I stared at the screen, shaking with rage. I sent Scott the screenshot. “Is this why you missed our mating ritual?” I asked, but he didn’t reply until after my mother’s ashes had been laid to rest. His response was cold. “We can get married any day, but she can’t live without me.”
I didn't text back. Instead, I sent him my final message through our mind link: Let’s take a break. Then, I blocked him, cutting the last connection between us.
For seven years, I had tried to make him happy, molding myself into the person he wanted. When he said he liked short hair, I cut mine. When he made comments about my weight, I starved myself to fit his idea of perfection. I even faced my painful transformations alone, terrified of appearing weak in front of him. But no matter how much I gave, Winona was always in the picture, and Scott always returned to her. “You’re strong, Ariana. You don’t need me like she does,” he would say, using my strength as his excuse to leave.