This wasn’t the first time he had chosen Leila over me, and it wouldn’t be the last. Whenever she needed him, he was there—without question, without hesitation. I had fought him on it before, questioned him, and argued until I was blue in the face. But nothing changed.
“You see our connection with malice because you’re overly looking for things to fight about,” he had said once, his voice dripping with frustration. As if I was the one to blame as if my feelings were the problem.
And every time, after he abandoned me for her, he would send roses. A pathetic attempt to smooth over the cracks, to placate me just enough to keep me in line. And like a fool, I had always accepted them, sinking deeper into the illusion that maybe, just maybe, things would get better.
But now, staring at those messages, I felt nothing but exhaustion. I was tired of pretending, tired of fighting for a mateship that had been doomed from the start.
I had forgiven him too many times, always thinking I could save us. But I was done. This time, I was truly done.