Chapter 3

The moment I was out on the street, I pulled out my phone. I didn't call my mom. I didn't call a friend. I scrolled to a number I'd saved years ago. Andrew Lester. A headhunter from Skidmore, Owings & Merrill in Chicago. He'd been trying to poach me for three years, sending polite emails and LinkedIn messages that I'd always ignored out of loyalty to Jen and the firm.

He answered on the second ring.

"Andrew Lester."

"Andrew, it's Ryan Scott."

There was a brief pause. "Ryan. To what do I owe the pleasure? Finally tired of the New York grind?"

"The lead architect position you offered me last year," I said, my voice even. "With creative control and the salary you mentioned. Is it still on the table?"

I could almost hear the smile in his voice. "For you, Ryan? It's always on the table. When can you start?"

"How about Monday?"

An hour later, the official offer was in my inbox. The salary was nearly triple what I was making. The title was "Lead Architect." I signed the digital contract without a moment's hesitation and booked a one-way flight to Chicago.

That evening, my phone buzzed. A picture message from Caleb. It was a brand-new, gleaming black Porsche 911. The caption read: "A little thank you gift from Jen. Turns out we can afford it after all 😉"

I remembered all the times Jen had told me we couldn't afford a new car, that we had to save for the wedding, for the house. I felt a cold, clean emptiness. I deleted the photo.

An hour later, a text from Jen. "Stuck at the office, this whole mess is a nightmare. Miss you. xoxo"

Five minutes after that, another picture from Caleb. It was him and Jen, clinking champagne glasses in a lavish hotel room, the city lights twinkling behind them. Jen was smiling, a genuine, happy smile I hadn't seen in months. She was wearing a silk robe.

I looked at the picture. Then I looked at my plane ticket to Chicago.

I blocked both their numbers, put my phone on silent, and for the first time in weeks, I slept soundly through the night.