Chapter 2

The moment the door closed, I moved. I didn't sit and think. I didn't feel the anger or the hurt yet. There was only a cold, clear purpose.

I walked into my home office and grabbed my laptop bag. I packed my work computer, my personal tablet, and the hard drives that contained every line of code, every business plan, and every client list I had developed for her company. Then I went to the closet and pulled out my own suitcase. I packed my clothes, my shoes, my toiletries. I didn't take anything she had ever bought me. I left it all behind.

I walked through the apartment, a place I had furnished and paid the rent on for three years. I looked at the photos of us on the wall, her smiling face next to mine. They felt like pictures of someone else's life.

My final stop was the kitchen. Pinned to the refrigerator was a stack of bills. Mr. Davis' s medical expenses were on top. A bill for a private nurse, another for specialized medication, and a third for a stay at a high-end recovery clinic. I had been paying them for two years, a constant drain on my salary that I never complained about because I loved Chloe and her father was sick.

But he wasn't just sick. He was demanding. He called me constantly, not to ask how I was, but to complain that the brand of nutrient shakes I bought wasn't the premium one he preferred, or that his cable package didn't include the sports channels he wanted. Chloe always made excuses for him. "He's in pain, Ethan. Just be patient."

I took the stack of bills from the fridge. I walked over to the trash can and dropped them in. A weight I hadn't even realized I was carrying lifted off my shoulders.

I took out my phone and dialed Chloe's number. I wanted to tell her we were done, that she should not come back to this apartment. That her things would be in storage.

It went straight to voicemail. She had already turned her phone off or was screening my calls. She was fully immersed in her new role as Jake's caretaker.

Fine. There were other ways to communicate.

I opened my banking app. I found the recurring payment scheduled for her father's nurse. I canceled it. I found the automatic transfer I made to her personal account every month for "living expenses." I canceled that too. Then, I sent a single, final text message.

"It's over, Chloe. Don't come back to the apartment. I have stopped all payments for you and your father. You are on your own."

I blocked her number. Then I blocked her on every social media platform. I didn't want to see her response. I didn't care.

I stood in the middle of the living room, my suitcase by my side. The life I had built with her was erased in less than an hour. There was no sadness. There was no rage. There was only a profound sense of relief, like I had finally escaped a prison I didn't even know I was in. The future was uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, it was mine.