The message appeared on Cole’s phone while he was in the shower, and before the screen went dark, I learned that seven people I loved had spent more than two years building a happier life around my absence.
Chapter 2
By Wednesday, I had signed a lease on a one-bedroom apartment in a century-old brick building twenty minutes from my office. The floors creaked, the kitchen was barely wide enough for two people to pass, and the bedroom windows looked over the courtyard of an old church.
I loved it immediately.
For the first time in years, I looked at a room and imagined what I wanted instead of what would make Cole comfortable.
I also went through four years of bank records.
The apartment lease was technically in both our names, but I had been the primary applicant because Cole’s credit had been poor when we moved in. I had paid the security deposit, most of the furniture, nearly all the kitchen equipment, and far more than half our household expenses.
Seeing the numbers in rows made our relationship look different.
Love had hidden a great deal of accounting.
Then Leo called.
“Hey, sis. You’re coming Sunday, right?”
“What’s Sunday?”
“My birthday thing. At your place.”
I closed my eyes.
“Cole’s hosting?”
“Yeah. He’s doing burgers. Jake and Matt are coming. Maya too. Emma. Everybody.”
The usual crew.
The words weren’t necessary.
I could see the group chat in my mind.
“Who invited me?”
Leo laughed uneasily. “You live there.”
That answer hurt more than he intended.
I had practically raised him for three years after our father left. Mom worked double shifts at a nursing home, and I was the one who packed Leo’s lunches, helped him with algebra, bought his winter coat, and sat beside him in urgent care when pneumonia frightened him into tears.
Now I was welcome at his birthday because the party happened to be inside the apartment where I lived.
“I’ll try,” I said.
“Try? Sarah, come on. It’s my birthday.”
“I said I’ll try.”
After hanging up, I sat at my desk until the numbers on my computer stopped making sense.
Then I made my decision.
Friday morning, Cole went to the gym.
Twenty minutes later, a moving van arrived.
I took everything I had purchased.
The oak dining table. The chairs. The wool rug. The cookware. The good knives. My framed prints. The vacuum. The lamps. The linen curtains. The record cabinet I had refinished myself. The bookshelves. The expensive coffee maker Cole loved but had never once cleaned.
I left his massive television, game console, sagging sectional, cheap particleboard entertainment center, and every possession that had belonged to him before me.
When the movers finished, the apartment looked startlingly naked.
Without my things, Cole’s life was a couch, a television, three mismatched plates, and a drawer full of takeout napkins.
His tablet sat on the coffee table.
A notification appeared.
A Happy Life Without Sarah.
Emma: I’ve got plates and cups.
Jake: Tequila acquired.
Leo: Cole, smash burgers again?
Cole: Yep. Told Sarah I’m taking care of all the food so she won’t hover.
Maya: You deserve a medal.
Then another.
Cole: Seriously. If my girlfriend treated me like a parole officer every time I wanted fun, I’d leave too.
I photographed the screen.
Not for revenge.
For evidence against the version of events they would tell later.
At four-thirty, Cole called.
“Sarah?”
“Hey.”
“Where’s the dining table?”
I was sitting on a box in my new apartment.
“What?”
“The table. The chairs. The rug. Everything’s gone.”
“Is your TV there?”
“Yes.”
“Game console?”
“Yes.”
“Then you weren’t robbed.”
A pause.
“Where is everything?”
“I had some things moved out.”
“What things?”
“My things.”
Silence.
“What does that mean?”
I looked out my new window toward the churchyard.
“It means exactly what I said.”
His breathing changed. “Sarah, Leo’s party is Sunday.”
“I know.”
“Where are people supposed to sit?”
“You still have the couch.”
“Six people can’t fit on the couch.”
“Then some of them can use the floor. They’ve always been very good at making themselves comfortable.”
Another silence.
“Are you coming home?”
“Not tonight.”
“Where are you?”
“Busy.”
“Sarah, what the hell is going on?”
For two weeks I had wanted him to ask that question.
Now that he finally had, I felt nothing.
“You’ll find out Sunday.”
I ended the call.
Saturday morning, I went to a print shop.
I handed the clerk a flash drive containing the screenshots I had collected.
Eight copies.
Spiral-bound.
Clear covers.
On the title page, I printed the name exactly as they had written it.
A Happy Life Without Sarah.
Underneath, in smaller letters:
Twenty-Seven Months of Friendship, Planning, and Honesty.
The clerk read enough to understand.
When he handed me the box, he avoided my eyes.
“Rough project,” he said.
“You could say that.”
“You sure you want eight?”
I thought of Cole, Emma, Maya, Jake, Matt, Ryan, Natalie, and my brother.
“Eight,” I said.
Sunday afternoon, I dressed carefully.
Nothing dramatic. Navy slacks, cream blouse, small earrings, flat shoes.
I wanted no one to remember me as hysterical.
I wanted them to remember how calm I was.
When I arrived at the old apartment, Cole was standing in the kitchen surrounded by hamburger buns, onions, plastic cups, and mounting panic.
“Where’s the serving platter?” he demanded.
“Mine.”
“The big skillet?”
“Mine.”
“The cake knife?”
“Mine.”
He stared at me. “Are you trying to ruin Leo’s birthday?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
The buzzer sounded.
I set my bag on the counter.
“Making sure everybody gets exactly what they came for.”
