Chapter 5

"What do you actually want, Serena?"

Serena stood in the doorway of the apartment, blocking my way. Behind her, the door was half-open. The TV in the living room was playing a reality show, and Mochi's anxious meows echoed from the balcony. Asher wasn't home; she said he was at the clinic for his routine check-up.

"I’m just here to pack up the rest of my things."

"You should have texted me first. If you show up out of nowhere when he’s here, it might trigger an episode—"

"He's not here. You just said so."

She bit her lip, then reluctantly stepped aside.

I walked in.

Everything was so familiar, yet completely alien.

My slippers were gone from the rack. There was a new vase on the coffee table filled with baby's breath. The framed photo of Asher and me on the fridge had been taken down, replaced by a selfie of him and Serena.

I walked into the bedroom and opened the closet.

The second drawer on the right was empty.

"Where is my scarf?"

Serena leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms.

"What scarf?"

"The grey, hand-knitted one. I left it in this drawer."

"Oh, that," she tilted her head. "Mochi got his claws into it last week and covered it in cat hair. I washed it and put it in the storage locker downstairs."

"Where is it?"

"I'll have to look for it."

She turned to go to the storage closet. I stood in the bedroom, my eyes sweeping over the nightstand.

There was an open notebook lying there.

I took a step forward.

It was Serena’s handwriting. Round, neat cursive with little loops.

The first line read: **Wednesday Protocol**

Underneath, she had listed:

* *8:15 AM: Cafe on the South Side, Table 2 (by the window). Order a bowl of oatmeal and black coffee. Sit quietly, don't make eye contact first.*

* *Talk about Mochi. Mention the nick on his left ear from a kitten fight. Keep it brief.*

* *Thursday: Do not text or call. Let him wonder.*

* *Saturday: He will say the words.*

At the very bottom, a line was heavily underlined:

* *Lullaby: Pitch up on the 3rd note, dip on the 7th. Long exhale at the end. Sing every night until he falls asleep.*

My hands began to tremble.

It wasn't just anger. It was a cold, sharp pain piercing my chest. I wanted to scream, but my throat felt tight.

She had turned my three years of love with Asher into a step-by-step user manual.

Serena walked back in with the grey scarf. Seeing me standing by the nightstand, she froze for a fraction of a second.

But she didn't panic.

"Chloe, those are just my notes. I was afraid I’d mess up the details you told me, so I wrote them down."

"Do you have any idea what those details mean to me?"

"I do," she said softly, handing me the scarf. "But to him, it doesn't matter who is doing those things. He doesn't remember last week. He only knows who is standing in front of him right now."

"You are erasing me."

"I am loving him."

"With my routine. My cafe. My cat. My grandma's song. You copy-pasted my entire soul to insert yourself into his seven-day loop."

She remained silent.

I clutched the scarf tightly.

"You planned this from the start, didn't you, Serena? You didn't want to help me. You wanted him."

She raised her head, looking at me.

There was no guilt in her eyes. Not even a sense of triumph. There was only a chilling, practical calm.

"Chloe, let me ask you a question."

"Go ahead."

"Do you really plan on doing this for the rest of your life? Bumping into him every Wednesday, hearing him say the same words every Saturday, and watching him forget you every Sunday?"

I couldn't answer.

"Don't you see that you're just torturing yourself?"

She reached out to touch my arm—her nervous habit whenever she was about to spin a lie.

"I can give him a stable life. He doesn't need to remember the past; he just needs his present to be perfect. But you? You show up every Wednesday with tears in your eyes, looking at him like he broke your heart, and then you disappear. Don't you think that terrifies him?"

I stared at her hand on my arm.

"That song you hum."

"What about it?"

"How many times did you practice it?"

Her fingers twitched, pulling back slightly.

"It’s not just a song," I said, brushing her hand away. "My grandma sang that to me. She passed away last week, Serena. And you are using her memory to seduce a man who can't even remember my name."

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

I took my scarf and walked out.

That night, I didn't go back to our shared apartment. I booked a cheap Airbnb near my office.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I opened my phone. Seventy-three voice recordings were lined up in a folder.

Every single one was Asher's voice.

*“I’m in this for life. It's you, Chloe.”*

The first recording was from six months ago, on a rainy night. He had traced circles on the back of my hand as he said it. In the forty-seventh recording, you could hear me humming my grandma’s lullaby in the background, and his voice was thick with sleep. The seventy-third recording was from the night I got the call about my grandma. I was sobbing on the balcony, and he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

*“Don't cry, Chloe. I’m in this for life. It's always been you.”*

That was the last one.

I transferred all seventy-three files onto a tiny black flash drive, no bigger than a fingernail.

A week later, I found a small studio apartment across town. I packed my clothes and a few boxes. I locked the flash drive inside a small digital safe in the corner of the room. The passcode was Asher’s birthday.

A six-digit number. Only I knew it.

Before I logged off, I drafted a resignation email and cc'd Frank and Serena.

It was brief: *“Resigning effective immediately due to personal reasons. Serena will take full responsibility for the project.”*

I sent it and shut off my phone.

The window of my new studio faced north. I couldn't see his apartment building from here.

The landlady, a kind older woman named Mrs. Gable, helped me change a lightbulb and asked, "Living alone, sweetie?"

"Yes."

"Let me know if you need anything. I’m right next door."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gable."

As she walked out, she paused at the door and looked back at me.

"K"Keep your chin up, honey. Whatever it is, it'll pass."

It was only then that I realized tears were streaming down my face.