se I had to work on our anniversary?" She stood by the door, her arms crossed, a fortress of self-righteousne

erously calm. "You were with him. You chose to be with him, to ce

umorless sound. "This is about Daniel

come home to after you've given all your energy, all your attention, all your support to someone else." I looked at her, at the woman I thought I loved, and saw a stra

d, the same tired excuse.

y parents are dead, Chloe. My home is gone. Everything I had was burned to the ground. But my trauma is an in

led. "That'

nd calling it a food review? Is it fair that you use my grief to guilt me into accepting your neglect?" Each word was a crack in the dam, and the resentment I had been suppressing

couldn't admit she was wrong. Her entire identity was built on the idea that she was the compassionate one

e said, her voice like ice,

s the loudest sound I had ever heard. It was the sound of an ending. I walked down the hallway, past the elevators, and pushed open the heavy door to the s

ng some of my things into Chloe's, was sublet. My parents were gone. For a moment, a wave of panic washed over me. I was tru

staurant's twentieth-anniversary party. They were standing in front of the kitchen doors, arms around each other, faces beaming with pride and love. My mom was laughing, her head throw

yance, with pity. I realized I had been so desperate to hold on to something after the fire that I had been willing to accept a cheap imitation of love. I had been willing to believe her excuses, to minimize my own