Chapter 5

Hiding in that dark doorway, I' d heard their words drifting across the quiet, snowy street.

"I can' t believe you' re still living in that dump," the man, Brendan, had said, his voice laced with disdain.

"Just a little longer," Chloe' s voice replied, light and carefree. "Once the divorce is final, I' m free. I can' t wait to get out of there. It' s so... small. So pathetic."

Pathetic. The home I had worked my fingers to the bone to provide for her.

I stayed frozen in that doorway long after they were gone, the snow melting on my hair and shoulders, a cold that had nothing to do with the weather seeping into my soul.

Another memory surfaced. A few weeks ago, Brendan had a cold. Chloe had spent her lunch break going to three different pharmacies to find the specific brand of cough syrup he liked. She' d told me about it, complaining about the hassle but with an undercurrent of pride in her voice.

Last night, when she' d made that brief, empty comment about my chapped hands, I realized I' d been using a cheap, generic cream because the medicated one she' d once bought me had run out months ago. I' d never thought to ask her to get more. I just dealt with it. The contrast was a slap in the face.

She had always complained. The apartment was too small. The neighborhood was too noisy. The furniture was old. Each complaint was a small cut, a reminder that what I could provide was never enough. And I, like a fool, had just worked harder, picked up more shifts, saved more aggressively, promising her that one day, we' d have that house. We' d have that better life.

She finally came back late that night to get the last of her things.

"Thanks for everything, Ethan," she said, her gaze fixed on the wall behind me. "I hope you' ll be okay." It was a hollow platitude, words spoken to absolve herself of guilt.

I didn' t say anything.

That night was the last she would spend in our apartment. I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her steady breathing beside me. I couldn' t sleep. I got up and walked into the living room. On the small bookshelf was a little velvet box. Inside was the engagement ring I' d bought two months ago, a simple diamond on a white gold band. I had spent every last cent of my personal savings on it. I' d planned to propose on her graduation day, but the timing never felt right.

Now I knew why.

I held the box in my hand, the velvet smooth against my calloused skin. Then I walked to the kitchen and dropped it into the trash can, right on top of the leftover steak from our final, uneaten meal.

I went back to bed. A few hours before dawn, she stirred in her sleep.

"Brendan," she murmured, a soft, happy sigh. "Mmm, so happy... Finally getting divorced..."

She used to say my name in her sleep.

I got out of bed again, went back to the kitchen, and pulled the ring box out of the trash. I walked to the front door, opened it, and tossed the box into the hallway. I didn' t care where it landed. I just wanted it gone.