything I owned in this old house.
Mark looked back into the empty rooms, all
the life sucked out of them.
Leaving nothing but a showroom.
Г
Mark finally seized on the one thing that
didn’t make sense, grabbing my suitcase and
asking:
“You’re not coming back, right?”
I wrestled my suitcase back, cutting ties for
good.
“We’re divorced, Mark. Why would I come
back?”
