Chapter 4

Before heading to the airport, I'd arranged for a courier to take the boxes I'd packed to the Vivian.

Somehow they were taken to the private club. Somebody posted an unboxing video in the group chat.

The scarf, the keychain, and the tie Vivian had given me were all in there, along with the handful of cards she'd written me over the years.

At the bottom was an itemized statement.

For three years I'd written down every dollar Vivian covered on meals, trips, and the time we shared the apartment. After subtracting my share, the balance came to fifteen thousand eight hundred dollars.

I transferred it to her account, every cent.

In the video, someone picked up the statement and doubled over laughing.

"What is this, an invoice? Three years of companionship, itemized?"

"Fifteen grand out of a rich woman in three years. He must feel robbed."

"No wonder he's pretending to move out. He's trying to get Vivian to raise the rate."

Tristan pulled the statement away and skimmed it.

"He made the math this precise so Vivian remembers he gave her three years of his life.

"Wait for it. Next he'll be billing you for the three years. A grown man, doing that."

Vivian sat on the sofa, getting paler with every word.

She looked at the pile of returned things.

"What if he actually wants to break up?"

Tristan burst out laughing.

"Vivian, you really bought the performance?

"What does he make in a month? The second he leaves you, he's paying rent, riding a packed train to work, and going on dates with ordinary women.

"He's had three years of the life your money bought. You think he can go back to that?"

Her friends piled on.

"Vivian, you're just too attached to your charity case."

"He can't find a richer woman out there. He'll crawl back."

"He's probably standing outside the door right now, waiting for you to say you forgive him."

They called my flight again. As I got into line, Vivian's assistant messaged me.

"Mr. Cole, Ms. Ford would like to know when you're coming back."

I didn't reply.

When it was my turn at the gate, Gerald called.

"We've notified the partner firm. Vivian's going to find out soon that you signed for three years.

"You're sure about this?"

I looked down the jet bridge toward the plane.

"I'm sure. This time I'm not turning around."

After I hung up, I opened my messages with Vivian.

Three years, and almost every message was mine. Asking when she'd be home. Reminding her to take her medication. Telling her where I'd put the clean laundry.

Somewhere along the way, a grown man had turned himself into her live-in housekeeper.

The last few dozen messages had gotten the same two words back.

Got it.

I sent the last things I had to say.

Vivian, your friends were right. I'm a very good actor.

I'd had enough a long time ago, and I still spent three years pretending to love you.

The performance is over.

Next time you test me with a car accident or a drunk disappearance or an emergency, nobody's coming.

Her call came in almost instantly.

I didn't answer.

She kept calling, her name jumping onto the screen over and over.

A flight attendant asked me to switch to airplane mode.

The screen finally went quiet.

At the same time, Corinne was delivering my overseas contract to the private club.

Printed there in black and white: three years.

Tristan reached for it, but Vivian got a hand flat on the page before he could.

She stared at my signature, and the color drained out of her face.

This time I wasn't acting.

I was actually gone.