CHAPTER 3

WHAT'S LEFT BEHIND

I don’t even know how long I sit there before I finally move. I clean up the plates, wipe down the counter even though it’s spotless. His coffee cup is still half full. The rim has a faint print of his lips, I pour out the content and then rinse his cup and leave it upside down on the rack.

My hands keep moving because if they stop, I’ll think too much. I go into the bedroom and start straightening the sheets, trying not to remember what happened last night and this morning.

The wardrobe door is slightly open, just enough to see his side rows of shirts and suits, all lined up like they’re waiting for him, I step closer, my fingers brushing over the sleeves, the smooth fabric under my skin. I used to help him pick ties in the morning. He’d ask, “Blue or grey?” and I’d tease, “Blue makes you look like you care.” He’d laugh. I can almost hear it now.

I pull out one of his shirts and hold it against me, closing my eyes for a second, maybe I just overreacted. I pull out my phone to check if he had responded to the three long paragraphs I sent an hour ago, trying to explain how I didn’t mean to argue, how I just miss him, and how I’ll try to do better. But the “delivered” mark mocks me. I set the phone down, then kneel to pick up the clothes he tossed last night. His trousers are crumpled near the dresser. I grab them, shaking my head at how careless he can be, and carry them toward the laundry basket, I reach into the pocket to check for anything valuable before I send them to the washing machine.

My hand brushes something small. I pause. My heart slows, then starts pounding all at once. I pull it out, a small foil packet, silver, untouched. I just stare at it in my hand, my mind blank. I can’t breathe, slowly, the edges of everything around me start to blur. The air thickens. He doesn’t use this . We haven’t used this in years.

My fingers tremble as I hold it up to the light. It catches a dull glint, and something sharp twists in my stomach. I drop it on the bed like it burned me, stepped back, pressing my hand to my mouth. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, no, no.” I sink to the edge of the bed, clutching the sheets, the room tilting just slightly.

I stare at the packet again, lying there between the folds of the blanket like a truth I never asked for. I pick up my phone again, my hands shaking. I type: so there’s another woman huh? , who have you been fucking ?!!! . Delivered. I send a picture of the rubber pack . Delivered. My jaw clenched as heat rushed through me . Fuck it . I call him . Now sweaty , with my toes tapping the floor as watch my phone dail his number. It rings and stops and I keep dialing . 20 times now . I call him still no answer .

I look back at the rubber , look back to my phone . I get up and start pacing about the room . I call one last time . No answer still . I’ll just go tell it to his face . I hurriedly took a shower , and wore anything I could find . I did not think to comb and dry my hair so I let flow out like that , still very damp . Picked up the rubber in disgust, grabbed one of the car keys and stormed out the house .

There are so many cars in the garage, all his , sleek , polished machines lined like trophies, I’ve gotten used to all the shine in one place, but things were never like this before, Back then, it was just his old black sedan, the one that broke down twice in a month and made us take taxis to work. We used to laugh about it. We used to laugh about everything. Now, it’s all chrome and silence.

I stare at the key in my hand, I did not even check which I picked out of the rest before I stormed out . I press the button and hear one of the cars beep , the red one. Of course. I slide in and slam the door, the sound echoing in the empty space like a gunshot. The leather seats smell expensive. Cold. Like him lately.I grip the steering wheel, my chest tight, my breath shallow.

I used to love driving to his office , back when I’d surprise him with lunch or just sit in the lobby waiting for him to be done. It made me feel like I belonged to his world. Like I mattered there. But I haven’t gone in months. Maybe even a year, because I stopped being his partner, i became a background sound.

The road blurs as I drive, the city rushing past like a film I’ve seen too many times. My mind won’t stop replaying his voice, “You’re the only one I want, Emma . You’re my forever.” I remember the way he said it, his hand on my cheek, right before he got his first big deal. Right before he promised he’d never change. He changed. The more success came, the less I recognized him. The less he came home smiling. The less he saw me.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, the foil packet flashing in my mind. My stomach twists again. He told me once he hated using rubber . Said it made him feel too far from me. Said he didn’t need it. Said I was enough. “Liar,” I whisper under my breath. The word tastes bitter. I reach a red light and glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror, my hair’s still damp, curling at the ends. My lips are pale. My eyes look… wild. Maybe I am.

The light turns green, and I drive faster. I don’t care. I just want answers. The office isn’t far ,ten, maybe fifteen minutes away. But every turn feels heavier, like my body’s resisting the truth I’m about to face. He works on the top floor now, behind glass walls and power suits. The same man who once said that money wouldn’t change a thing. I let out a shaky breath, my eyes burning. “You promised,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You promised me.”

The closer I get, the colder I feel. I shouldn’t even be doing this, but what else am I supposed to do? The building finally comes into view , tall, gleaming, proud. Just like him. I park and sit there for a moment, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me together.

I look back at my phone , hoping to see a response from him. But none still. Of course. I throw the phone into the passenger seat, take a deep breath, I take one look at the mirror , I look crazy , i open the door. My heels hit the pavement hard. Each step echoes through the parking lot. He’ll see me today. He’ll tell me everything.