This was his favorite game, his go-to routine for control as tearing me down with insults, cutting me off financially, freezing me out until I cracked until I was crawling back to him, blaming myself and begging for forgiveness. I'd knelt, apologized and even slapped myself to make him stay in the past. But no more. This time, he'd only come back to an empty apartment.
I packed only what he hated—the things he called ugly, tacky. His couple's mugs, my "cheap" sweaters. Then, I used his credit card to book a room at a nearby hotel.
Later that night, after a shower and a moment of calm, I saw Chloe's new social media post: she was flaunting a huge diamond ring.
Chloe: [Happy Anniversary!] the caption read.
Chloe: [Only the dumbest woman would fail to see how amazing this man is.]
Mark knew Chloe's birthdays, anniversaries—even her cycle. But somehow, he had forgotten that today was my birthday, too. Every year, whenever I would suggest celebrating, he would wave me off.
"Rachel, do you even know what it takes to make money? Why waste it on these things? Do you even want to marry me or not?"