Four days of roses. Four days of increasingly desperate text messages that I delete without reading. Four days of Tyler's pathetic attempts at winning me back, each gesture more suffocating than the last.
By Thursday evening, I'm exhausted from the constant vigilance—checking corners before I walk around them, timing my arrivals and departures to avoid him, jumping every time my phone buzzes.
The municipal building's parking lot is nearly empty when I finally drag myself out at six-thirty, my laptop bag heavy on my shoulder.
The pregnancy exhaustion doesn't help. Dr. Martinez warned me the first trimester would be draining, but I hadn't anticipated this bone-deep fatigue that makes everything feel like I'm moving through thick honey.
I fumble with my keys, squinting in the fading light, when footsteps crunch on gravel behind me.
"Finally."
I don't need to turn around. Tyler's voice carries a tone I've never heard before—cold, stripped of the pleading desperation that's characterized his recent attempts.
"I'm not doing this today, Tyler." I don't look at him, focusing on unlocking my car. "I'm tired, I have work to finish at home, and we have nothing to discuss."
"Oh, we have plenty to discuss." His footsteps get closer, but when I glance over my shoulder, everything about his posture has changed.
No more slumped shoulders. No roses in his hands. No desperate, puppy-dog expression. Instead, his spine is straight, eyes narrow and cold, mouth twisted with something that makes my stomach clench with unease.
"You've had your fun, Ava. Made your point. But this little tantrum of yours has gone on long enough."
"Tantrum?" The word hits like a slap. I turn to face him fully, keys gripped between my fingers. "You think this is a tantrum?"
"What else would you call it?" He steps closer, and something in his expression makes me back against my car. "I said I was sorry. I sent flowers. I've been patient with your drama, but enough is enough."
"Patient with my drama?" The laugh that escapes me is sharp, disbelieving. "You cheated on me. With someone I considered a friend. And you think I'm being dramatic?"
"You want to know what's dramatic?" His voice rises, losing the last pretense of civility. "Three years, Ava. Three fucking years I wasted dating a frigid bitch who wouldn't put out."
The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me."
He's fully unleashed now, venom pouring out like pus from an infected wound.
"Three years of begging for scraps of affection from my own goddamn girlfriend. Do you know how humiliating that was? Having friends ask why my girl wouldn't even hold my hand in public half the time?"
"I held your hand."
"Like you were doing me a favor! Like touching me disgusted you!" His voice echoes off the concrete structures. "You made me feel like some kind of predator for wanting normal things from my girlfriend. For wanting what every other guy was getting from theirs."
My whole body starts trembling—with rage, with shock, with the dawning realization of who Tyler really is beneath the charming facade.
"So yeah, I went to Megan. At least she's a real woman who knows how to satisfy a man instead of acting like some precious virgin princess who's too pure to be touched."
"Stop." The word comes out as barely a whisper.
"You're probably gay. That would explain a lot. Or maybe you're just one of those frigid bitches who thinks her pussy is made of gold. Either way, no normal woman stays a virgin this long. It's not cute, Ava. It's pathetic."
Tears stream down my face now, hot and shameful. This is Tyler without his mask, the monster that always lurked beneath the surface charm.
The cruelty I glimpsed when he talked about classmates who crossed him, coworkers who got promotions he wanted, anyone who made him feel small.
"You should be grateful I stayed as long as I did. Any other guy would have dumped your uptight ass after six months. But I was patient. I was understanding. And this is how you repay me?"
"I repay you by not wanting to be cheated on?" My voice cracks, but anger is starting to burn through the hurt. "By having standards?"
"Standards?" He laughs, cruel and mocking. "Honey, you're a twenty-one-year-old virgin with no money, no real prospects, and emotional damage from growing up without a father. What standards do you think you can afford to have?"
The reference to my father, to the absence that shaped my entire childhood, makes something snap inside me. "Fuck you, Tyler. Fuck you and your—"
"That's enough." The voice cuts through Tyler's tirade like ice, stopping both of us mid-breath. We turn toward the building entrance where Tobias stands, having approached so quietly neither of us noticed.
He's still in his work clothes, dark suit, tie loosened from a long day, but everything about his posture radiates barely controlled fury. His hazel eyes are locked on Tyler with an expression I've never seen before.
Pure disgust mixed with rage so cold it makes the air feel electric.
"Dad." Tyler's voice wavers slightly, some of his vicious confidence cracking. "Don't interfere."
"Not interfere your verbal abuse? " Tobias steps closer, his gaze moving to my tear-streaked face before returning to his son.
"You don't understand what she put me through."
"I understand that I just heard my son blame a woman for his own infidelity."
Each of his words is precisely controlled, but underneath I can hear something dangerous building.
"I heard him use language about someone he claimed to love that would make a grown man ashamed."
"She's been playing games with me for years! Leading me on, making me think…"
The slap comes so fast I barely see it. The crack echoes across the empty parking lot like a gunshot. Tyler staggers back, hand flying to his reddening cheek, shock replacing his cruel confidence.
"I didn't raise you like this."
Tobias's voice is quiet now, thick with disappointment that somehow cuts deeper than shouting would.
"I thought I raised a man who respects women. Who takes responsibility for his own choices. Who understands that 'no' doesn't mean 'convince me.'"
Tyler holds his cheek, humiliation and rage warring in his expression. His eyes dart between his father and me, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head, puzzle pieces shifting into new configurations.
"Why?” His voice drops to something ugly, speculative. "Are you taking her side because—"
"I'm taking the side of basic human decency," Tobias cuts him off. "Get in your car. Leave. And if I hear you've contacted Ava again, we'll be having a very different conversation."
Tyler stares at his father for a long moment, something cold and calculating replacing the hot anger. Then his gaze shifts to me, and the look in his eyes makes my skin crawl with its implication.
"This isn't over," he says quietly, but he's looking at Tobias when he says it, not me.
He stalks away toward his BMW, leaving me shaking against my car, Tobias standing protectively between us until Tyler's taillights disappear into the evening.