Chapter 2 _ Evelyn

"Babe, what’s this surprise?" I asked anxiously, my voice trembling with a mixture of thrill and terror. My hands were gripping the edge of the table so hard my knuckles had turned the color of bone. The air around us felt thick, charged with the electricity of a life-altering moment.

"Ummmmhhh..." Jason stammered.

The sound was wrong. It wasn’t the confident clear-throat of a man about to pledge his eternal troth. It was the low, guttural noise of a man looking for an exit.

He didn't reach for the velvet box I had hallucinated in his pocket. Instead, his hand dipped into his suit jacket and retrieved a folded piece of paper. It looked stark white against the dark navy of his lapel.

"What..." The word fell out of my mouth, heavy and confused. A deed? A prenup? A plane ticket to the honeymoon?

"Evelyn," he began, and he refused to look at me. He was staring at the candle flickering between us, watching the wax melt. "For the past eight years, you’ve been a wonderful person to me. I’m not going to deny that. You are a very good woman."

My stomach dropped. It was a physical sensation, like the elevator cable snapping while I was on the top floor. Good woman. That’s how you describe a nanny or a faithful dog. Not the love of your life.

"But things... things don't just go our way," he continued, stumbling over his rehearsed lines. "Which is why I've decided to end this relationship."

The noise of the restaurant—the clinking silverware, the soft jazz, the laughter—all of it turned into a high-pitched ringing in my ears.

"Evelyn, you are a very wonderful person," he droned on, rushing the words now, like he wanted to vomit them out and be done with it. 

“You’re a good woman, Evelyn.”

“Any man would want you, but I’m not that man anymore.”

 I know eight years is a very long time, and I’ve wasted your time. I know this will be very hard for you, but you have to accept it. You deserve better."

He slid the paper across the tablecloth. It moved with a terrifying finality, stopping just inches from my water glass.

"Here," he said, his voice devoid of the warmth that had greeted me when I came in. "This is a cheque of ten thousand dollars. Use it to start a new life for yourself."

I stared at the paper. It was a cheque. Blue ink pen with his jagged signature. $10,000.

I sat there, frozen, my brain misfiring. I thought I was dreaming. I had to be. This was a hallucination brought on by low blood sugar or too much excitement. I blinked rapidly, trying to reset the world, trying to wake up back in the car with the butterflies in my stomach.

Or maybe... maybe it was a prank.

Yes. That had to be it. Jason had a twisted sense of humor sometimes. He was testing me. He was breaking me down to build me up, to make the proposal sweeter.

"Babe," I said, a breathless, hysterical chuckle bubbling up from my throat. "This is an expensive joke, you know?"

I looked at him, searching for the sparkle in his eye, the twitch of a smile that would give him away.

"It’s no joke," I whispered, my voice shaking so bad I could barely form the syllables. "Is it serious? You love me, right? You really love me. We have a picture to get... you promised you’re going to marry me."

I reached for his hand across the table. He snatched it back as if I were burning him.

"Enough, Evelyn! Just stop it!" Jason shouted.

The boom of his voice shattered the intimate bubble of our table. Heads turned and I felt the burn of a dozen pairs of eyes on us, but I couldn't look away from him.

"I said I don't want this relationship anymore!" he barked, his face twisting into a mask of irritation. He pointed a manicured finger at the paper. "Here is a cheque of ten thousand dollars. Start a new life for yourself and move on. It’s over."

The cruelty of it slapped me harder than his hand ever could.

"Just like that?" I asked, my voice rising, cracking under the weight of eight years of memories collapsing on top of me. "Jason, you must be joking. You are a very big joker."

I stood up, my legs feeling like jelly. "I dedicated eight years of my life to this relationship! I invested in it! I invested in you! And you just sit here like it’s just... just an eight-day fling? You expect me to just swallow it?"

I grabbed the cheque, the paper crinkling in my fist. "Here you are, trying to pay me off with ten thousand dollars? Jason, are you human?"

Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and blinding. I didn't care about the makeup I had spent hours perfecting. I didn't care about the silk dress.

"After everything I’ve done for you?" I choked out, the reality of my sacrifices clawing at my throat. "After six abortions, Jason! Six! You and your career, you and your timing. 'Not now, Evelyn,' you said. 'Wait until the merger, Evelyn,' you said. And I did it. I killed parts of myself for you!"

The restaurant was dead silent now. I could hear the hum of the air conditioning.

"And you still have the mind to break up with me? This thing... I rejected lots of men because of you! Better men! Kind men! And after all of it, you give me a cheque like a severance package for eight years of service?"

I slammed my hand on the table, rattling the silverware. "Can you pay for the time, Jason? Can you buy back my youth with this? Can you buy back the pains I went through to abort six babies?"

Jason didn't flinch. He adjusted his cufflink, looking at me with cold, dead eyes.

"EVELYN," he said, his voice dripping with ice. "I can't marry someone like you."

The air left my lungs.

"I deserve better," he said, and he actually believed it. The arrogance radiated off him like heat. "I mean, I’ve owned an Empire now. I need someone... an heir that will take over my wealth. Which I don't even know if you can give me."

He looked at my stomach, then back at my eyes, with a look of pure disgust.

"So please. I’m so sorry about wasting your years and everything. Please do forgive me and try to move on."

Something inside me snapped. It wasn't my heart—that was already dust. It was my restraint.

"Jasonnnnnnn!" I screamed. The sound tore from the bottom of my soul, a primal cry of agony and rage.

"How dare you?"

I looked at the cheque in my hand. The price of my dignity. The price of my love. I ripped it. I ripped it in half, then into quarters, then into confetti.

"Good riddance, Jason!"

I threw the pieces in his face. They fluttered down like snow, landing on his expensive tuxedo, on his meticulously gelled hair, into his untouched wine glass.

My chest was heaving. I was almost fainting, the edges of my vision going dark. My face was a mess of tears, snot, and sweat. I felt hollowed out, gutted like a fish on a market slab.

I couldn't breathe in the same room as him anymore. I had to get out.

I turned around, stumbling slightly, my high heels catching on the carpet. I grabbed my clutch, my fingers numb. I was about to leave, to run into the night and scream until my voice gave out.

"Evelyn."

He called out again.

I stopped. My hand froze on the back of the chair.

Why did he call me?

A tiny, stupid, pathetic spark of hope flared in the ashes of my chest. Maybe to tell me it is a prank. It has to be. He’s going to laugh and say, 'You passed the test, baby.' He’s going to wipe my tears and tell me he loves me.

I turned slowly, breathless, waiting for the punchline. I stopped to listen.

Jason brushed a piece of the torn cheque off his shoulder. He didn't look sorry. He looked bored.

"I will be getting married in two days' time, Evelyn," he said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact, as if he was telling me the time of day. "You're invited."