Instead, I stood up. I walked to the bedroom and opened the closet. Her side was a mess of clothes and shoes and accessories she'd bought but never worn. My side was neat, organized, sparse. I pulled out a duffel bag and started packing.
Shirts, pants, underwear, socks, the essentials. I didn't linger over anything. I didn't let myself think about the sweater she'd bought me for my birthday, or the framed photo of us at the beach, or the stupid little notes she used to leave on the mirror. I packed it all away, not in the bag, in my mind. That life was over.
That person was gone. I called my brother. He answered on the second ring. Hey, what's up? I need help moving, I said.
My voice was steady. Calm. I barely recognized it. There was a pause. You okay?
No, but I will be. Can you come? I'm on my way. He didn't ask questions. He never did.
That's why I called him. He arrived in 30 minutes with his truck and a dolly. He took one look at my face, nodded once, and started helping me load boxes. We worked in silence. Bedroom first, then bathroom, then the living room.
My books, my laptop, my record player. The things that were mine, the things that had nothing to do with her. "You want the couch?" he asked. "No, none of it. Just my stuff.
" He nodded again. Didn't ask. Didn't push. By midnight, the apartment was half empty. "My half.
" I stood in the kitchen one last time. The chicken parmesan was cold now. The cheese hardened into a rubbery shell. The candle had burned out. The apartment smelled like smoke and garlic and something else.
Something that smelled like giving up. I pulled a piece of paper from a notebook and wrote a single line. You said we were basically over. I took you seriously. I didn't add anything else.
No explanation, no apology, no anger, just the truth. I left it on the kitchen counter next to her keys. Then I grabbed my bag, walked out the door, and didn't look back. I stayed at my brother's place that night. He gave me the spare room, clean sheets, a towel.
He didn't ask what happened. He didn't try to comfort me. He just handed me a beer, sat down on the couch, and turned on a basketball game. We watched in silence for an hour. I didn't process a single play.
She cheat on you? He finally asked. I took a long drink. Yeah, I think so. For a while, probably.
Then you did the right thing. Yeah. You going to be okay? I thought about it. really thought about it. I don't know, I said honestly.
But I'm not going to beg her to come back. I'm not going to wait around for her to decide she made a mistake. I'm done being an option. He nodded. Good.
That was it. That was the whole conversation. And somehow it was exactly what I needed. At 3:00 a.m., my phone buzzed. I was still awake, lying on the spare bed, staring at the ceiling.
I picked up the phone. Sarah, where are you? I didn't respond. Sarah, this isn't funny. Come back.
I put the phone down. Sarah, I was joking. You know I was joking. Sarah, hello. Sarah, are you seriously not going to answer me?
Sarah, you're being dramatic. I didn't mean it. Sarah, please just come home. We can talk about this. I watched the messages pile up, one after another.
Each one more desperate than the last. Each one trying to pull me back into the dynamic we had always had. her pushing, me chasing, her pulling away, me holding on. Not this time. I turned the phone off, set it on the nightstand, closed my eyes, and for the first time in months, I slept. The next morning, I woke up to 47 missed messages and 12 missed calls.
Most were from Sarah. A few were from her friends asking me what happened, telling me she was really upset, asking me to just talk to her. I didn't respond to any of them. I got up, showered, dressed, made coffee in my brother's kitchen while he was still asleep. Then I started looking for apartments.
I found a place 2 days later. Small one-bedroom, nothing special, but it was mine. No memories, no ghosts, just a clean slate. I signed the lease, paid the deposit, and moved my boxes in. My brother helped again.
We didn't talk much. We didn't need to. On the third day, I was sitting on my new couch, a cheap thing I bought from a secondhand store, when there was a knock at the door. I frowned. I wasn't expecting anyone.
My brother was at work. I hadn't told anyone else where I was. I opened the door. Sarah was standing there. Her eyes were red and swollen.
Her hair was a mess. She was wearing yesterday's clothes, wrinkled and stained. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. "Hi," she said. Her voice cracked.
"I didn't say anything. Can I come in? I leaned against the door frame. No. She flinched like I'd slapped her.
Please, just just let me explain. I don't need an explanation. I know I messed up. She started crying. I know I was horrible.
I was drunk and stupid and I You weren't drunk, I said calmly. You were dressed up and you went out to meet someone else. You knew exactly what you were doing. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It didn't mean anything.
He didn't mean anything. Then why did you go? She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. I don't know. I was confused.
I was You told me we were basically over. You told me you were meeting someone more exciting. You laughed at me, and then you left. She sobbed. I didn't mean it.
I was trying to push you away because I was scared. I was scared of how much I loved you. I shook my head. No, you weren't scared. You were bored.
And you thought you could treat me like an option and I'd just wait around. That's not true. You told me you were basically over. I took you seriously. She reached out and grabbed my arm.
Her grip was desperate, clinging. Please, she whispered. I'll do anything. I'll change. I'll go to therapy.
I'll Sarah. She stopped. Looked up at me. You told me you were meeting someone more exciting. You laughed at me.
You said we were basically over. And then you walked out the door without looking back. I made a mistake. Yes, you did. I gently pulled my arm free from her grip.
I loved you for 4 years. I would have given you everything. I would have built a life with you. I would have died for you, but you didn't want that. You wanted something more exciting.
And that's fine. That's your choice. But you don't get to come back now and ask me to fix what you broke. She collapsed against the door frame, crying so hard she could barely breathe. What am I supposed to do?
She wailed. What am I supposed to do without you? I don't know, I said quietly. But that's not my problem anymore. She looked up at me, her face twisted with grief and anger and desperation.
You'll never find anyone who loves you like I did. I looked at her for a long moment. Not with anger, not with satisfaction, just neutral. I hope that's not true, I said. Because what you called love wasn't love.
It was convenience. It was habit. It was you keeping me around because I made your life easier. And I finally realized I deserve better. Please.