Red Roses and Regret

The acrid smell hit me first, then our fourth-floor apartment shook. My boyfriend, Mark, was already at the door, his eyes wide.

"Chloe," he muttered, and just like that, he was gone – running through the chaos, not to check on me, but to his childhood friend, Chloe.

I stumbled out into the smoke-filled hallway alone, my heart pounding. When I found them, he was stroking her hair, murmuring reassurances while she leaned heavily on him, perfectly fine. He hadn't even looked for me.

No guilt, no panic for my safety, just a flicker of... annoyance as our eyes met. Later, she'd chirp, "Mark was so worried about you!" A blatant lie.

Then his friends revealed the crushing truth: I wasn't just second choice; I was a placeholder, a consolation prize, only good enough for him when Chloe was unavailable.

I felt a cold rage. This wasn't just a spat; it was a pattern of neglect, of being unseen, unheard, always playing second fiddle to his "duty" and "obligation" to her.

The ultimate insult came when Chloe staged a panic attack in our shared apartment, wearing his robe, scattering their "memory jar," and he rushed to her side, utterly dismissing me again, her fragile act once more trumping *everything*.

That was the absolute end. I walked away from the apartment, from him, from that suffocating life. I threw myself into my career, transforming betrayal into fierce independence. But just as I started to breathe again, building my own empire, he reappeared, asking for "one more chance." Will I finally break free, or will the weight of our past pull me back into his orbit?

The smell hit me first, acrid and wrong.

Then the building shook.

A dull thud from somewhere below, not a boom, but enough to rattle the windows in our fourth-floor apartment.

"What was that?" I yelled, already moving.

Mark was closer to the door. He didn't answer.

His eyes were wide, fixed on something outside our living room window, in the direction of the street, towards Chloe's building just a couple of blocks over.

"Gas," he muttered, already yanking the door open. "Chloe."

He was gone.

Just like that.

I stood there for a second, the acrid smell stronger now, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Our building. The explosion was in *our* building.

I grabbed my phone and keys, my mind racing.

Fire alarms started blaring, a deafening shriek.

I stumbled out into the hallway, smoke already coiling near the ceiling.

People were shouting, running.

I fended for myself.

Down the stairs, out into the chaos of the street. Firetrucks were already arriving.

I saw him then.

Across the street, near Chloe's less affected building.

Mark was with Chloe.

Her arm was around his neck, and she was leaning heavily on him, her face buried in his shoulder. He was stroking her hair, murmuring something.

She didn't look injured.

He hadn't even called me. Hadn't checked if I was okay.

He saw me. His eyes met mine over Chloe's head.

No guilt. No panic for me. Just... a flicker of something I couldn't name. Annoyance?

Fury, cold and sharp, cut through my fear.

I walked straight towards them, pushing through the small crowd.

"Sarah," he started, his voice calm, too calm.

Chloe looked up, her eyes wide and tear-filled. "Oh, Sarah, thank God you're okay. Mark was so worried."

Liar.

"Were you, Mark?" I asked, my voice tight. "Worried about me?"

He shifted, Chloe still clinging to him. "Of course. I knew you'd be sensible."

Sensible. While he ran to her.

"We're done, Mark," I said, the words tasting like ash. "I mean it. We are over."

He stared at me, finally looking surprised.

Chloe gasped softly, clutching him tighter.

"Sarah, don't be like this," Mark said, his tone placating. "It's been a shock for everyone."

"No," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "The only shock is how clear things are now."

I turned and walked away, leaving him standing there with her.

Three days.

Three days of silence, then his predictable move.

A bouquet of roses arrived at my temporary hotel room, the generic kind he always sent.

Red. I hated red roses. Sunflowers were my favorite, a fact he'd forgotten or never cared to remember.

The card just said, "Sorry. M."

Later, he called.

His voice was casual, like we'd had a small spat, nothing more.

"Hey," he said. "Feeling better?"

I didn't answer.

"Look, Chloe's throwing a little thank you dinner for me tonight. At The Gilded Spoon. 8 PM. She really wants you to be there."

A thank you dinner. For him. Hosted by her.

And I was invited as an afterthought.

"I'm not going, Mark."

"Sarah, come on. Don't make this a bigger deal than it is. Chloe feels terrible you were upset."

She felt terrible? Or she enjoyed the drama?

"I already told you, Mark. We're done."

A sigh on his end. "We can talk tonight. Just come to the dinner."

He didn't get it. He never got it.

But a small, foolish part of me, the part that still remembered why I'd fallen for him, wanted to see if there was any flicker of understanding.

So, I went. A mistake.

The Gilded Spoon was trendy, loud.

Chloe was already there, seated next to Mark in a cozy booth.

She wore a soft, pale blue dress, looking delicate. A small, almost invisible bandage was on her ankle.

"Sarah! I'm so glad you came!" she chirped, her smile wide.

Mark stood up, a little awkwardly. "Hey."

I sat opposite them.

"I wanted to explain," Chloe began, her voice earnest. "About the other day. I'd sprained my ankle earlier that morning, a silly fall. When the explosion happened, I just panicked. Mark knew I wouldn't be able to get down the stairs quickly on my own."

A sprained ankle. That was his excuse.

Mark was already ordering for her. "She'll have the lavender spritzer, and the pan-seared scallops."

He didn't ask her. He didn't ask me what I wanted.

He fussed over Chloe, making sure her chair was comfortable, that she had enough water.

I felt like I was watching them through a glass wall.

Chloe then turned to me, her expression full of concern. "Mark, you should apologize to Sarah properly. She was very scared."

He looked at me, a practiced expression of remorse. "Sarah, I am sorry. I should have checked on you. It was chaotic."

It sounded rehearsed. Empty.

"It's fine," I said, pushing my water glass around. There was no point.