Guess Who Didn't Come Crawling Back

Another fight with Mark. This time, I didn't chase after him.

My friends tried to reason with me. "He's all bark, no bite."

"A difficult man needs a patient woman."

But I was done. Tired of always being the one to cave.

Years of silent treatments, pointless arguments, and cold shoulders had worn me down.

Was he just stubborn? Or did he not love me anymore?

So when he threatened to break up—again—I finally said it.

"Let's break up."

The words hung in the air. Mark froze.

I kept my head down, forcing myself to continue.

"I'll pack my things and leave as soon as I can."

"Keep whatever we bought together—I don't want any of it."

"And the clothes you left at my place? Pick them up whenever. Or I can just mail them."

The room was dead silent except for my voice.

Mark's expression shifted from stormy to blank. Then he cut me off.

"What about Pudding?"

Pudding—the stray cat I'd rescued near my apartment.

I'd paid for everything—food, vet bills, toys. But he barely tolerated me. Half the time, he'd hiss if I tried to hold him. Left scratches on my wrists more than once.

Mark? He ignored Pudding most days. Never fed him, never cleaned his litter.

Yet that damn cat loved him. Rubbed against his legs, purred like an engine.

"You keep him." I exhaled.

Even the cat played favorites.

"Sarah." Mark's voice was tight, furious. "You missed Valentine's Day, and now you're throwing a fit?"

Wait—he was the one who brought up breaking up.

But of course he'd forgotten. It was his go-to threat. And because it worked on me, he kept using it.

"My flight was delayed. That's why I was late."

Mark scoffed. "Excuses. Why not book an earlier flight?"

I'd been working nonstop for ten hours on that trip. Barely made it home at all.

But Mark wouldn't listen. He'd twist anything into my fault.

So I stayed quiet. Just… tired.

He stalked toward the door, then turned back, icy.

"I won't come home until you admit you're wrong."

"We're broken up," I said.

He ignored me. Tilted his head like he was talking to himself.

"I'll give you one more chance. This isn't just about you being late."

First time he'd ever said that. Usually, he'd just slam the door.

"Think about it. Then come apologize."

I sat on the couch for a long time. Then, mechanically, I cleaned up the wrecked living room.

Even fished the Valentine's gift out of the trash.

I'd run around a dozen stores overseas picking it.

And he hadn't even looked at it.

So it was as worthless as the mess on the floor.

After cleaning, I packed my things.

This was Mark's apartment, but my presence was everywhere. The mugs we'd picked out together. The blankets. The dishes.

I only took a few clothes, then grabbed my suitcase.

As I reached the door, a streak of yellow darted out.

Pudding planted himself in the middle of the living room, refusing to move.

His big round eyes locked onto me.

When I'd found him, he was scrawny, filthy. Now? Fluffy, glossy, ridiculously cute.

I crouched. For once, he didn't hiss or swipe at me.

I stroked his head.