Page 124 of The Toy Maker

I twisted the contract in my hands, my knuckles turning white from my grip.

“I saw you, I used you, and now I’m telling you to get out,” he said, voice cold and emotionless. “But somehow, you’ve managed to turn fucking into feelings.”

I had spent my whole life trying to convince people to love me. Trying to prove I was worth staying for. I had done it with my mother, begging for scraps of affection that never came. I had done it with my father, hoping that if I was good enough, smart enough, quiet enough, he would look at me like I mattered.

And now, here I was again. Standing in front of someone who meant everything to me, someone who was pushing me away with every ounce of strength he had left.

Maybe Jason thought he was protecting me. Maybe he believed that if he made himself into a villain, it would be easier to let go. But all I could hear were echoes of the past, of slammed doors and silent car rides, of all the ways I had failed to fix what was already broken.

“This isn’t about feelings,” I said, my voice barely holding steady.

“Okay,” he scoffed. “Then say it. Say you don’t love me, and I’ll give you a new contract.”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Jason’s expression didn’t change, but I saw it—how his throat bobbed, and his fingers twitched. He was hoping I’d say it.

I took the contract and ripped it in half. “Say you don’t love me,” I fired back. “And I’ll go.”

For a fraction of a second, I saw hesitation. His breath caught and I thought, just for a moment, that he might drop the façade.

But then his face hardened.

“Don’t you get it, Tara?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re imagining that I feel something for you.”

Tears burned behind my eyes. “I’m not.” My voice wavered, suddenly uncertain. Was I? Had I misjudged everything? Had I built an illusion of love out of longing?

It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Jason stared at me for a long time, his expression unreadable. And then, with the finality of a death sentence, he said, “You can’t work here anymore.”

The breath left my lungs. My heart twisted in on itself, curling inward like something abandoned in the cold.

He had done it. He had made his decision.

And now, I had to make mine.

I straightened my shoulders, forcing numbness to take over. My voice came out steadier than I felt, even as my hands trembled at my sides.

“I want my last paycheck.” It wasn’t worth fighting anymore.

Jason’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t argue. He turned back to his desk, grabbed his checkbook, and scrawled his signature across the slip like it meant nothing.

Like I meant nothing.

The silence between us was suffocating. The scratch of his pen against paper was the only sound in the room, but to me, it was deafening.

When he finished, he tore the check free with an agonizing slowness and held it out.

I reached for it, but before I could take it, he pulled back—just enough to make me look up at him.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Jason’s expression was blank, but I saw the tension in his grip, the way his fingers curled slightly around the check, as if he wasn’t ready to let go.

This was hurting him, too.