His New Girl Smells Cheap

After Gavin changed the keypad code to our apartment, he sent me the new one via text. It took two tries for the lock to click, the heavy door finally swinging open.

The moment I stepped inside, the air felt wrong. The crisp, woody scent of the home I’d built had been smothered by a cloying, synthetic gardenia—a fabric softener I never used.

In the laundry room, the dryer had finished its cycle. I pulled the clothes out. There was one of his work shirts, and then there was a floral sunshirt, size small. I wear a large.