The Eighth Anniversary

On our eighth anniversary, I found a pair of men's underwear in the pocket of Mark’s expensive coat – and they definitely weren't his size, or mine.

When I confronted him with them, he just shrugged, all ice and attitude: “I must have accidentally grabbed the wrong size for you, that’s all. You're always jumping to conclusions. I should've just thrown them away!”

I didn't say anything, just dumped the elaborate dinner I'd prepared into the trash.

Later that night, Mark's "forever girl," halfway across the world, posted a picture on Instagram. It showed a man's hand gently massaging her back. On that large, rugged ring finger was the matching wedding band Mark and I shared.

She captioned it with a nauseatingly sweet line: "Whenever I want to come home, my Superman is always there to whisk me away."

I gave the post a casual “like,” then grabbed my ex-boyfriend's business card. Time for a call.

“Hey, it's me," I said. "Are you still looking for people? I could…be there pretty much anytime."

1.

“Absolutely, Jamie. You know I’ve always been waiting for you.”

I didn't reply, the words tasting bitter.

Years ago, Mark had stepped in to help me out, and I’d broken things off with Luke, hard and fast. But eight years later, here I was crawling back.

But now I was empty. Mark had squeezed every last drop of love from me. There was nothing left to hold me here.

After hanging up, I rushed to get my passport application in order.

Mark’s call came through, all demanding and angry:

“So, what's the big deal about Heather posting on social? Why are you acting so weird?”

I didn't say anything, just kept signing forms.

He sensed something was off. “What are you doing? Where are you?”

I just made something up: "Getting the car inspected."

“Great timing! I need to get plates for Heather’s car. Go ahead and hold our place in line; I'll be there soon.”

I opened my mouth to refuse but he had already hung up, as always more concerned with his own needs than me.

I sighed, knowing I was letting myself be his doormat one last time.

I saw the numbers on the license plate: ‘795254’. I suddenly remembered Luke’s old password, the one he used for everything: 795254.

I had begged him to tell me what the numbers meant, but he always avoided the question, finally exploding at me one day.

"It's just a stupid number! Why are you always pushing and pushing? If you can't deal with it, we’re done!”

He even changed all my passwords to 795254 just to prove his point.

I stared at it, then opened my phone's number keypad. Then, it finally hit me.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “L-U-K-E-I-L-O-V-E-H-E-A-T-H-E-R.”

I'd always thought things had gone south when Heather broke up with him while she was overseas. Turns out, he'd never really given me the time of day at all.

Well, that made leaving a whole lot easier.

I sent a photo of my passport to Luke, and he said he'd be there in person to pick me up.

I tried to refuse, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“No way you’re ...