Epigraph:
Always listen to your heart, because even though it's on your left side, it's always right.

- Nicolas Sparks

The smell of freshly brewed coffee lures me up out of sleep, and the bed presses down beside me as Jack crawls up. He nuzzles my neck and whispers, "I feel like some morning nookie."

It's a birthday tradition for us. We usually end up too sluggish from our nightly junk food binges while we watch movies to have sex much anymore - part of the reason I'm intent on cleaning up my diet and losing weight. Among a wide plethora of complaints like aching knees and sleep apnea, I miss sex.

I open my eyes, fully prepared to get right to it, because no matter how big we've both gotten, which has presented its own sex challenges, Jack still rocks my world.

But I freeze when I see the small mountain of hand-sized chocolate chip cookies beside the coffee pot. Disappointment floods me. I don't need to count to know there will be 31. One for each year of my life. It's another birthday tradition - one that I specifically requested we skip because I started a diet last month.

I sit up and frown down at Jack reclined beside me. "Where did the cookies come from?" When he hears the rarely-present edge of anger in my voice, he glances at the cookies and his ears flush a deep red, then he gives me the smile he knows I can't resist and starts to stroke my arm.

"Come on, babe, how could I dishonour our first tradition as a couple? It was the first time you said you loved me, among other firsts." He waggles his eyebrows up and down, and the reminder rapidly cools my temper and suffuses me with a warm rush of happiness. He knows Pretty Woman is my favourite movie, so ten years ago, he'd climbed a ladder to my second-story window at the crack of dawn with a dozen roses and a box of 21 cookies so freshly baked they were still warm from the oven. It was so romantic.

"Aren't you glad I'm not like other guys who don't even remember their girlfriends' birthdays? And I always remember to get you peonies for Valentine's Day, too." He sniggers, and I know he's thinking about the pneumonic he uses to remember my favourite flower: He's calls them 'pee-ons'. For the entire time the bouquet lasts, he'll ask at least twice a day if the 'pee-ons' are surviving, cackling like it's the funniest joke in the world every time. It always irritates me, and is the main reason I don't ask for them more often. I don't want to be irritated with my boyfriend. He smiles smugly. "You're so lucky to have me."

"Hmmmm." I melt a bit as he continues to stroke my arm. I feel lucky.

He reaches over me and snags two cookies. "Happy birthday, babe." He hands me a cookie, then stuffs his into his mouth.

I frown. The cookie smells divine and saliva fills my mouth. It's dotted with great big chocolate chunks and has the perfect crispy outside and gooey inside. I want to gobble it up like Jack did, but if I do, I'd be breaking the promise to myself - again - to eat healthier. One I've been having a lot of trouble doing because I'm so weak. "I don't want to break my diet," I say softly.

He stuffs another two cookies into his mouth. "Babe, it's your birthday. You get a freebie on your birthday. Everyone knows that."

I shrug. "I guess." I continue to stare at the cookie. It would just be one little cookie, maybe two, and like Jack says, you get a freebie on your birthday. But guilt is already eating away at me and I haven't even eaten the darn thing yet. I turn the cookie to admire the other side of it and absently ask, "Did you make the reservations for dinner?"

"Yeah, we've got our regular table at the Mongolian Grill for eight."

A fizz of annoyance shoots through me. "I wanted to go to The Green Corner."

He cocks up an eyebrow and says through a mouthful of cookie, "Babe, that place is vegan." He says the last word like it's something nasty he's just tasted. Which to him, any meal without meat would be.

The fizz of annoyance is joined by another, something that worries me because after ten years together, it's been happening more and more often over the last year. "It's my birthday, I should get to choose where I want to eat out."

Jack heaves a sigh. "But I have to suffer through whatever choice you make. Come on, it's your birthday. Have a big feast of red meat with me."

I plead with him, "Jack, I told you I can't eat that stuff anymore. At least not for a while." I was very clear about what is and isn't allowed on my diet.

He gives me puppy dog eyes that melt me. "You know it's your favourite restaurant. I just want you to enjoy your birthday. Come on, eat your cookie, babe."

My hand twitches with the desire to smack him, something I've never felt before. Ever. For anyone. Much less the man I love. I scramble out of bed to get some distance from him.

My hands clench and unclench as the fizz of annoyance starts to smolder. Nerves make my voice a bit wobbly when I say, "That's what you said two nights ago when you brought home the chicken wings. And the pizza before that. And the enchiladas. They're all my favourites."

