Chapter 4

I stared at the text on my screen and left it on read.

A few moments later, another bubble popped up.

Ryan: [Are you mad? I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow.]

There he came again, making it up.

I switched my phone to silent, tossed it onto the sofa, and went into the kitchen to make some food. This was going to be my last meal in the States.

Just as the pasta was ready, the front door lock clicked. Ryan hurried into the apartment, freezing when he saw me in the kitchen.

I set the plate down on the dining table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "I thought you were at the hospital, staying with Sabine."

He poured himself a glass of water. "Sabine said she was craving those lobster rolls from the west side of town. I just ran back to grab the car keys so I could go buy them for her."

That was the same neighborhood where he had once unchained a bike and ridden through a rainstorm just to bring me beef patties. Now, he was willing to cross half the city just to satisfy Sabine's sudden craving.

When I didn't say anything, his brows knitted right back into a tight frown. "Eliza, are you seriously throwing another tantrum? I already told you, Sabine is injured. I can't just abandon her and leave her helpless, can I? Can't you try to understand the position I'm in for once?"

I lifted a forkful of pasta to my mouth. They tasted bland.

"I'm not throwing a tantrum," I said calmly. "Go buy them. Don't keep her waiting."

He shot me a suspicious look, clearly caught off guard by how entirely detached I sounded. But he was in too much of a rush to deep-dive into my mood.

"I'm heading out then. I probably won't be back tonight," he said. "Sabine is terrified of being alone in a hospital room, so I need to stay overnight with her. Go to sleep early."

He scooped his car keys off the counter and turned to leave. At the door, he suddenly stopped and glanced at the empty shoe rack. "Where are your slippers?"

I swallowed without looking up. "They were old, so I threw them out."

Without another word, he walked out and closed the door.

I took my time to finish my pasta. After washing the dishes and leaving them upside down on the drying rack, I threw on my backpack, grabbed the handle of my compact black suitcase, and walked out of the apartment without looking back.

On the airport shuttle, I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, watching the city I had lived in for seven years blur into a streak of taillights.

My phone screen flared to life. It was a message from my best friend, Cecily Lane, containing a screenshot of Sabine's latest social media post.

The photo captured a takeout container of steaming lobster rolls resting against the sterile white sheets of a hospital bed. A man's hand was carefully forking up one of the rolls.

Glinting on his wrist was a Patek Philippe watch—the one I had scrimped and saved for six months to buy Ryan for his birthday last year.

The caption read: [My ankle hurts like hell, but when someone crosses the entire city just to get your favorite lobster rolls, a sprain suddenly feels like a blessing.]

Ryan had left a comment that read: [Eat slowly. No one's going to take them from you.]

Cecily followed up with furious messages.

[Don't tell me you're spending your fifth anniversary sitting home alone right now!]

[Ryan is an absolute piece of shit. Does he even consider you his girlfriend?]

I replied: [Cecily, I'm leaving. Going to Phaelis.]

After a long silence, she sent a voice message thick with tears: "Wise choice! Don't ever look back."

I exited the app, pulled out the SIM card, and dropped it out the bus window into the rushing wind.