Fate Rolls Dark by Mark Twain 6
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I didn’t reply. I kept packing.
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Morning came. My flight time approached. Ethan did not come home with the dress, or at all.
I took one last look around the beautiful, empty brownstone that had never truly felt like a home. All traces of me-my books, my favorite mug, the photos of my family-were already in boxes, headed to storage.
I closed the door. As the Uber pulled away from
the curb, I sent one final text.
*Ethan. It’s over. Don’t contact me again. -L*
Then I blocked his number, his email, every
social media account.
At the airport, just before boarding, a notification from an unknown number popped up. *”What the hell is this? You’re breaking up with me? I said I’d buy you the damn dress! What more do you
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want? Stop this now, Lauren, or we are done for real.”*
I stared at the words, a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying finally lifting from my shoulders. I took a deep, clean breath and deleted the
message.
Seattle was a revelation. The air was different. The pace was different. *I* was different. I felt
ten years younger.
A month in, my new boss asked me to pick up a senior manager flying in from New York. I stood at the arrivals gate, holding a sign.
And then I saw him.
Ethan Carter, in a rumpled suit that probably cost more than my car, striding toward me as if he owned the entire concourse. My stomach dropped.
“You’ve taken this little rebellion too far, Lauren,” he said, stopping inches from me, his voice a low
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growl for my ears only. “You must be pretty
pleased with yourself, making me come all this way to fetch you.”
I just stared, incredulous. In his mind, my moving across the country was just a tactic, a play for his
attention.
I took a deliberate step back, scanning the crowd for anyone who might look like a manager.
He shoved his massive suitcase toward me. “Stop looking. You’re here for me.”
I fumbled to catch it, anger sparking hot and bright. I’d thought my leaving would be the end of it. That he’d finally be free to be with his precious Chloe. Instead, he’d weaseled his way into my new life like a toxic weed.
I’d made a mistake. I shouldn’t have transferred. I
should have quit.
I called a rideshare. He climbed into the back
without a word, assuming I’d handle his luggage.
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Gritting my teeth, I heaved the case into the trunk myself.
I opened the front passenger door.
“Sit in the back, Lauren,” he commanded.
I ignored him, got in front, and told the driver the address. The entire ride, I could feel the icy fury radiating from the backseat.
At the new office, he tried to order me to meet
him for lunch. I pretended not to hear, rushing
inside.
While he was in with the director, I went straight to my new boss’s office with a resignation letter. I cited a family emergency back home, a sick parent needing care. I was polite, apologetic for the short notice. He was disappointed but
understood.
My parents were fine. My golden retriever, Gus, had a slight ear infection. That counted.
Within two hours, I was cleared out. I’d been at
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the Seattle branch for a month. It took me twenty minutes to pack my desk.
Back at my rented studio, I plugged in my dead phone. When it powered up, seventeen missed calls from the same unknown number-him, no doubt-flooded the screen.
As I went to delete them, it rang again.
Against my better judgment, I answered. “Ethan, what part of ‘it’s over’ do you not understand?”
I heard his sharp intake of breath. “…You’re not at the office. Text me your address. I’ll come by at lunch.”
“Are you deaf, or just stupid? We. Are. Done. You are being incredibly pathetic and annoying.”
Silence. Then, his voice went dark and soft. “I brought the dress. We can reschedule the shoot. Whatever kind of wedding you want… we’ll do it. Just… stop this, Lauren.”
I actually laughed. A dry, brittle sound. *I* was
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stopping? *I* was the one making a scene?
I remembered showing him Pinterest boards full of wildflower bouquets and string lights. He’d handed me his phone, open to Chloe’s contact. “You plan it. Coordinate with Chloe. She… she’ll never have this. A wedding. It’s not in the cards for her, with her health. I can’t give her a
marriage, but I promised her she could have the wedding. Let her have this.”
I’d screamed then. Cried. *My* wedding wasn’t going to be a pity party for his eternal damsel. He’d shut me down with the one card he always played: “I saved your life, Lauren. The least you can do is this.”
And now, he was offering me the wedding. But I
didn’t want it. I didn’t want *him*.
“There will be no wedding, Ethan. With you. It’s
over.”
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