Congratulations, you've been promoted to single. P.S. The car is repossessed, rent's due, and your boss can't expense heartbreak. Love always, O.
She blinked once, twice, then she read it again. Her mouth fell open like a trap. "What the hell is this?" she said, voice climbing octaves like a panicked violin. I poured coffee into my mug, calm as a Sunday sermon.
"It's your performance review," I said. "You scored high in creativity, low in ethics." Her eyes darted around like the answers might be hiding in the cupboards. "You did something," she hissed.
"Technically," I said, "Mrs. Delgado did most of the heavy lifting. I just signed the paperwork." "You're crazy," she snapped, clutching the note like it might bite her.
"No," I said, smiling. "I'm organized." Her breathing quickened. "What does this mean? What do you mean the car's repossessed?"
"Oh," I said casually, flipping another pancake. "The lease was under my name. You'll have to Uber to your next late meeting." Her jaw clenched.
"You can't do that." "Already did," I said, taking a bite of pancake. "Turns out I'm remarkably efficient when I'm betrayed before breakfast." She stood up so fast the chair screeched across the tile.
"This is insane, Oliver." "Is it?" I asked, setting down my fork. "Because when you confessed your affair, you sounded pretty confident about your decision-making skills. I'm just matching your energy."
She threw the note on the table. "You're punishing me." I shrugged. "It's not punishment. It's balance."
Her eyes glistened. But I wasn't buying it. I'd seen real tears from her before. This was performance art.
"I made a mistake," she whispered. "Which part?" I asked. "The cheating or the confession?" Her lips trembled.
"You don't understand. It just happened." "Yeah," I said, sipping coffee. "So does food poisoning."
That one landed. She blinked, speechless. I could practically see the gears turning, trying to find a way to twist this into a redemption arc. But the network had canceled her show.
"You're not even mad?" she said finally, sounding confused, like she missed the script where I was supposed to beg or break down. "Mad?" I laughed. "No. That implies I still care enough to raise my voice."
"I'm done. Finished. Out of emotional budget." She stared at me, shaking her head. "You're a monster."