She did it. She left. After all those weeks and months crying secretly in the middle of the night or pouring out her doubts to friends, or cycling through her options in her mind as if in a panic, when she did it she had no emotion. She was cold.
He, in stark contrast, almost as if to draw attention to her indifference, flew into a panicked rage.
He never saw it coming. He has no idea. He was blindsided. That’s what he told her anyway, as he jumped from emotion to emotion like a pinball after a fierce smack.
It was hard for her to believe him, to believe his reaction was authentic and not a display to bait her emotions, to guilt her into staying. It was hard to believe him because she’d carefully turned him, in her mind, into her enemy.
She’d spent weeks and months, not only crying, but also rewriting every memory, every conversation, every kiss, into a battle for control between them. And she would not lose. She would sacrifice everything, including him and their future, but she would not, could not lose.