He was used to my obedience, used to my yielding, used to the certainty that I would never leave.
So all he did was knit his brows and let his voice go hard, laced with threat: "Madge, stop being unreasonable. You want to break up? Fine. Don't regret it."
"I won't."
I looked straight at him. Steady. Not a shred of hesitation.
Les's face darkened completely. He glared at me, snatched his jacket off the chair, and slammed the door on his way out.
The bang was loud enough to shake plaster off the living room wall.
I sat alone in the wrecked, lightless apartment, and finally pressed both hands over my face and cried without making a sound.
Not because the breakup hurt. Because three years of my youth had been thrown away on a man like him.
Because the research I'd fought for with everything I had, and the love I'd given just as hard, had both been stepped on and trampled without a second thought.
Les and I were in the same department at the same university. He was a year ahead of me.
We did our graduate work together, entered the Provincial Key Research Lab together, and became recognized young scholars together.