In a fit of rage, I lost control.

The composure I’d been holding onto shattered. I watched Damon’s face change, a flicker of guilt in his eyes as he subconsciously tried to explain.

“I didn’t know you were back from your trip! How could I skip the dinner with Mr. Reynolds? I only asked Zara to get my things because I had no other choice. Why do you have to make such a scene!”

“Mia!”

Damon looked at me with utter disappointment. “When did you become so jealous and possessive, clinging to every little thing and blowing it out of proportion?”

“Mia, no man will ever love a woman like you!”

I really thought I wouldn't cry again.

At least, from the moment I signed the release form at the station to the drive home with Damon, I had maintained my dignity, my composure. I had even spent the car ride replaying our entire relationship in my head.

In the end, I came to a conclusion.

I wanted a clean break.

But the tears still came, uncontrollably, at his accusations and blame. They fell like pearls from a broken string, impossible to stop.

“You’re right. No man will ever love a woman like me.”

My voice was choked with sobs.

“So, I don’t need your love either.”

I wiped my tears and turned to leave, but Zara grabbed my hand. She started crying with me, crying even harder than I was, relentlessly apologizing.

“Mia.”

“I really didn’t mean it. Please don’t be mad at Damon. I’ll quit tomorrow, I’ll disappear! Damon really loves you, please don’t make him sad, okay?”

I hated Zara’s holier-than-thou, green tea bitch act more than anything. Seeing her sobbing her heart out, my own tears stopped. I yanked my hand away and screamed.

“Get lost!”

Zara stumbled and fell to the ground, looking up at me in shock.

“Mia!”

Damon rushed to help Zara up, his voice filled with concern. He saw the scrape on her palm and roared at me.

“Are you insane? Apologize to Zara!”

“In your dreams.”

“You want me to apologize?” I looked at Damon, then at Zara, who had a flash of triumph in her eyes. I threw one last thing at them. “If you don’t agree to the divorce, then let’s take this to court.”

I didn’t look back. I didn't care about the sound of Zara’s sobs or Damon’s voice, comforting her and calling me a lunatic.

Instead, I took a cab straight to my best friend’s place.

My best friend, Chloe, didn’t say a word. She let me in, pulled out the dozens of beers she had stashed in her fridge, put them on the table, and asked me one question.

“Is this enough?”

I looked at her, and my eyes instantly reddened.

Chloe said nothing, just opened her arms and asked, “Hug?”

I completely broke down. I buried my face in her shoulder and wailed, crying until my voice was raw, until my whole body was shaking. I cried until I was throwing up in the bathroom, and when it was all over, I told her:

“I want a divorce!”

“I want a divorce!”

“I want Damon Starr to go to hell!”

What is the end of love?

It’s when two people who were once so close, willing to take on the world together, turn into enemies, brandishing knives at each other, fighting to the death. It’s when the hope of turning the tomb of marriage into a garden of love finally gives way to the realization that even roses will wither and die.