She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. This was the moment, the pitch.
"Because I'm confused," she said, though she didn't look confused; she looked empowered. "I care about you, Mark. I really do. You're great. You're reliable. You're safe. But Dylan—he's a risk. He's excitement. He makes me feel alive in a way you just don't."
She sat back, crossing her arms, creating a physical barrier between us.
"So, here's the situation," she said, as casually as if she were choosing between the salmon and the steak. "He wants me back. I have to make a choice. But I feel like I owe you a chance to advocate for yourself. So, give me a reason."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Give me a reason to stay with you instead of him," she repeated slowly, enunciating every word like I was a child. "Tell me why I should pick you. Sell me on us. Because right now, safe isn't winning."
The audacity of it actually took my breath away for a split second. She was conducting an auction for her affection in the middle of a crowded restaurant. She honestly believed she was such a high-value prize that I would start listing my qualifications, begging her to see my worth, competing with a ghost from her past who had treated her like garbage.
She expected me to plead. She expected me to say, "But I love you. I pay for everything. I'm loyal."
Something inside me snapped. It wasn't a loud snap; it was a quiet, final click, like a door locking.
I looked at her. I really looked at her. I saw the entitlement in her eyes. I saw the lack of empathy. I saw a woman who viewed relationships as transactions and people as stepping stones.
I reached for my napkin and wiped my mouth. "You want a reason?" I asked softly.
She smirked, thinking she had won. "Yes. Give me one reason."
I signaled the waiter. He came over immediately.
"Check, please," I said.
Vanessa frowned. "Mark, we haven't even ordered mains yet. Don't be dramatic."
The waiter dropped the black folder on the table. I opened it. The bill was $140; the wine she ordered was $80 of that. I pulled out my wallet, took out three twenties and a ten—$70, exactly half. I placed the cash on the table, right on top of the receipt.