Page 144 of The Rules of Dating

Maya turned and smiled. “Yes. We’ll be back in a little while.”

I waited until they disappeared from sight before going back into my apartment. I decided to take a hot shower, maybe put the showerhead setting on massage and see if I could get the knot in the back of my neck to loosen up.

It helped a little. But I’d been so preoccupied with letting Saylor go out with Maya that I forgot I’d never restocked the bathroom with towels after doing laundry. So I creaked open the door while I dripped all over the floor.

“Saylor? Are you here?”

No response.

“Maya?”

Silence.

Using the shirt I’d worn to work today, I at least covered my junk before darting to the laundry room. I grabbed a towel out of the dryer and wrapped it around my waist. But as I walked out of the room, I realized something looked different. It took me a minute to figure out what it was.

The top of the dryer is empty.

Maya’s big suitcase had been stashed there for weeks, since the first day she’d moved in. An ominous feeling came over me, but I reminded myself she was leaving in the morning. She’d probably come home earlier today and brought it into her room to start packing.

Yeah, that’s why it’s missing. Still, I ran to the guest room to check.

My heart stopped when I opened the door. All of Maya’s shit was gone. She’d had crap piled on top of the dresser for weeks, and now it was completely empty. But I was in denial, so I ran to the drawers and yanked every single one open, praying to God she’d just tidied up. But they were all empty, as were the nightstands and closet. And there was no sign of her suitcase either. Then I noticed something in the middle of the bed. It was a letter, typed and folded. I grabbed it, and my heart sank finding US Citizenship and Immigration Services at the top of the paper. The letter was dated last week.

DECISION

Thank you for submitting your Application to Register Permanent Residence or Adjust Status, to US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) under section 204(c) of the Immigration and Nationality Act (INA).

After a thorough review of your application and supporting documents and testimony, unfortunately, we must inform you that we are denying your application for the following reasons:

Inconsistent testimonies given at interview

Insufficient evidence of a bona fide relationship

Adverse information gathered in USCIS’ investigation, including home visit

My head spun so fast that the letters on the rest of the page became jumbled even though my eyes kept scanning—the words fraud and deportation in the last paragraphs were clear as fucking day.

What the fuck? Why did Maya tell me she didn’t know what decision had been made if she already had the letter? When the answer hit me, I ran to the bathroom and lost my lunch in the toilet.

I held open the front door to my fucking apartment so she could walk out with my daughter and never come back.

I yanked on clothes and ran out the door, sprinting down sixteen flights of stairs. The shirt I’d grabbed from the bathroom floor was inside out, my hair was still dripping from the shower, and I hadn’t bothered with socks before jamming my feet into my dress shoes. But none of that mattered. Only getting to the ice cream shop did.

Running at full speed down the Manhattan street at the tail end of rush hour wasn’t an easy task. I knocked into or shoved a dozen people as I raced my way to the store. Whipping the door open when I arrived, I scanned the room for Saylor.

“Table for one?” The hostess lifted a menu. “Would you like to sit at the counter?”

“Have you seen a little girl with blond hair…about four and a woman with long, dark hair in her mid-twenties?”

The woman’s brows pulled together as she glanced around the ice cream parlor. There were a half-a-dozen tables with people, none of which had my little girl.

“I don’t see anyone who looks like that.”

“Did anyone like I described leave recently?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been here since three. I don’t think so.”

Fuck.