I Won't Accept Your Remorse
I spend eight years being Ashton Clark's secret girlfriend, bending over backward for him like a maid. It takes the company's cleaning lady to finally make me see the truth.
Late that night, while working overtime, I place some stomach medicine and a bowl of warmed seafood chowder on his desk.
"Eat while it's warm, Mr. Clark. Don't let your stomach flare up again."
His eyes stay glued to the financial reports on his screen. He doesn't even bother to grunt an acknowledgment.
I reach out to push the bowl a little closer to his hand.
Nearby, the cleaning lady emptying the trash suddenly stops.
"Save it, sweetie. Mr. Clark already ate something someone else brought him. The fancy lunchbox