Jack sits up, annoyance surfacing on his face. "Geez, I was only thinking of you. I didn't want you to miss out, especially on your favourites." He's used all those lines a lot over the last month. He cocks an eyebrow up and tilts his head to the side. "Besides, you can't expect me to eat alone when I bring that stuff home for you, can you?"

I snap out, "Yes, actually, I can. Don't you care that my cholesterol is sky high? If I keep eating those things, I might end up having my first heart attack even earlier than Dad did. I don't want to have a heart attack - ever!"

Jack blows a raspberry in disbelief. "The doctor is just saying that to scare you. You're the healthiest person I know." He leans forward and rubs the back of his fingers over my cheek, then grabs a few more cookies. "You know I look out for you. Don't listen to that quack."

White hot fury shoots through me. "He's a highly respected member of the medical community. Not a quack!" Normally when I get angry I can't think straight. But this anger burns away the fog of emotion that has been slowly creeping over me for the last ten years. It burns away the blind eye I've been turning to Jack's behaviour.

In the past, I was right on board with eating anything and everything. But ever since I started my diet, he's been assaulting my weak willpower every couple of days with the heavy artillery of my favourite foods, not to mention the guerilla tactics of tempting me nightly with sweets, chocolates, chips and cheese puffs while we watched movies. None of it tasted as delicious as it should, though, because it was flavoured heavily with the guilt that I was letting myself down and worry over the damage I was doing my body.

I close my eyes briefly because I can't bear to look at him. "Jack, why did I buy you a Range Rover? A Tag Heuer? Take you to exotic resorts?"

He frowns, confusion in his eyes at the change of topic. "Because I wanted them?"

Anger gives way to pain as my heart splinters into tiny little razor-sharp pieces. My words hitch as I say, "Because I love you, and I want the best for you." Confusion is still all over his face.

The pile of cookies is steadily getting smaller as Jack plows his way through them. I hold out the cookie that has now left chocolate smears on my hand. "Did Mrs. Crandall make these for me?"

Mrs. Crandall, my cook, almost did a victory dance when I brought her the diet that Dr. Simmon recommended. She's never said anything directly, but she has been dropping hints about healthy arteries and lowering cholesterol for a long time. Especially since I gained another hundred pounds after Dad died.

Jack's face contorts into an angry sneer. "No! Mrs. C refused to make them. I had to get them from the bakery on Fourth Street."

I turn my back to him. "Why do you think she refused to make them?" My voice trembles slightly with fear at what he might answer. I love Jack. Truly and deeply. But the cookie in my hand is just the latest testament to the fact that he's been sabotaging not only this diet, but my health in general from day one of our relationship. He's always encouraged me to have 'just one more bite' of something or 'just help finish off a dish, because we don't want food to go to waste, do we?'

This train of thought is stressing me out, and all I want to do is snarf down the remaining cookies. I've been stress eating since I was a kid, and Mrs, Cranston has been keeping the kitchen stocked with healthy snacks that won't ruin my diet. I've actually started to enjoy veggie strips with hummus, something I never imagined could happen.

"I don't know why," he snaps. "She also refused to make you the Southern Fried Chicken I wanted to surprise you with for lunch. I swear, if she doesn't start making the food I want, I'm going to fire her."

Shock stuns me. Then the fury is back so hot I'm surprised lasers don't shoot from my eyes. I crush the cookie in my hand and drop it on the coffee cart. Mrs. Crandall has been with my family since I was three. She supported me and my dad when we lost Mom to cancer when I was 19, and she got me through dad's heart attack two years ago because Jack said he couldn't stand to be around a 'weepy woman'. She's been my rock my whole life. Something Jack, as the supposed love of my life, has never been.

When I turn around, Jack recoils slightly. I stalk forward, stopped only by the side of the bed when I bump into it. "You have no right to fire anyone that I employ. And, you idiot, Mrs. C didn't make the cookies because she loves me and wants the best for me."

Fear flashes across Jack's face and he licks his lips. "I love you too!"
I pick up one of the few remaining cookies. "Then why did you bring these when I specifically asked you not to?"

"Because you love them!" he practically wails.

I shake my head. The anger is morphing to a sadness so heavy my knees are shaking with the effort of keeping me upright. "You may think you love me, Jack, but whether you do or not, you don't want the best for me." Tears prick my eyes, but I grit my teeth to force them back. I won't let them fall until later.

