If she wasn't so devastated, she would feel vindicated, or at the very least, satisfied.
All of those months ago, as he was begging her to give them a chance, telling her that he wanted to try 'for the next thirty, forty, fifty years…' she could still remember the terror that had welled up inside of her.
She had panicked, then, insisting that she wasn't a gambler and didn't have an open heart, when what she really meant was, 'What if I lose you, too?'
Her only mistake was in thinking that by remaining in their roles as partners and friends (only), the risk of losing him would be minimized. In the end, he had chosen to pull away from her, and she was able to gather her evidence of the deterioration of their relationship from a distance. It was always easier to be objective from a distance… until it wasn't, anymore.
Now, she was faced with the facts.
Fact: He had insisted that he'd known from the beginning that there was something between them- something that was solid and true and a forever kind of feeling. But just over half a year later, he had returned to D.C. announcing that he had moved on- and he'd made it look so easy.
Fact: He had promised her that they were the center, and that they were part of their own family- a family that they had chosen to create, together. But just today, he had introduced her as his 'associate', and she couldn't remember the last time they had shared a plate of French fries. She couldn't count the number of times that he had rolled his eyes at her or shook his head at something she had said, his expression revealing just how little patience he had for her, now.
Fact: Tonight, he had rejected her when she had explained that she didn't want to have any regrets. He had replied that he was with her now- that she wasn't a consolation prize- that he loved her. And when she had shuddered and willed her tears to stop flowing, rasping out, "I'll adjust," he'd nodded in agreement and driven her back home.
The facts should have comforted her, or at the very least should have provided a feeling of stability or familiarity; after all, she lived and worked with facts.
Before she'd met him, she would have been relieved to know that what she believed about 'love' had been proven to be true; that it was ephemeral, a result of chemicals, and…
Why did it hurt so much to know that she had been correct?
Now, shedding her soaked attire and absently running a towel through her dripping hair, she slipped into her nightclothes and crawled into bed, pulling her comforter up and clutching a pillow to herself as she tried in vain to find warmth.
What she had told him minutes earlier had been true. She could adjust.