Ex- fiance's Regret 1-3

"Are you kidding me?" Sharon cried, her voice cracking as she glared at Pete across the sticky pub table.

Pete leaned back, his expression so infuriatingly calm he looked like he was settling in for a nap rather than dismantling her entire life. "Come on, Sharon. It’s better this way. For both of us."

Sharon shook her head, the fluorescent lights of the bar blurring as her eyes welled up. She couldn't wrap her mind around the cruelty of it. Pete had taken her out on a "date"—their usual Thursday night spot—only to drop this. Who breaks up with someone over a basket of fries?

"How is it better?" she asked, her hands trembling so hard she had to hide them in her lap. "We’ve been together for two years, Pete. We were talking about the future. You’re just throwing it all away."

"I’m not throwing it away, babe." He reached across the table, his fingers grazing her knuckles. "I'm just being realistic."

"Don't call me that," she snapped, jerking her hand back as if his touch burned. "You’re dumping me. You don't get to use pet names anymore. Use my name or don't say anything at all."

Pete sighed, the sound sharp and impatient. "Fine, Sharon. I’m trying to be nice here, and you’re making it very difficult to have a civil conversation."

Sharon let out a jagged, sarcastic laugh. "Oh, I’m so sorry! I’ll be sure to take notes on proper breakup etiquette so the next time you decide to ruin my life, I can be more polite about it."

"Don’t be like this," he muttered, looking around to see if anyone was watching.

"I’ll be however the hell I want," Sharon said, standing up so abruptly her chair screeched against the floorboards. "You don't get to make demands. You don't get to tell me how to feel. We’re done, right? Then I'm leaving."

"Wait," Pete said, looking down at the bill the waitress had just dropped. "We’re not going Dutch on the check? You had the stout."

Sharon’s mouth dropped open. The sheer pettiness of it felt like a slap. "Get the check yourself, asshole," she spat, turning her back on him before the first sob could escape.

She held it together until she hit the sidewalk. The Los Angeles night was humid, the air smelling of exhaust and stale jasmine. By the time she reached the bus stop halfway down the block, the tears were a flood. She fumbled with her phone, her blurred vision making it hard to find the right contact.

"He dumped me," Sharon wailed the moment Deby picked up.

"What? Sharon, oh my God, are you okay?"

"I'm at the bus stop," she choked out. "He bought me a drink, we shared those greasy fries I love, and then—bam. He told me he wasn't ready for a commitment. After two years! I thought we were moving in together!"

"I don't believe this," Deby said, her voice rising in protective fury. "Hold on,