“Megan, you’re being dramatic.”
I almost laughed.
Because even then, he still couldn’t see it.
Even after everything I had just said, he was still more concerned about my reaction than about what had caused it.
I walked into our bedroom.
I opened the closet.
And I pulled out a suitcase.
Ryan followed me.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“For what?”
“To leave.”
He laughed.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“You’re leaving me over dirty dishes?”
I stopped folding my clothes.
Then I looked at him.
“No, Ryan.”
I zipped the suitcase.
“I’m not leaving because of dirty dishes.”
I walked toward him.
“I’m leaving because tonight you finally said out loud what I’ve been afraid to admit for years.”
He stared at me.
“You didn’t marry me because you wanted a partner.”
I picked up my bag.
“You married me because you wanted a comfortable life.”
He shook his head.
“You’ll regret this.”
I opened the bedroom door.
“Nobody outside this house will take care of you the way I did.”
I looked back at him.
“You never took care of me, Ryan.”
His face changed.
“You used me.”
For once, he had nothing to say.
That night, I went to my sister’s house.
