Chapter 4

"I'm tired, Mark," I said, my voice flat. I didn't look at him, just stared at the empty space where my plate of pancakes had been. "I'm just so tired. I can't do this anymore."

The exhaustion I felt wasn't just physical. It was a soul-deep weariness from years of walking on eggshells, of shrinking myself to fit into his world, of pretending his cruelty was just a quirk.

I thought of all the times he had enforced his "rules" on me, making me feel dirty and small. And then I thought of him in Hawaii with Lisa's family. I thought of him touching her father's shoulder without a second thought. The hypocrisy of it all was breathtaking. He wasn't a clean freak; he was a hypocrite who used his supposed obsession as a weapon.

This relationship hadn't been about love for a long time. Maybe it never was. It was about control, and it smelled like rubbing alcohol and deceit. The clean, sterile scent he cultivated was just there to cover up the rot underneath.

The most damning evidence was his absence. When my sister was dying, he was unreachable. When she died, he was on vacation. When I was at her funeral, he was laughing with a guest. Love shows up. He never did. Not when it mattered.

"So that's it?" he said, his voice laced with disbelief. "After everything I've done for you, you're throwing it all away over a little disagreement?"

A little disagreement. He called his emotional abuse, his neglect, his public humiliation of me a "little disagreement." The chasm between our realities was immense.

"I want to end our engagement, Mark," I said, the words finally coming out. "I want to break up."

I had tried so many times to make it work. I had compromised, I had apologized for things that weren't my fault, I had swallowed my own pain to keep the peace. I had tried to build a bridge to him, but he was on an island of his own making, and he had no interest in visitors.

Lisa, who had recovered from her "fall" and the water I'd thrown at her, stepped forward. Her makeup was running, but her eyes were sharp with malice.

"You're just saying that because you're jealous," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "You're jealous that Mark is generous to my family. You've always been ungrateful."

Mark immediately turned to her, his expression softening. He saw her as the loyal, wronged party.

"She's right," he said to me, his voice full of disappointment, as if I were a failed investment. "I try to be good to you, Sarah, and you just throw it in my face. You lie, you cause scenes. I'm the one who should be tired."

He was siding with her. Completely and utterly. The ease with which he did it was what finally killed the last lingering ember of hope in my heart.

And then he delivered the final, fatal blow.

"You know," he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips, "I told Lisa to slow-walk your sister's admission. I couldn't have that kind of drama and sickness around. It was for the best."

The air left my lungs. He wasn't just neglectful. He wasn't just indifferent. He was actively, deliberately cruel. He and Lisa had conspired to deny my sister a comfortable place to die. They had done it on purpose.

The diner faded away. The other patrons, the sticky table, the smell of grease-it all disappeared. There was only his face, twisted in a look of self-satisfaction. He had admitted to it. He felt no remorse.

"Apologize to Lisa," he repeated, his voice hard. "And then we can go home and forget this whole thing ever happened."

Forget. He wanted me to forget that he had sentenced my sister to a lonely, uncomfortable death. He wanted me to apologize to the woman who carried out his orders.

I looked from his face to hers. I saw the smug satisfaction in her eyes. I saw the unshakeable arrogance in his.

"It's over, Mark," I said. My voice was hollow, but my heart was stone. "We are over. Forever."

The flicker of love I once felt had turned to ash. There was nothing left to save. There was nothing left to feel but a vast, empty coldness where my heart used to be. I was dead to him, and now he was dead to me.