Chapter 3

I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, the memory of his promises playing on a loop in my mind. "It's always going to be you, Chloe." "No one understands me like you do." "We're going to build a future together." The words, once a source of comfort and security, now mocked me. They were hollow echoes in the ruins of what I thought we had.

The next morning, he tried to make me breakfast. He bustled around the kitchen, making the pancakes I used to love, humming a cheerful tune. He placed a plate in front of me, stacked high and drizzled with syrup.

"Here you go," he said, smiling. "Your favorite."

I looked down at the plate. My stomach churned. I hadn't liked overly sweet things for years, a fact he had somehow forgotten or never truly noticed.

"I'm not hungry," I said, pushing the plate away gently. It was a small act of rebellion, a quiet statement that he didn't know me at all anymore.

He looked momentarily confused, then shrugged. "More for me, then."

I watched him eat, my expression carefully neutral. Inside, I was a tangled mess of anger and sadness, but on the surface, I was a calm, placid lake. I had to be. I couldn't let him see the cracks.

"Hey," he said between bites, "my parents are having that big anniversary party next month. We should start thinking about what to wear."

"Okay," I agreed, my voice even. My mind was already elsewhere, calculating, planning. I would go to the party. I would play the part of the devoted girlfriend one last time. But I had my own agenda.

That afternoon, while he was out, I started to purge. I went through the apartment with a cold, ruthless efficiency. I gathered up his things-the books he'd left on my nightstand, the extra toothbrush in the bathroom, the hoodie he always wore on lazy Sundays. I placed them all in a cardboard box. It felt like packing away a ghost, a symbolic cleansing of his presence from my life.

I dragged the box to the curb, ready for the trash pickup. Just as I turned to go back inside, his car pulled up.

He got out, a confused look on his face. "What's all this?" he asked, gesturing to the box.

"Just some old stuff I'm getting rid of," I said, my heart pounding.

"Let me help," he said, ever the gentleman. He picked up the box, the very box containing the remnants of his life with me, and tossed it into the large trash bin at the end of the driveway. The irony was so thick I could have choked on it. He was unknowingly helping me erase him. He had no idea he was throwing away his own past.

As if the day wasn't surreal enough, a delivery arrived a few hours later. It was a large, potted orchid, elegant and expensive. The card was addressed to him. I opened it.

"For our new home. Can't wait to fill it with more beautiful things. Love, S."

Our new home. He wasn't just cheating. He was building a whole separate life, a secret world with her. I looked at the man sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, laughing at something on the screen. He was a complete stranger to me. The person I had loved, or the person I thought I had loved, was gone. Maybe he never existed at all. The realization didn't bring a fresh wave of pain, just a profound, empty certainty. It was over. It had been over for a long time. I just hadn't seen it until now.