- 6.
I went to our house to get my stuff.
But when I got there, Mark was home.
He sat on the couch and lazily looked at me. “Had enough? Are you back?”
I tried not to let my voice shake. “I’m serious.
I’m breaking up with you.”
“I came to get my stuff.”
Surprisingly, Mark didn’t say anything, he just
sat there, legs crossed, hands clasped,
watching me with a half–smile.
I ignored it and started packing.
I didn’t have much. A few personal items.
I didn’t have much. A few personal items.
Mark had bought most of the stuff in the
house.
When we moved in together, he wrinkled his
nose at my colorful toothbrush and towel.
“Jennifer, your stuff looks so ugly,” he said.
The next day, he threw it all away.
I complained, but he said, “Your stuff is too
tacky. I threw it out.”
That’s when I first wanted to break up.
Why did personal taste have to be better than
other’s?
<
other’s?
But my mom told me, “You should just listen to him. You’ve been together for so long, hon. Don’t break up over something so small.”
I didn’t do anything.
But I realized that it wasn’t a small thing.
Feeling bad shouldn’t be a small thing.
