Page 3 of Break My Heart

“You’re not being fair.”

“Maybe I’m not. But since we’re through, I don’t owe you an explanation. Do I?” I study him as closely as I do lines of source code. Truly trying to comprehend if the man I’ve been sleeping with is the same one who reduced me to nothing with a single sentence. “Integrity matters. So does trust.”

“I’m not arguing that.” He takes a small step closer before declaring, “I love you, Christin.”

“Really?” I’m heartbroken, but I guess this is what I get for expecting things.

“Yes!” It’s so passionate, his sincerity fills up the space.

It’s not enough.

I point at the phone. “You essentially just told your best friend I’m not bringing any value to this relationship. It’s as simple as that.”

“Jesus, Christin.” His entire body sags—a recognition of the damage he’s caused. He reminds me of Eeyore with his slumped posture, hunched shoulders, and sad eyes. I can practically watch the sadness settle into his bones. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I…I never meant to⁠—‍”

“What, Leo? To hurt me?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

You shouldn’t have thought them, I think to myself. When I don’t say anything, he bursts out in desperation, “I wasn’t thinking!”

“On that, we wholeheartedly agree.”

“Please. Let’s talk about this.”

“Why? So I can hear more about your opinions of me? No, thank you.” With the same clarity I apply to everything else in my life, I inform him, “Pack your things.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You don’t get to berate me in my own home and then stay here.”

He bristles. “You’re overreacting.”

“Am I?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t feel that way, and it’s my decision to make.”

He beseeches me, “Christin, don’t make a hasty decision about us. We’re good together.”

I gently point out, “I’m simply taking steps to close us out before I disappear.”

His face is devastated.

I gesture to the door before advising him, “If you can’t manage your own transportation back to the city, there are some lovely inns in town that are discreet for you to stay in.”

His lips part, but the words never come. For a brief moment, I wonder if he’s going to apologize or argue. Instead, something in his expression shifts slightly.

Defeat.

He mumbles, “I’ll get my stuff.”

After he walks out, I find myself studying the pot holding his precious tea. I don’t trust myself to move from behind the desk. Not until I subdue the sharp feeling of despair piercing my heart.

At some point, I’ll have to.

But not yet.