What the hell is going on? I come back and it looks like you've been robbed. This is so immature. Can we just talk about this like adults? I took a slow breath, my voice flat, devoid of the heat and life she clearly expected.
We don't need to talk and you don't need to worry. I ended the call and powered off the phone. The next few days were a study in quiet reclamation. I took a personal day from work. I went for long runs until my lungs burned and my mind was blissfully empty.
I bought new sheets, a new coffee maker. I was building a new ecosystem and it was one she had no place in. When I turned my phone back on, it was to a digital tsunami of her unraveling. The first wave was manipulation. Sarah, day two, 10:14 a.m. Mark and I just talked.
It was nothing. I told him I had a boyfriend and that he needed to respect that. I miss you. I deleted it. The second wave was the partial, self-serving truth.
Sarah, day two, 6:32 p.m. Okay, I get it. You were right to be upset. He was flirty but I shut it down. I chose you. I came home to you.
She had chosen me. She had chosen to come home to an empty apartment. The irony was so thick you could taste it. I didn't reply. Then came the voicemails.
The first one, her voice thick with tears, Alex, it's me. Please pick up. He's not who I thought he was. He just wanted It doesn't matter. I made a huge mistake.
A huge, stupid mistake. Please, I need you. You're my person. I saved the message. Not out of sentiment but as a receipt.
Proof of the transaction that had finally closed. The second voicemail, two days later, was the karma delivered in a raw, panicked screech. He ghosted me. Can you believe that? After everything I did for him, after I poured my heart out to him because his mother was so sick, which was probably a lie, he just used me for an ego boost and disappeared.
He's not answering any of my texts. I have no one. You were my rock and I was so stupid. Please, please, just call me back. There it was, the full pathetic circle.
She had discarded her rock for a ghost and now she was falling through the empty space between them. I felt a distant academic pity. The kind you might for a character in a bad movie. It had nothing to do with me. Even her friends, her flying monkeys, were deployed.
Unknown number, probably Chloe. Day 5, 8:02 p.m. Hey Alex, it's Chloe. Look, Sarah's a mess. You win, okay? You proved your point.