Our parents came home from their shift work to find their daughter had been brutally dumped. They were furious. We lived in an old neighborhood where gossip spread like wildfire. Within a day, the story of Rose being forced into an abortion was on everyone’s lips.
Rose locked herself in her room for days, refusing food and water. Then, she suddenly showed up at my office.
She couldn’t comprehend why Hunter wasn’t following the script. Why didn’t he feel sorry for her? So, she blamed me, the messenger who had “spoiled the plot.”
“You! You told him on purpose! What were you thinking? You can’t stand to see us happy, you b*tch! You’ve already ruined one life for me, isn’t that enough?”
Dragging her sickly body, she tried to hit me. I simply sidestepped, and she stumbled, almost falling.
“What’s wrong with you now?” I snapped.
That seemed to unlock something in her. She suddenly started screaming that I was the other woman, that I was trying to steal her man, grabbing my colleagues and telling them I was a home-wrecker.
I initially ignored her, knowing engagement was her fuel. But a colleague reminded me a client was coming soon to sign a contract and I needed to get her out of there.
Dragging her to the breakroom, I faced her tantrum. She demanded an explanation.
So, I gave her one, tailored to her delusion. “The female lead in a tragedy must be kind, soft, and pitiful. You’re just vicious. Your CEO male lead will never take you back like this.”
It was like I’d struck a chord. She suddenly fell silent. After a long pause, she looked up, her eyes clear and determined.
“I get it now,” she declared. “It’s because I’m not sick enough yet. He still thinks he has time to fix things, to win me back. He needs to see me at my most broken, my most pitiful. He needs to be heartbroken with regret.”
I was speechless.
Leave a Reply