Chapter 3

"Hi, what time is checkout?"

"Twelve noon. If you want to stay longer, it's another night's charge."

"I'll extend it."

The clerk looked up at me but didn't ask questions.

I went back to my room, sat on the edge of the bed, and scrolled through my phone.

Not for new messages, but for old records.

Chloe and I had over two thousand pages of chat history from the last three years. I started scrolling from the very beginning.

Three years ago, that winter, she went to Ethan’s place for the first time. The text went like this:

Chloe: "Clothes delivered! Ethan was wearing slippers when he opened the door, so messy haha."

Me: "Thanks Chloe, you're the best."

Chloe: "No problem, was on my way. His apartment is so warm, I sat for a bit, had a glass of water, and then left."

*Sat for a bit.*

It all started with that "sat for a bit."

Scrolling down further.

Chloe: "Picked up a package for you today. Ethan wasn't home, so I left it by his door."

Chloe: "His mom sent some organic eggs. Do you want me to keep some for you?"

Chloe: "I washed your coat for you and hung it on the balcony."

Chloe: "Ethan's water heater broke. I called maintenance for him."

Chloe: "He's been working late. I made beef stew and brought it over. Don't worry."

Every single message had an implicit subject.

*I am here.*

Was she helping me take care of my home? No. She was using my name to move into that home, step by step.

I clicked on the photo that had caused our fight three years ago—Chloe’s selfie on Ethan’s balcony.

At the time, I confronted her. She squatted in front of me with red eyes, saying she just took it because the light was good, telling me to check her phone.

Her phone was indeed clean. No flirting, no shady texts.

I had let out a sigh of relief.

But now, as I zoomed in on the photo, I noticed something I had missed three years ago.

On the balcony floor, there were two pairs of slippers.

One pair was gray, men's. The other was a floral print, women's.

It wasn't mine.

I had never bought floral slippers.

My slippers were sent over that spring—solid blue-gray ones, still recorded in my Amazon purchase history.

Whose floral slippers were those?

The answer arrived before the question did.

Her phone had been *too* clean.

Back then, when I checked her phone, there wasn't a single trace of flirting. I thought that was proof of her innocence.

But who completely wipes out their chat history with their best friend's boyfriend?

Normal people don't. Unless every single message is something that cannot be seen.

The lack of evidence was the biggest evidence of all.

I put down my phone, went to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face. The icy water cleared my head.

The look on her face three years ago—misty-eyed, aggrieved, innocent.

My heart had softened.

"That single sentence made me soft-hearted for three years."

I spoke to the mirror, my voice sounding incredibly raspy.

Then I added: "I brought this on myself."

I only allowed myself to say it once.

I wiped my face, sat back on the bed, and opened another app.

DoorDash.

I checked Ethan's account—he had given me his password years ago.

Year one: five to six orders a week.

Year two: two to three orders.

Year three: almost zero.

A single man living alone in a long-distance relationship going from eating takeout every day to almost never ordering food.

It wasn't because he learned how to cook.

It was because someone was cooking for him every single day.

I pulled out my notebook and wrote a line on the last page: *Tomorrow morning, 6:30 AM, Farmer's Market.*

Mrs. Gable said she went every morning.

I had to see it with my own eyes.

Not to get angry, but to completely kill off the last bit of weakness in my heart.

My phone lit up. Ethan sent a voice note.

I tapped it.

"Clara, why are you so quiet today? Happy Thanksgiving. I miss you."

*I miss you.*

His tone was exactly the same as three years ago.

Flat, casual, like a phrase he said out of habit.

It wasn't longing. It was routine.

"Yeah, Happy Thanksgiving," I typed and sent.

Then I set my alarm for six in the morning.