Chapter 3

A few days crawled by, filled with a hollow ache and the echoing silence of the apartment.

I missed her, the habit of her, more than the reality, I suspected.

Then, she was at my door, looking pale and small, clutching her stomach.

"Ethan," her voice was a whisper, "I think I' m sick, I didn' t know where else to go."

The old reflex kicked in, the need to protect, to care for her.

I let her in, made her tea, tucked her into bed.

She cried, apologizing for everything, saying she' d been stressed, confused.

"I miss you, Ethan," she murmured, her eyes full of a remorse that looked so real.

And like a fool, a goddamn fool, I believed her, or wanted to.

We fell back into a strange, uneasy truce, a shadow of what we' d been.

She was quiet, withdrawn, often saying she felt unwell, spending days in bed. I tiptoed around, trying not to upset her, hoping this was a new beginning.

A week later, I came home from a grueling shift to an empty apartment.

Not just empty of her, but empty of everything that was hers.

Her clothes, her toiletries, the few books she owned, even the cheap lamp she' d brought when she moved in.

Gone.

My blood ran cold, a different kind of cold this time, a primal fear.

I tried her phone, straight to voicemail.

Her social media, all her accounts, I was blocked, erased.

It was like she' d never existed.

But the hole in my bank account, the memory of her feigned illness, that was real.

A slow, burning anger started to build, pushing past the shock.

She hadn' t just left, she' d used me, again, one last time.

The savings, Kyle, her family.

I had to get that money back, not just for me, but for my parents, for Sal.

Ohio. Her parents lived in some small town in Ohio.

I packed a bag, my jaw set, a grim determination hardening my heart.

The drive was long, fueled by coffee and a simmering rage.

I found their small, slightly run-down house on a quiet street.

As I walked up the porch, I heard voices from an open window, laughter.

Jessie' s laughter.

"...and then he just let me back in, no questions asked, poor sap," Jessie was saying, her voice dripping with amusement.

My hand froze on the railing.

"You really played him, sweetie," her mother' s voice, syrupy and proud. "Secured Kyle' s future, that' s what matters."

"Yeah, sis, thanks to you, the new equipment is amazing," Kyle chimed in, "Finally rid of that financial burden, huh?"

Financial burden. That' s what I was to them.

A tool, a means to an end.

The world went red.

I didn' t knock, I slammed the door open.

They all stared, Jessie' s smile frozen on her face, her parents looking startled, Kyle half-rising from his chair.

"Having a nice celebration?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

Jessie' s eyes widened, "Ethan! What are you doing here?"

"I came for my money, Jessie," I said, stepping into the room, "The money you stole, all of it."

"Stole?" Mr. Peterson, her father, stood up, puffing out his chest, "Now, see here, son..."

"Don' t call me son," I snapped, "Your daughter and your son are thieves."

Kyle jumped up, "Hey! Watch your mouth, buddy!"

"Or what?" I challenged, "You gonna launch another 'startup' with the money you conned out of me?"

Jessie rushed forward, "Ethan, please, let' s not do this here."

"Where then, Jessie? Where should we do this? Back in my empty apartment after you cleaned me out again?"

Her face paled, "I can explain..."

"No more explanations," I said, my patience gone, "I want my money, now."

Kyle stepped in front of Jessie, "You' re not getting anything, loser, now get out."

He shoved me.

I shoved back.

Then it was a blur, Kyle threw a punch, I ducked, his friends, who' d been lurking in the background, suddenly materialized, piling on.

Fists rained down, kicks landed, the small living room became a cage.

I fought back, rage giving me strength, but there were too many of them.

The last thing I remembered was a sharp pain in my side and Jessie' s face, watching, impassive, before the world went dark.