Chapter 2: The Split

Hearing me say it, Derek Mitchell looked like I’d slapped him. His mouth opened, then snapped shut. His hands hovered uselessly over the countertop, like he was searching for something to hold onto. The anger that had been radiating off him just moments before flickered out, replaced by pure confusion.

But I kept my head down, my voice sounding strange and distant even to me. "I'll pack up my things and take them away as soon as possible," I said, tracing invisible circles on the kitchen counter, refusing to meet his eyes.

"As for the stuff we bought together, forget it—you can keep everything." The IKEA shelves we’d built, the KitchenAid mixer we’d splurged on last Black Friday, the smart TV we’d argued about for weeks. My gaze lingered on the mixer, and for a second I was back in the kitchen with him, laughing as flour dusted his hair while we baked cookies. The memory stung, but I forced myself back to the present.

"The clothes you left at my place—you should come get them soon." His old Michigan State hoodie, the dress shirts still hanging in my closet from weeknights he’d stayed over.

"Or I’ll box your stuff up and send it over—FedEx or whatever. Just text me when you want it." My voice faded, the logistics suddenly pointless.

In the stillness, my words seemed to echo. The refrigerator hummed, a dog barked somewhere down the street. I felt like I was floating above it all.

Derek’s face slid from gloomy to blank, like a computer screen freezing. Then, suddenly, he cut in—voice sharp. "What about Pudding? How do we split custody?"

Pudding was the stray cat I’d found shivering under the mailboxes in a thunderstorm. Her fur had been slicked to her sides, eyes huge and terrified as thunder rattled the mailbox. I’d taken her in, covered every bill—nearly a thousand dollars in vet fees that first month alone.

But she’d never really warmed up to me. Eight times out of ten, she’d dart away when I tried to pick her up. I bought treats, toys, even those pheromone diffusers the pet store swore by, but she left faint scars on my wrists and panic in my lap.

Meanwhile, Derek hardly acknowledged her, but she’d rub against his leg, meowing and acting cute. The minute he walked in, she’d purr so loud you’d think she’d swallowed a lawnmower.

"You can have her too." The words scraped my throat, but I got them out.

I let out a shaky breath, feeling like the last sliver of hope had left with it. Even my cat had chosen him over me. I’d lost again.

"Rachel." Derek’s voice was wound up, like a guitar string about to snap.

He raked a hand through his hair. "You’re the one who missed Valentine’s Day, and now you’re throwing a tantrum?"

But wasn’t he the one who’d brought up breaking up first? I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. Of course he’d bring up Valentine’s Day. His selective memory was always so convenient.

This was his favorite move—threaten to leave, watch me scramble. He knew it worked on me, so he played the breakup card every time we fought, every time I didn’t read his mind.

"I told you my flight was delayed and I got back late." I’d sent him screenshots of my delay, photos of the packed gate at O’Hare, desperate updates as I ate stale pretzels and watched my phone battery die. I just wanted to get home.

Derek shot back with a bitter laugh. "Excuses. Then why didn’t you book an earlier flight?"

For that business trip, I’d worked a ten-hour day just to leave early. Skipped lunch, ate dinner at my laptop, turned down the client’s invite for drinks so I could race to the airport. But nothing I did was ever enough for him. If I’d booked an earlier flight, he’d ask why I went at all; if I’d stayed, he’d accuse me of not taking my job seriously.

So I went quiet. The helplessness felt like sinking underwater—everything muffled, heavy, impossible to fight.

Derek stalked to the door, then spun around, hand gripping the knob. His tone was ice. "I won’t come back until you realize your mistake."

I whispered, "We’ve already broken up."

But he acted like he didn’t hear me. That stubborn tilt to his jaw—the one I’d once found charming—was just exhausting now.

He went on, voice stiff. "I’ll give you one more chance. I’m not just angry because you were late. Think it through and then come apologize to me."

And then he left, the door closing with a sharp click that sounded like the end of everything.