Not just my heart, that’s already shattered on the floor, but something more profound.
My sense of self-worth.
The confidence I’ve spent twenty-nine years building.
All of it crumbles in the way a wave hits a sandcastle.
“And speaking of work…”Fuck he’s still talking.He glances at his watch, suggesting he has somewhere more important to be. “I expect you to remain professional about this. We still have the Campbell campaign to finish, and I need you focused. I don’t need female emotional drama in the office.”
So fat shaming and misogyny all in one night?
“No drama,” I repeat, my emotions beginning to turn to ice. “You just told me I’m too fat to be seen with you in public, and you expect me to show up on Monday and act like everything’s fine?”
“I expect you todo… your… job.” His tone is sharp now, impatient. “We’re adults, Marley. This is business.”
The room starts spinning.
I can’t breathe.
I need to get out of here before I completely fall apart in front of him, and I donotwant to give this prick the satisfaction.
“I should go somewhere tonight.”
“See, you get it!” Derek says, and somehow, impossibly, this gets worse. “I need space. I need you to leave. I can’t have you here whileIprocess this. This breakup will be hard on me emotionally, too, Marley. So, I’ll box up the rest of your stuff and drop it off at your parents’ house later this week.” Then he goes straight back to working on his laptop in a stark contradiction to the words he just spoke.
Hard onhisemotions, my ass!
For a moment, I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can only stare at him, this stranger wearing Derek’s face.
“You’re kicking me out… ofourhouse? Tonight? Likeright now?”
“I think it’s for the best. Clean break and all that.” I hear the ding of an email being sent, like he’s already working and no longer paying attention to our situation. Work is taking precedence over my internal breakdown. “You can take whatever you can carry tonight. I’ll get you the rest later.”
The humiliation is suffocating.
Six years.
We’ve been together for six years, and he’s dismissing me like I’m a one-night stand he’s ready to be rid of.
As he continues with his emails, clearly finished with our breakup talk, my breathing is rapid as I slowly stand from the sofa, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. I take off, stomping my bare feet a little extra heavy to prove the point of how fucking fat I am to him.
The complete and utter asshole.
I make my way to our bedroom—a room we have shared for the last four years of our six-year relationship. But I guess it’shisbedroom now. My hands shake so badly I can barely grip the duffel bag I yank from the closet.
Clothes.
I need clothes.
Toiletries.
My laptop.
Chargers.
While mentally making a list, I’m grabbing things at random, shoving them into the bag, tears blurring my vision so badly I can’t see what I’m packing.
My favorite sweater. The one with the bleach stain I could never get out. My worn copy ofManifestby Roxi Nafousi. My toiletry bag from the bathroom. Goddammit! Half the products are tumbling onto the floor because my hands won’t stop shaking.
