As if it was a gift and she was doing me a favor. I smiled, nodding like I believed her. It didn’t matter. I was leaving soon anyway. Resigning was just a formality.
I turned off my phone and got out of bed, watching as she moved around the kitchen, humming to herself while making breakfast like nothing had happened.
I walked over, stepping behind her. Slowly, I ran my fingers over the fresh scar on the back of her neck.
She froze for a fraction of a second. Then, without turning around, she reached up to touch it, forcing a laugh.
“You scratched me last night when you turned over,” she said lightly. “I need to get back at you for that.”
She turned, reaching out to tickle me, like she always did when things got tense. However, when I didn’t react, didn’t even crack a smile, she hesitated. Her hands dropped, her expression faltering for just a second before she forced a laugh.
I stared at her, realizing—maybe for the first time—what it felt like to be toyed with, to be on the other side of someone else’s game.
She turned and walked out the door, her steps quick, as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. I let her go. Didn’t stop her. Didn’t call her name, I just packed my bags.