A Day in the Life of Amy

Amy had just dropped Max off at her condo after spending another night at Fiona’s when her phone buzzed.

Mark: We need to talk. Tonight. No excuses.

The message made her stomach twist. Mark wasn’t the type to send ultimatums, which only meant one thing—he already knew something.

She told herself she’d deal with it later, but by evening, she found herself sitting across from him in a quiet corner booth of the same Italian restaurant where they’d shared so many laughs. Tonight, there was no wine. No easy charm. Just tension so sharp she could feel it in her bones.

Mark leaned forward, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen them. “Amy, what’s going on with you?”

She tried to play it off, fiddling with her napkin. “What do you mean?”

He exhaled hard, jaw tight. “Don’t. You’ve been distant for weeks. Different. I’ve been patient, but I can’t ignore it anymore. And then—” His voice faltered, but only for a moment. “Then I saw you.”

Amy froze. “Saw me?”

Mark’s gaze cut into hers. “With her. Fiona. Laughing like the rest of the world didn’t exist. You looked… happy. Happier than you’ve ever looked with me.”

Her pulse pounded. There it was. The truth, laid bare.

“Mark…” Her voice shook.

He shook his head, leaning back. “Do you love her?”

The question hit like a punch to the chest. Did she? Amy opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Mark’s expression softened for just a flicker, like he almost wanted her to deny it, to tell him he was imagining things. But Amy couldn’t. Her silence was answer enough.

He swallowed, nodding slowly. “I thought so.”

Tears pricked Amy’s eyes. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” Mark said, his voice quieter now. “But you did. And what’s worse—you strung me along while you figured it out.”

Amy’s heart ached. She wanted to reach across the table, to say something that would undo the pain in his eyes. But she also knew she couldn’t lie—not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Mark stood, tossing a few bills on the table. “Don’t be sorry, Amy. Just… be honest. With yourself. With her. Because this—” He gestured between them. “This is over.”

He walked away before she could respond, leaving her sitting in the wreckage of what had once felt like possibility.

As Amy stepped out into the cool night air, her phone buzzed again.

Fiona: Thinking of you.

Amy stared at the message, her heart aching with equal parts loss and clarity.

For better or worse, the choice had been made.