She sighed, a long-suffering sound she'd perfected. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling as if seeking divine patience for my stupidity. When she looked back at me, it was with a dismissive pity that cut deeper than any shout.
"See?" she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "This is exactly what I mean. You're suffocating me, Alex. You hear about a guy friend and your mind immediately goes to the worst, most possessive place. You don't trust me."
"It's not about trust. It's about respect and optics."
"Optics?" She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Are you my boyfriend or my PR manager? I can't live my life worried about your 'optics.'" She air-quoted the word like it was a disease. She turned back to the suitcase, throwing in the sheer top with finality. "I need space to breathe, to have fun without a chaperone in my head. If you're going to be jealous every time I go out and have fun with friends, just leave."
The words hung in the air. They weren't spat in heat; they were delivered coolly. A surgical option presented: Just leave.
Not "we should talk" or "you're overreacting." The nuclear option. The discard clause.
I felt the ground beneath me—the life we'd built, the shared lease, the shared groceries, the planned future—turn to sand. My heart didn't break. It went silent. A strange, ringing calm descended.
She mistook my silence for surrender. A smug little smile touched her lips as she zipped the suitcase shut, the sound definitive.
"We need this space," she said, her tone softening into patronizing assurance. "Maybe while I'm gone, you'll do some thinking. Realize how insecure you're being. I'll text you when I land, okay? Try not to work yourself into a frenzy."
She walked past me, her suitcase rolling over my foot. She didn't notice. In the living room, she checked her reflection in the mirror by the door, fluffing her hair. She was already gone, her mind in a Vegas lounge, the victory of this argument making her glow.
I followed her to the door. She turned, expecting a pleading look, a last-minute argument she could bat away. She saw my face and her confidence flickered, just for an instant. There was no anger there, no sadness, nothing she could recognize.
"Okay," I said, my voice flat, devoid of all emotion. A statement of fact. "Enjoy your trip."