"You did mean it," I said. "And you were right. It was my issue. I had an issue with being disrespected. I had an issue with being a backup plan. I had an issue with funding a lifestyle for a woman who was emotionally intimate with someone else."
I stepped closer, keeping my voice low and firm.
"So, I fixed the issue. I removed myself from the equation. And looking at you now, looking at how chaotic your life became the moment I stopped holding it together for you, I realized I wasn't your partner. I was your logistics manager. And I resigned."
"Mark, please," she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry. I love you."
I looked at her. I searched for any feeling—anger, love, pity. There was nothing. Just a dull recognition of a stranger.
"I don't think you know what that word means," I said.
The barista called my name: "Order for Mark!"
I turned away from her, walked to the counter, and grabbed my coffee. I didn't look back.
As I pushed open the glass door and stepped out into the crisp autumn air, I could feel her eyes on my back, but I didn't care. I had a date with Elena tonight. We were cooking dinner. No reservations, no drama, no cancellations. Service was no longer needed.
And for the first time in my life, I was finally, completely free.