Her lips press into a thin line. “I thought it was better to just… move on.”
“Move on?” I repeat, venom curling around every syllable. “No. You didn’t move on. You disappeared.”
Her arms cross over her chest. “I gave you space.”
“No. You gave me nothing.”
A beat passes. Her polish is cracking now—her shoulders inching higher, her jaw tensing. What is she holding back?
“I’m here to grab my stuff,” she says quietly. “That’s it.”
I scoff. “You’re unbelievable. All that we shared, and now you want your measuring cups and throw pillows like this is a goddamn asset split?”
Her gaze hardens. “Some clothes. A few kitchen things. And the Dutch oven.”
“TheDutch oven?” I laugh, dry and bitter. “You’re seriously here for a cast iron pot?”
“I also need my key back,” she adds, brushing hair behind her ear.
“Gladly.” I snatch my keys out of the bowl and yank hers off the ring, the metal biting into my palm. But then there's that shift. That pause. Her hand tightens even more around her bag.
And I know.
“Why do you need your key back?” I ask, even though I already feel the answer, cold and rising.
She doesn’t even hesitate. “Because I need to turn it into management. I’m moving in with Jackson next weekend.”
The words land like a battering ram to the ribs. I don’t breathe for a full minute.
“You’rewhat?”
She lifts her chin. “I’m moving in with him.”
The key cuts deeper into my hand. I didn’t think I had anything left to be blindsided by.
Turns out, I was dead fucking wrong.
“It just makes sense,” she says softly.
“Sense.” The word tastes like blood in my mouth. “Right. Like fucking the guy I work with makes sense.”
I pause. Then lower my voice. “Just tell me, Chloe. When did we fall apart? Was it a slow fade, or did I just miss the second you gave up?”
She doesn’t answer. Just stares at me with a blank sort of resolve. She’s already rewritten this chapter without me in it.
“I thought I knew you.” My voice falters despite myself. “I thought we were building a real life. But now I’m wondering if all I ever loved was the version of you Ineededyou to be.”
Still, she says nothing.
“Help me understand,” I whisper. “When didwestop making sense?”
Her posture shifts, but she stays quiet.
“Why won’t you fucking talk?”
“Does it matter, Nolan?” she says finally. “It’s over. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
I step closer. “It matters to me.”
