I looked at him, finally asking the questions that
had haunted me. “My birthday last year, you
said you were on a business trip. Were you with
Sarah?”
“Yes… it was Christmas. She said she was
lonely…”
“When I had my appendectomy, you asked me
to leave the hospital early to translate a paper
for a friend. Was that Sarah?”
He didn’t answer. “Mark, if you lie to me now,
we’re really done.”
He looked at me, defeated. “Yes… she said her
professor was giving her a hard time, and your
English is so good, so….
<
There were more questions, but I didn’t bother.
“Why didn’t you come to the hospital, not even
once, when I lost the baby?”
He looked up, his expression a mixture of
confusion and guilt. “Sarah said you wouldn’t
want to see me. And she was scared of the
storm, so…”
It all made sense. He’d never been the man I
thought he was. He’d run away when things got
tough, hiding behind Sarah’s skirts. Mark was at
coward. Good for fun times, not for hard times.
Accepting that I’d been wrong about him was
I
strangely liberating. I smiled. “Don’t be late
tomorrow.”
The day our divorce was finalized was bright
and sunny. The crape myrtles were in full
bloom. A fitting celebration. Mark stared at me,
wanting to say something. I turned away. Sarah appeared, clinging to his arm. “Enjoy your
alimony, housewife. Better make it last!” She
<
10:04
414
was wearing a dress from my new line. I didn’t
even bother responding. She’d never be
anything but a parasite.
Back in Seattle, Ashley hugged me tight. I threw
myself into work. Two years later, I won a
prestigious design award. Then, I heard about
Mark again. “Did you hear? Mark’s trying to
break up with Sarah. After the miscarriage,
she… well, she stabbed him. Damaged
something important. His family pressed
charges. Turns out, she’s got some serious
mental health issues. She’s in a psychiatric
hospital. Mark’s in a coma.” I didn’t reply,
focusing on my work.
Six months later, Mark’s mother messaged me,
begging me to visit him. She hadn’t shown up.
when I’d miscarried. Or when I’d divorced him.
Now she wanted my pity. I didn’t reply. I should
have blocked her, too. She’d only defended
Mark because Sarah’s family had been having
financial troubles back then. When her father’s
<
10:04
business recovered, she’d changed her tune.
She’d even bought Sarah’s ticket to Austin.
41+
I blocked it all out and kept working. I had a
future. I wasn’t wasting it on a loser. But I never
expected to see Mark again.
I was invited back to Austin for a design
conference. The organizers mentioned a
“mystery sponsor,” someone who’d specifically
requested my presence. I frowned. I avoided.
strangers. Then, the mystery sponsor was
revealed: Mark.
He was in a wheelchair, being pushed onstage. He gave a speech about making amends, about
a woman he’d wronged. I withdrew from the competition. He found me later. “Claire, do you really hate me that much?”
I didn’t answer, just wanted to escape. Some people are relentless. Then, a disheveled
woman rushed towards us, screaming. “Mark!
<
really hate me that much?”
I didn’t answer, just wanted to escape. Some
people are relentless. Then, a disheveled.
woman rushed towards us, screaming. “Mark!
How could you do this to me?!” I’d forgotten.
The psychiatric hospital was nearby. The knife
plunged into Mark’s abdomen. He stared at me,
eyes wide, then collapsed. I walked away, flew
back to Seattle that night,
I heard he survived, but his health was worse. His half–brother took over his company. Ashley was furious. “Why didn’t that psycho finish him off? Some people just don’t know how to die!”
I patted her shoulder. For some, living is worse than death. I stared at the acceptance letter from a prestigious design school in Milan. My future was waiting.
