Chapter 2

The next day, when I got to work, Phil's car was parked outside the building, just as I'd expected.

He was leaning against the door, worn thin, dark shadows under his eyes.

The moment he saw me, he stubbed out his cigarette and came over.

"Kayla, are you done throwing this tantrum?"

He grabbed my arm, hard.

His grip hurt, and pain shot through the burn.

"Let go."

"Come home with me. Stop being difficult."

His tone was still so certain of itself.

As if I were only sulking, waiting for him to come coax me back.

I looked at him, and suddenly I laughed.

I took out my phone, opened the album, and held it up in front of him.

On the screen was the photo of him kissing Sarah under the dim lights of the bar.

The man handsome, the woman coy, the whole image glaring.

Phil's face went white in an instant.

That flicker of impatience in his eyes finally shattered into panic.

"This is—"

"Last Friday, you told me you were working late at the office. That you had a meeting all night."

I stated the facts, calmly.

That day was my birthday.

I'd made a whole table of food and waited for him until the middle of the night.

At midnight he sent a message saying he couldn't get away.

He'd attached a photo of a conference room.

Thinking back now, that photo was some old picture he'd dug up from who knows where.

Phil opened his mouth and couldn't get out a single word.

The panic in his eyes turned to dread.

"Kayla, listen to me, it's not what you think, she'd had too much to drink—"

That excuse again.

It was always Sarah had too much to drink, Sarah was in a bad mood, Sarah needed someone with her.

I put my phone away. I didn't want to hear any more.

"Phil, we're over."

I stepped around him to go.

But he came after me again, catching my wrist from behind.

This time he grabbed the hand that wasn't hurt.

His palm was hot, trembling faintly.

I wrenched free.

"Don't touch me."

I looked at him, one word at a time.

"Filthy."

The word seemed to nail Phil where he stood.

His outstretched hand froze in midair, every trace of color drained from his face.

I didn't wait any longer. I turned and walked into the building.

It was only inside the elevator that I noticed my own hand was shaking too.

The burn on my arm had started to ache again.

I went to the restroom and splashed cold water on my face.

The woman in the mirror was pale, but her eyes were calm.

Ten years of love, like a high fever, had finally broken yesterday.

The process had hurt, but I was clear-headed now.

At noon I didn't go to the cafeteria. I ordered delivery.

Picking it up, I saw a figure both familiar and strange.

It was the doctor who'd treated my burn the day before.

He was in a white coat, probably dropping something off nearby.

He recognized me too and gave me a nod.

"How's your hand?"

"Much better, thank you, Doctor."

"I'm Howard Barnes." He introduced himself, his voice clean and clear. "Change the dressing on schedule, and keep it dry."

"I will."

He seemed about to say something more, but his phone rang.

He gave an apologetic smile, answered it, and walked off.

I carried the food back to my desk with a strange feeling inside.

Like a thread of sunlight breaking through days of steady rain.

That afternoon, Phil came again.

This time he stood at the entrance holding a huge bunch of red roses, drawing looks from everyone passing by.

I left through the side door.

He started calling and texting me like a madman.

I ignored it.

That evening, Joy told me Phil had asked her for my new address.

"I cussed him out and told him to get lost." Joy was seething on the other end of the line. "He's got the nerve to come looking for you? I heard that little snake Sarah has already moved into your new place!"

Something jabbed at my heart.

That home I'd put together piece by piece was someone else's cozy little nest now.

"Good," I said. "Saves me from hiring someone to scrub out every trace of me."

I thought Phil would lie low for a few days.

I didn't expect that on the third day he'd show up at my new place.

At Joy's home.

He stood at the door, eyes bloodshot, defeat coming off him in waves.

In his hand was breakfast from my favorite place.

"Kayla, let's talk."

His voice was hoarse.

I blocked the doorway and didn't let him in.

"We have nothing to talk about."

"Just five minutes." He was nearly begging.

Looking at him like this, I felt nothing at all.

"Phil, you didn't used to be like this."

The old him was proud, confident, never bowed his head for anyone.

He gave a bitter smile.

"You took all my pride with you."

What a joke.

"Your pride, didn't you hand that over to Sarah long ago?"

I threw it back at him coldly.

"Every time we fought, you went to her. Every time she called, no matter what I was doing, you'd rush right over. One time I had a fever of a hundred and two, and you left me home alone to go pick her up at the airport, because she was just back from overseas. Phil, have you forgotten?"

All of this I'd swallowed before.

I always thought he only saw Sarah as a sister.

I always thought the most important place in his heart was saved for me.

Now I could see it was nothing but fooling myself.

Phil's face grew whiter and whiter.

"I—"

"Just go." I cut him off. "I don't want to see you again."

I moved to shut the door.

But he suddenly threw out a hand to brace it and forced his way inside.

"Kayla, I was wrong, I really was wrong!"

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard.

"Give me one more chance, one last time!"