Jack is my first and only boyfriend. With my parents gone, he's really all I have other than Mrs. Crandall, because I was never successful at making friends in school. Fear of being alone crushes me for a moment, but then I catch sight of myself in the mirror above my makeup table. The reflection doesn't show me a scared little girl who got bullied and tormented in school. I'm a woman now.

Instead of bowing to the fear, I wrap it around me like a cloak of power. Almost our entire relationship Jack has been telling me he needs to protect me because I'm weak and vulnerable, but the woman I see in the mirror, the woman I've become, is much stronger than that. I own and oversee a successful company my father and mother built. I have a PhD in Medieval History, a tenureship, and my students love me. I may be inexperienced in matters of the heart, but I know that I want someone who loves and supports me, not tears me down to build himself up.

"Look, babe, I'm sorry about the cookies. I messed up. I do want the best for you. Honest. We can go to that Green Machine restaurant, if you want." His eyes are wide in fear, and he's licking his lips over and over. I can't even be bothered to correct him about the restaurant name.

I cross my arms over my chest and look down at him where he's still sitting on the bed, surrounded by a sea of cookie crumbs. "This is my house. I let you live in it. You are wearing clothes that I bought for you. You eat the mountain of food you do daily because I buy it for you. You say you have my best interest at heart, yet you've been sabotaging my diet from the get-go."

"No, I haven't!" I quirk up an eyebrow in challenge. He looks around wildly for a moment, desperation and fear chasing themselves across his features. Then suddenly he snaps his eyes to mine. "But, babe, Sadie, I was going to propose tonight!"

As angry and hurt as I am, his words give me a thrill of excitement. I've been not-so-subtly hinting at marriage for six years now. It's a carrot he's been alluding to every time we had a really bad fight, only now I see it's a rotten carrot.

I look around in mock expectancy. "Where's the ring?"

"What?" He rubs his palms on his trouser legs.

"I don't want to wait until tonight. I want the ring now."

The wheels are turning furiously in his head as he casts his eyes around the room again. "I have it in the safe deposit box at the bank. I was afraid you'd find it."

I glance at the clock. "The bank opens in fifteen minutes. Let's go get it."

When I start to turn away, he almost yells, "Wait! We can't. I can't get into the box, because I, uh, lost the key. I'll get one for you, though, as soon as I can." He takes my hand and gives me his sexy smile. "How about right after we have some of that nookie you promised me?"

For the first time, I see Jack as Dad must have, and why Dad tolerated Jack, but never really liked him. I also understand why Dad insisted Jack sign a pre-nuptial agreement before he allowed him to move in with us, and changed his will so that I would lose everything if I ever got rid of the pre-nup. Dad knew what I just couldn't see yet.

Disgusted, I give my wrist a sharp flick to shake him off. "You honestly think I'm going to sleep with you after you just gave me that line?" He looks flabbergasted.

Jack's like a burr that's been stuck to my life for the last ten years. I didn't notice how he was slowly and destructively getting wound up in the threads, but now he's hurting me. I just wish it was as easy as a burr to pluck him off and flick him away, but my heart is bleeding a torrent, because what I'm about to do is the last thing I expected on my birthday of all days.

"I'm sorry, Jack. But I want you to leave. Now. Please get your stuff, and get out." No matter how weak and fragile he's repeatedly told me I am, there's a strength I forgot I had that is keeping my voice steady and my knees from knocking despite the rollercoaster of pain I'm riding inside.

"But, babe," his voice is syrupy sweet as he tries to placate me, but he can't completely hide the note of panic underneath. I've been his gravy train for a long time, and he has nothing to fall back on. He slides off the bed and advances with his arms out. "I love you, Sadie. What will you do without me?"

"Get healthy." I step back to avoid him and point to the coffee cart. "And take the cookies with you."

He face twists in anger, but he gets up, grabs the three remaining cookies and shoves them into his mouth, chewing them open-mouthed while glaring at me. He points a chocolate-smeared finger in my face. "You're going to regret this when you can't find anyone else to love you."

I shake my head and stare him down, hiding my terror that he might be right. Then I catch sight of myself in the mirror again. Maybe I need to learn how to love myself, then I'll worry about finding someone else. Deep under the pain of my breaking heart something settles inside me, giving me a modicum of peace. Whatever my future holds, I'll be okay.

As soon as he slams the door shut, rattling the frames on the walls, I sag to the bed. I know a river of tears is on its way, but for the first time in a decade, I'm standing on my own two strong feet.