"Emma. What is this?" Luke asked.
"I heard you, Luke. Last week. On the phone with Donald."
His face turned white.
"Heard what?"
"Your exact words were: 'She's not wife material.' Eight years, and that's what I am to you."
"Emma. What is this?"
"Babe, no, that was a joke! Donald was pushing me. You know how he is. He's been on me for months; you've heard the way he talks," my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend lied.
"I know about the account, too. The one labeled 'future.' Two years of putting money aside without telling me."
"That, Em, was supposed to be a surprise. I was going to tell you when there was enough. I swear!"
"And the ring," I said quietly. "You asked my father about my grandmother's ring. You told him it was for 'a future someone.' Jane heard the whole thing."
The mask finally cracked.
"Donald was pushing me."
Luke dropped down onto the floor as if the air had left him.
"I did love living with you," he whispered. "I just... I kept thinking maybe there was someone else out there. I'm sorry, Em."
"Thank you for finally telling me the truth."
I picked up my last bag and walked out.
***
Six months later, my apartment smelled of garlic bread and candles. Jane was pouring wine. Sarah was laughing at something on her phone.
"Thank you for finally telling me the truth."
"Best dinner I've had all month," Sarah said.
The doorbell rang.
A small delivery arrived: a potted plant from a male coworker who'd been asking me to coffee for weeks.
I smiled at the little card.
