Parted After The Storm

Demoted, I crouched curb-side, shoveling salty street fries through tears. I texted Silas that I was exhausted and the fries helped. He did not reply. Half an hour later, shivering in the biting Seattle air, I texted again that I needed to talk. His response cut deep. What exactly is the point of this text? Are you trying to get me to reimburse you for your junk food?

For six years, I had proven I was not a gold digger. Since his mother drained his accounts and left him millions in debt, Silas despised users. I never spent his money. We split every dinner bill. I returned expensive gifts. I kept our relationship hidden at work so my project results alone impressed the board.

Refreshing my feed, I saw Mina, the intern who stole my promotion, post a photo wearing a diamond necklace. The caption thanked Mr. Blackwood for celebrating her promotion. I recognized the limited-edition piece from a magazine. Only three existed worldwide. In six years, Silas had never given me a gift worth more than a hundred dollars. The jewels against Mina’s collarbone were worth at least a million. Tears clouded my screen. My desperate attempts to prove my worth over the years were apparently worth less to him than a cheap carton of street fries.

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