Chapter 2

The next morning, Ethan woke up to the smell of coffee. For a split second, a painful habit, he expected to see Chloe in the kitchen, a rare moment of domestic peace. Instead, the apartment was silent and empty, a hollow space that echoed his own hollowness. She had left sometime during the night, not a word, not a note. It was as if their three years together had been erased as easily as she had walked out the door. He felt a profound sense of being ignored, of being an inconvenience that had finally been dealt with.

A few days later, he was packing his things into boxes when his phone rang. It was Chloe. He almost didn't answer, but a small, stupid flicker of hope made him press the green button.

Her voice was bright, almost cheerful. "Ethan, I need you to come with me to a doctor' s appointment this afternoon. It' s for the baby."

He was speechless. "Chloe, what are you talking about? We' re over."

"Don' t be so dramatic," she sighed, her tone impatient. "Jake is busy with work, he can' t make it. You' re the fiancé, it' s your job to be there. It would look weird if I showed up alone."

The word fiancé felt like a slap. "I' m not your fiancé anymore, Chloe. I' m cancelling everything."

"You can' t do that," she said, a sharp edge to her voice now. "What will people think? Just come to the appointment. We can talk about this later." She hung up before he could respond.

He didn't go. An hour later, his phone buzzed with a notification. It was a picture Chloe had posted online. She was standing outside the clinic, and next to her, with his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, was Jake. Jake was smiling, looking down at Chloe' s still-flat stomach. The caption read: "Starting our little family. So blessed." The picture was a deliberate, public humiliation. She hadn't needed him there at all, she had just wanted to twist the knife, to show him how easily he had been replaced, how little he had ever mattered.

The sight of them together, so comfortable and intimate, unlocked another memory. Last winter, Ethan had been sick with a terrible flu. He' d been in bed for three days, barely able to move. He had asked Chloe to bring him a glass of water, and she had rolled her eyes. "Can' t you get it yourself? I' m busy." She had been texting on her phone, laughing at something she was reading. He later found out she had been texting Jake. He remembered lying there, feverish and weak, feeling a deep loneliness. Now, looking at the picture of her doting on Jake, he saw the stark contrast. Jake was her world, he was just the wallpaper.

The anger that had been simmering inside him finally boiled over. It was a clean, hot rage that burned away all the remaining sadness and hope. He walked into the bedroom and pulled his suitcase from the top of the closet. He started throwing clothes into it, not bothering to fold them. This wasn't just a breakup anymore, it was an escape. He had to get away from her, from the city, from the life that had turned out to be a lie. He was done. Completely and irrevocably done. He zipped the suitcase with a final, furious pull. The sound was a declaration of war on his own past.