Inside, the reception is cold and bright, the air laced with coffee and toner. Melissa, the receptionist and Clark’s biggest supporter, barely spares me a glance.
I walk straight past. My heels echo across the tile as I head down the hall.
The gossip has been vicious. My parents blame me for walking away, spinning it like I broke some unspoken rule of propriety. My mother leaves daily voicemails about “fixing this” before my reputation is ruined.
And Clark? Clark plays the victim. Every muttered comment in the hall:
Beth was too cold.
She pushed Clark away.
She drove him to cheat.
All lies. I’m done pretending.
I don’t knock. I push his office door open and walk in like I own the place.
Clark looks up, startled. His hair is perfectly tousled, his collar unbuttoned just so. He tries a lazy, confident smile, like he’s already forgiven me.
“Beth.” He leans back, hands behind his head. “I figured you’d come around.”
I laugh. The audacity.
“You think I’m here to beg?”
His smirk deepens. “I think you’re here to talk. To see sense.”
I shake my head. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “We had something good. No sense throwing it away—”
“Oh, you mean over you sleeping with my cousin on our wedding day?” My words crack through the air like a whip.
He falters, mouth opening and closing. “Beth—”
“No. You don’t get to spin this. You cheated. You lied. Now you’re painting me as the villain because I wouldn’t let you walk all over me.”
I stand inches from his desk, holding his gaze. “How long, Clark? How long with Stephanie?”
He blanches, voice barely audible. “Since about a month after we started dating.”
My breath leaves me, but I force myself not to look away. Voices outside the office hush. I hope they’re all listening.
He leans away from me, jaw tight. “You’re making a scene.”
“Good. Maybe it’s time people see who you really are.”
He stands, suddenly desperate. “This doesn’t have to end like this. We can work it out.”
I release a cold laugh. “You still think you get a vote. I don’t want this job, this town, or what you offer. I’m done.”
I pull a folded envelope from my purse and set it on his desk—my resignation letter.
He stares at it as if it might explode. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.” I turn to go.
“Beth, wait—”
