83

Chapter 83 – A Door Without a Key

I went home. Or what used to be home.

The apartment was cold, quiet. The kind of quiet that settles in after something dies. I moved through the rooms like a ghost, brushing my fingers over memories tucked into the corners—frayed books, forgotten mugs, a photograph half-tucked under the fridge magnet.

Packing didn’t take long. I didn’t have much left to hold onto. Just a few clothes, the old paperback I couldn’t bring myself to leave with Ethan, and the jacket that still smelled like him—faintly, barely, like smoke after a fire.

I zipped the duffel shut. That was it.

It was really happening.

The hallway outside was just as dim as I remembered. Paint peeling at the corners, lights flickering overhead like the universe couldn’t decide if it wanted me to see clearly or not. I descended the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last, until I reached the landlord’s door.

Old Mr. Harvey opened it after a couple knocks, his face as grizzled and skeptical