He was distant, secretive, and avoidant. Every time I ask where he’s been after work, he gives me half answers.
“Out handling something.”
“Meeting with investors.”
“Extended office hours for students.”
“Errands.”
Errands where?
Meetings with who?
And when I press just a little more, he either changes the subject or kisses me like that’s supposed to distract me. It does but not for long.
This week? It doesn’t work at all. My mind is spiraling with every worst-case scenario possible. Maybe he realized I come with too much. Opportunistic ass parents who only see me when they need me. Trauma. Grief. A life that’s never simple.
Maybe loving me is heavier than he thought. Maybe the weight of me is more than he can carry.
As I prepare for the worst, he texts me an address I don’t recognize.
Papa: 1234 Hills Blvd. Meet me here. We need to talk.
My stomach drops.
We need to talk?
Oh. OH.
He’s breaking up with me. Of course, he is because whenever something in my life is too good to be true, it is.
I stare at myself in the mirror.
If he’s planning to walk away, he’s walking away from me looking like a fucking problem. I slide into the strapless, skin-tight nude dress that hugs every inch of me. The fabric molds to my curves like it was designed with my measurements in mind. The neckline is clean and structured, the silhouette pure body.
I slip on my Louboutin Hot Chicks. Nude, sharp, and making my legs look longer than a one-night stand walk of shame.
My curls fall wild around my shoulders. Glossed lips. Soft glam makeup. If I’m getting dumped, I’m going to look so damn good he’ll regret it the rest of his life.
When I pull up to the address, I’m confused. It’s a newly built apartment building. Modern and sleek. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Clean lines.
What the hell?
I step out of the car and walk inside—heels clicking confidently against polished flooring.
He’s standing near the entry.
And he looks calm.
Too calm.
“Are you serious right now?” I snap before he can even speak.
He blinks once. “What?”
“If you’re leaving me, you need to get the fuck out,” I fire off. “I’m not moving. You’re not uprooting my life because you decided I’m too much baggage.”
His brows lift slightly.
