"You think I wanted to touch you? If you hadn't spent the last three years following me around like a dog, I wouldn't even stomach looking at you!"
"In my heart, you're not worth Zara's little finger!"
He kicked over the coffee table and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.
That night, my phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
At first, Zara just sent messages to taunt me.
Morton got drunk and won't leave my place. What can I do?
You've been chasing him like a lovesick puppy for years, and you still can't make him love you? I'm embarrassed for you.
He can't get over me. Guess you just don't have what it takes. You couldn't compete with me in college, and nothing's changed.
When I didn't respond, she sent photos. Morton, shirtless, asleep in her bed beside her.
What a sad excuse for a wife. Can't even keep your own man satisfied.
I looked at those shameless photos and those poisonous words, and I felt nothing. Not a ripple. Not a sting. Just stillness, like the surface of a lake after the last stone has already been thrown.
That night, for the first time in a long while, I slept soundly.
The next morning, it was a phone call that jolted me awake.