Chapter 3

"My project is at a critical phase right now, and I don't have the energy to deal with your mood swings. Think about it yourself."

The next morning, Ethan set his black suitcase by the door. His shirt was buttoned all the way to the top. He looked like he was leaving for a business trip, not a cold war.

"There are leftovers in the fridge. Just microwave them."

His tone even carried a hint of forced tenderness.

Leaving me a way out, waiting for me to back down.

Every fight we had followed this exact routine: he would freeze me out for a few days, I would panic, I would apologize first, and he would graciously forgive me.

For two years, it had been as smooth as a programmed script.

"When will you be back?" I asked.

"Whenever you come to your senses."

The door clicked shut. The sound of his dress shoes on the stairs grew more confident with every step.

I stood by the window and watched his black sedan pull out of the parking garage and disappear around the corner.

I pulled out my phone and called the property management of my new place.

"Hi, this is Sienna. I’m in Penthouse 2301, Building B on the Southside. I’ll be over this afternoon to pick up the spare key and activate my key fob."

Twenty minutes later, Harper showed up at my door with two cups of coffee.

"The movers will be here at nine-thirty. Do you have a lot of stuff?"

"Not really. Just clothes, a few boxes of books, and a suitcase. He bought all the big furniture."

She scanned the living room, her eyes landing on the pair of men's slippers by the shoe rack.

"Sienna, you’ve been with Ethan for two years. The things in this apartment that actually belong to you can be counted on one hand?"

I knelt down to drag a box out from the bottom of the closet.

"He said he wanted a unified aesthetic for the apartment. He told me not to clutter it."

"Where’s your floor lamp? The one I saw last time?"

"He thought it was ugly and made me return it."

"And that art print?"

"He said it didn't match the living room's color palette."

"Where is your cat?"

Harper’s voice suddenly dropped.

"The white cat you had for three years?"

I didn't answer.

She stood up straight and stared at me.

"When he forced you to give your cat away, why didn’t you break up with him then?"

"He said having a cat would affect our future pregnancy. I thought he made sense back then."

"And now?"

I packed my books into the cardboard box, one by one.

"Now I realize that a home that couldn't even tolerate my cat was never my home to begin with."

By ten-thirty, everything was packed.

Seven boxes in total, plus one suitcase.

Two years of my life fit into less than half of a moving truck.

The mover looked at the beautifully furnished apartment, then at my tiny pile of luggage. He didn't ask a single question.

As we drove out of the gate, my phone buzzed. Ethan had sent a voice note.

I tapped play.

"The cafeteria food at the office is terrible today. Eat out for lunch. And don't forget to pay this month's HOA fees."

His breathing was steady, and I could hear people laughing and talking in the background.

Then, a soft female voice floated in from nearby: "Ethan..."

It was gentle, sweet, with a playful lilt at the end.

The voice lingered in my mind for less than a second, but that was enough.

Harper leaned in.

"Who was that?"

"I'm not sure."

"Replay it."

"Forget it."

I put my phone away and cleared the chat.

My new place on the Southside had just been completed late last year, fully furnished by the developer. I had paid an extra two hundred thousand to get the top floor, with a clear view of the entire river on the left.

The building manager who took me up mentioned that there were only two units on this floor. My neighbor was an architect who was still in the middle of remodeling.

I turned the key, and the door opened.

The living room was empty and spacious, flooded with sunlight from the south-facing French windows.

On the balcony stood an iron flower rack left by the previous owner, covered in a thin layer of rust.

I walked out to the balcony and looked down.

Twenty-third floor. The wind was strong.

But my head didn't spin at all.

My phone lit up. A text from Ethan.

"Come back when you've thought it through. Don't make me wait too long."

I dragged his chat to the very bottom of my archive list. I didn't delete him, and I didn't block him. I just let him sink.

Harper leaned against the doorframe, watching me.

"He doesn't know you bought this place, does he?"

"No."

"So what does he think he's doing right now?"

I hung my keys on the hook by the door.

"He thinks he's punishing me."