“I don’t love you anymore”
Those words played over in her head as the water pelted her back. She had been in the shower for nearly 45 minutes and the water was beginning to run cold.
Two and a half years down the drain just as fast as the shampoo swirling at her feet.
She could not understand why she was even surprised actually. They had been growing apart for months and it was only a matter of time before one of them called it off.
“Is there someone else?” she asked, already knowing the answer but hoping that she was not right.
“Isn’t there always?”
Ouch. That was cruel. Even if there is she didn’t think you were supposed to tell that to the person you were breaking into a million pieces.
She did not respond. She could not respond. He tried to fill her silence with excuses and babbled on about how the long distance was not working and he could not live with the person he loved living so far away, but 35 minutes with traffic is hardly far enough to consider what they had a “long distance” relationship. They spent nearly every weekend together, and at least two nights during the week, sometimes more.
Then she remembered the young pretty brunette who lived a few floors down. The one she would always ride the elevator with who looked so perfect and put together while she had just finished a hectic day at work and the drive to his apartment, 12 hour old makeup splotchy with mascara transferred under her eyes and lipstick worn down to nothing that she could not bring herself to reapply. She knew this girl would cause a problem but he brushed her off saying that he did not even know her name. After the conversation they had last night, she could tell that he lied.
What kind of man does something like that? She could not be sure, but she had this feeling that he didn’t wait to make his move on the new girl until after they had broken up.
The same man who called a 35 minute maximum commute long distance, that’s who.
The same man she had to tell to place the dirty dishes in the sink instead of on the counter next to it.
The same man she had to remind to change and wash his bed sheets at least every other week.
Then she heard it. A giggle that sounded far off but was coming from her own mouth. She was laughing at him. More importantly, she was laughing at herself for taking a pity shower and crying over a man like that. His mother still cooked him a week’s worth of dinner every weekend for God sakes. If she didn’t, he would starve. She tried to remember a single time that he cooked a meal for himself but nothing came to mind.
How pathetic.
She should be thanking him. If he had not broken up with her, she would have never seen it. She would have married him and eventually become miserable.
She turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and wrapped the towel around herself, stepping up to the mirror. Looking herself in the eye, she began to laugh again.
He gave her a chance to recreate herself. Rather than being the desperate 24 year old woman she was when they met, the type of woman he would not let grow and become something greater, she could finally blossom into the woman she was really meant to be.
This was her chance. Her Renaissance. Her Rebirth.
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