“You don’t get to just walk away because you’re scared.” You’re shaking now, from fury. From the absolute audacity of him standing there, pretending you didn’t mean something. Mark’s turned away from you again. You raise your voice. “After everything…after all the nights you let me in just enough to make me stay, you’re suddenly done?”

“People break up all the time.”

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “You’re not people. You’re the guy who used to leave meetings early just to see me for ten minutes. Who texts me song lyrics at midnight. Who…God, Mark, who told me I made him feel alive.”

“I was wrong,” he snaps and turns. “I was selfish.”

Your voice breaks. “And now you’re what? Righteous?” Something flickers across his face, something buried and pained. But he swallows it down hard. “You’re just scared,” you say, stepping toward him. “So you’re running. Again.” He sighs. Detached. But his eyes betray him. There’s something breaking behind them.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” You feel yourself freeze. Your hands drop to your sides like you don’t know what to do with them anymore.

“Wow,” you breathe. “So I’m just some chapter you’re closing, is that it?”

“Don’t,” he snaps, voice tight, defensive. “Don’t make this more dramatic than it is.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow. “You don’t get to tell me how to fall apart.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing!” he shouts suddenly, stepping forward. “Can’t you see that?”

“For who?” you shoot back. “Me? Or you?” His shoulders are stiff, but he says nothing. You step closer. “You can’t even look me in the eye. Coward.” That one lands. He flinches. “If you’re going to break up with me, Mark,” you grit out, “then say it to my face. Look at me. Say the words. I dare you.” He turns slowly, eyes wild, something brewing behind them like a storm waiting to hit shore. “Go on,” you push. “Say it. Tell me I meant nothing. Tell me this is over. Look me in the fucking eye and say it.”

And then he snaps. “Fuck this,” he explodes, shoving the crystal paperweight off the table. It hits the floor with a violent crack, splintering into shards. “Fuck this, and fuck you for not letting it go. I’ve been trying to spare you, and you just keep…pushing.”

“Because you’re LYING!” you scream back, chest heaving. “You’re not sparing me from anything, you’re cutting me out. And I don’t know why.”

“BECAUSE I’M FUCKING DYING!” Silence. The weight of those words crashes, and the broken glass at your feet suddenly feels irrelevant. Mark stands there, breathing like he just ran a marathon, chest rising and falling as his whole body trembles with the force of what he’s finally let out. “I have cancer,” he chokes. “Glioblastoma. In my fucking brain. They gave me a year. Maybe. If I’m lucky,” he spits, bitter and broken. “And you think I want you watching me turn into a goddamn vegetable? You think I want the person I love to see me forget how to fucking speak or walk or remember your name?” You’re crying now, silently. But you don’t look away. Mark laughs bitterly, swiping a hand across his face. “You think I’m cold? That I don’t care? I can’t breathe when I think about you sitting next to a hospital bed while I forget who you are. I’d rather you fucking hate me than go through that.”