Chapter 5 - The Confrontation at the Diner
By the end of the second week, Laya had hit rock bottom.
She intercepted me outside the local coffee shop where I stopped every morning before heading to work. She looked exhausted, her hair unwashed, wearing an oversized hoodie that swallowed her frame. She didn't look like a glowing bride; she looked like a frightened twenty-six-year-old child who had finally realized the world doesn't hand out participation trophies for being selfish.
"Are you happy now?" Laya hissed, stepping out from behind a parked sedan to block my path. "My apartment is gone. My husband is looking at me like I’m a stranger. Everyone in the family thinks I’m a monster because you decided to play corporate executioner over a text message."
I stopped, adjusting the strap of my laptop bag, and looked her dead in the eye.
"Laya, I didn't destroy your life," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "I just stopped financing the illusion of it."
"You could fix this with one phone call!" she cried, her voice cracking as a few morning commuters turned to stare. "You have Wellington Industries connections now! You’re hanging out with billionaires! A few thousand dollars to you is nothing—it's pocket change!"
"That's where you're wrong," I replied, stepping past her. "It’s not about the money anymore, Laya. It’s about respect. And you spent every last drop of mine."
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"You're heartless!" she screamed at my back.
"No, Laya," I called back without turning around. "I’m just finally putting myself first."
