Jake’s tone grew stern. “I bring a lot to this relationship. You really want to throw this away over some insecurity?”
That was it. His dismissal, his arrogance—it crystallized everything I felt. “It’s not insecurity when I have evidence, Jake. I can’t do this. I won’t marry someone who thinks so little of me.”
Jake’s face tightened, the arrogance slipping into shock. “You’re serious? Over some nonsense?”
“Yes,” I said, firm and clear. “I’m done. We’re done.”
He stared at me, then without another word, grabbed his coat and left. The door slammed shut behind him, and just like that, it was over.
After a few moments alone, gathering my thoughts, I picked up my phone and dialed the pizza place. Tom answered.
“Tom, it’s Emily. I… I wanted to say thank you. You were right about Jake.”
There was a pause on the line. “I’m really sorry, Emily. I thought you should know.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, sincerity heavy in my voice. “Could I… maybe buy you a coffee sometime? To talk?”
“I’d like that,” Tom replied, a warmth in his voice that comforted my bruised heart.
The following day, as I sat with Tom at the local café, the ordeal with Jake seemed a distant ordeal. Tom’s sincere concern was palpable, and for the first time in a long while, I felt truly seen.
“Thank you for being honest with me, Tom. It must have been hard to decide to tell me,” I acknowledged as we sipped our coffees.
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