I didn't feel sad. I felt light.
"You're right," I said.
Chloe blinked. "What?"
I stood up. I didn't brush off my knees. I snapped the velvet box shut with a loud crack.
"You are absolutely right, Linda," I said, my voice calm, steady, and loud enough for the tables nearby to hear. "She can do better."
I slipped the ring back into my pocket.
"Mark, don't be dramatic," Chloe said, rolling her eyes. "Sit down. Let's just order dessert."
"No," I said. "I think I'm done."
I pulled out my wallet. I took out three $20 bills, enough to cover my portion of the appetizers and the water I drank. I dropped the cash onto the white tablecloth.
"That covers me," I said. "Enjoy the evening. Happy birthday, Chloe."
I turned around and walked away.
"Mark!" Chloe called out. It was a tone of annoyance, not fear. She thought I was throwing a tantrum; she thought I would be waiting in the car sulking.
"Let him go, Chloe," I heard Linda say as I reached the door. "He's just trying to manipulate you. He'll be begging by tomorrow morning. Order the soufflé."
I walked out into the cool night air. I didn't go to the valet immediately. I walked a block down the street, breathing in the air, feeling my heart rate slow down. I checked my phone: 8:15 p.m.
I knew their pattern. They would stay. They would order the most expensive dessert to punish me. They would drink another bottle of wine to celebrate their power over me. Then they would probably go to a club or a lounge to gossip. They wouldn't be back at my house until at least 1:00 a.m. Linda would probably crash in the guest room.
I had four hours.