Margot plucked the phone from my pocket and turned it off with an exasperated sigh.
“Don’t listen to them,” she said, almost like she cared.
I let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”
Her eyes darted away, avoiding mine. She shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t think it’d go this far,” she murmured. “I’ll fix it, okay? You don’t need to worry about it.”
I glanced down at my broken, unresponsive left hand, the hand that was supposed to be my entire future.
My voice was hollow when I said, “Margot, let’s just end this. Let’s break up.”
She froze. Then her head snapped toward me, her tone sharp and incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?” Her voice rose, almost shrill. “Frank, I said I’ll handle it! What more do you want?”
Her anger only solidified my decision. I forced a small, tired smile. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”
For the first time, she faltered. Her expression softened, and she took a step closer, trying to reel me back in. “Frank, without me, who else would support you? Be realistic. Think it over. Calm down.”
Her usual tactics—manipulation disguised as concern. But I wasn’t falling for it this time.