Chapter 10 - Two Plates Still Set
I parked in my usual spot and sat for a minute with the engine off. Our building looked the same as it had a week ago. Same cracked stucco by the stairwell, same smell of laundry from the basement vent. Nothing about it said crisis. That was what made my hands shake.
My name is still on the mailbox. M. REYES in Daniel's block letters under his. I stood there looking at it like it was evidence.
Daniel had left the door unlocked for me. He was at the kitchen table when I stepped in, laptop open, sleeves pushed up. He stood right away.
"I'll stay over here," he said. "Get what you need."
The apartment was quiet in that midday way I knew. Fridge hum. The faucet dripping once every few seconds because we'd never fixed the washer. On the counter, two plates still set out to dry from breakfast — his, mine from that morning we left for his mom's. He hadn't put mine away.
I set my cream handbag down by the door. The clasp clicked against the tile. I kept my ring on. The red mark on my right hand had faded to pink.
In the bedroom, my work blouses hung in a row. I pulled two, then a third, and laid them on the bed. My burgundy skirt from lunch was folded over the chair where I'd left it. I hadn't even looked at it since Lena's. I took my black pants for the school kitchen, my aprons, my nonslip shoes. I worked methodically, folding, not letting myself open drawers I didn't need.
Daniel appeared in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. He didn't cross in.
"You watered the plant," I said. The pothos above the dresser was damp, leaves lifted.
"You always know when it needs it," he said. "I just guessed."
That landed harder than it should have. Small, ordinary. Not villainy. Just us. The rent receipt on the fridge with both our initials. My check stub on his desk where he'd left my mail in a neat pile. A grocery list in my handwriting: eggs, tortillas, coffee. His addition underneath: your tea.
I zipped the duffel halfway and sat on the edge of the bed.
"You said you canceled it," I said.
He nodded and came forward a step, then held out his phone. "I want you to see. Not just take my word."
On the screen was his bank app. A scheduled transfer to Rosa — the one Vanessa had pushed that afternoon in the parking lot — marked CANCELED. Timestamped yesterday. No new one set up.
I read it twice. The amount made my stomach tighten. It was almost half our rent.
"When did you set this up?" I asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "After lunch. My mom called. She said it would be easier if she just handled... everything for a while. I said yes before I thought."
I handed the phone back. "And then you canceled."
"Yesterday morning. After you—" He stopped. "After we talked about meeting neutral. I called the bank. I didn't tell my mom yet."
I believed him. That was the problem. I believed he meant it in this room, and I wasn't sure it would hold in that dining room.
"Thank you for showing me," I said. "That matters."
Relief crossed his face so fast I had to look away. "So you'll—"
"I'm still staying at Lena's until we have that talk," I said. "With the counselor. No family there."
He sat down on the other side of the bed, careful to leave space. The mattress dipped.
"I don't like sleeping here without you," he said.
"I don't like needing a break to be heard," I said.
Silence settled. Not the tense silence from the table. A tired one. I could hear the upstairs neighbor walking around, a car alarm going off down on the street and then stopping.
He gestured toward the duffel. "Do you have enough? For work?"
"For a few more days. I'll come back if I need more."
He nodded. He picked up my folded apron and smoothed a wrinkle that wasn't there, then set it back down.
"Keep the plates," I said before I could stop myself, nodding toward the kitchen. "I'll— I'll be back to talk. Not to pretend."
"I know," he said quietly.
At the door, I lifted my handbag onto my shoulder. The gold clasp was warm from the sun through the window. Daniel held the door for me and didn't try to hug me. I was grateful for that.
"I canceled it because it wasn't right," he said. "Not just to get you back."
May you like
I held his eyes for a second. "Then we'll have something to start with."
I walked down the stairs with my duffel bumping against my hip, and didn't look back until I was at my car.
