She looked nothing like the arrogant woman in the black dress from last Friday. She was wearing gray sweatpants that were too short for her, a stained hoodie that I recognized as one of Dylan's, and she was soaked. It wasn't raining outside, which meant she had been crying or sweating profusely. Her hair was matted. Her mascara had carved black rivers down her cheeks. She looked like a wreck. She looked like consequences.
I unlocked the door, but didn't open it fully. I stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance with my body. I held my mug of coffee in one hand—a physical barrier between her chaos and my peace.
"Mark," she choked out. Her voice was cracked, raw. "Oh my God, thank you. I didn't think you'd open."
She moved to step inside, assuming the old dynamic was still in play. She assumed I was still the safety net, the guy who fixes things. I didn't move. I stayed planted like a statue. She bumped into my shoulder and stopped, confused.
"Mark," she whispered. "Let me in. Please. I'm freezing."
"You can't come in, Vanessa," I said. My voice was calm, conversational—not angry, just factual.
She blinked, wiping her nose with the sleeve of the dirty hoodie. "What? Mark, stop. I'm serious. Dylan... he's crazy. He threw my bag out on the street. He laughed at me. He told me I was..." She sobbed, a jagged, ugly sound. "He told me I was just a warmup for his girlfriend. Can you believe that?"
She looked at me with wide, pleading eyes, expecting me to share in her outrage. She wanted me to be angry for her. She wanted me to say, "That bastard! Come in, I'll take care of you."
"I can believe it," I said. "Dylan has always been exactly who he is. You just didn't want to see it because you were too busy comparing me to him."
"I know!" she wailed. "I was stupid! I was confused! He manipulated me, Mark. He got in my head. He made me think we had this connection, but it was all a lie. You were right. You were right about everything." She reached out to grab my hand.
I pulled it back calmly.
"I'm sorry," she rushed on, the words tumbling out now. "I'm so sorry about the dinner. I was drunk. I was stressed. I didn't mean any of it. I love you. You're the only one who ever actually treated me like a human being. Please just let me come in, take a shower, and we can talk. We can fix this. I promise I'll never speak to him again. I'll block him right now! Look!" She fumbled for her phone, her hands shaking.
"Vanessa," I interrupted. "Stop."
She froze.
"You aren't listening," I said. "There is nothing to fix. You didn't break a vase. You didn't forget an anniversary. You fired me."