Chapter 1
The wheels caught on the seam where the hallway tile met our apartment floor and the handle jerked in my right hand. That was the first sound. The white papers in my left hand didn't rustle at all. I was still holding the door open with my hip, the gold satin of my wrap dress pulling tight at the waist where I'd knotted the belt that morning, my double hoops cold against my neck, breathing steady even though my chest felt too tight.
Across the room they were already settled. Ryan had his arm around her shoulders on our cream sofa and her hand was resting flat on his chest over his navy button-down. The city lights through the big windows behind them were warm and blurred, and in that glow the green satin of her dress looked almost black. They were smiling forward together like they'd been waiting for me to arrive to complete the picture, comfortable, entitled, at home in a place that wasn't theirs to claim.
My name is Claire Adler. I was thirty-two and I had come home at night to leave my husband.
It was just after nine. I could see the time on the microwave from the doorway, 9:03, and the apartment smelled like his coffee and her perfume. I took one step in and then another, the suitcase rolling behind me with that extended handle wobbling slightly. The muted teal of the entry wall made my dress look paler than it was. I didn't look away from the sofa. I watched it in pieces. His hand on her shoulder. Her long dark wavy hair falling over his arm. Her legs tucked across his lap. The way neither of them moved to sit up when they saw me.
He spoke first. He didn't stand.
"So you'll really just leave?" he said. His voice was low, like he was testing how much I still wanted to be asked to stay.
I let the suitcase handle go enough to feel the weight settle onto the floor. My papers were still flat against my palm. I looked at him, then at her, then back.
"I'm leaving," I said.
She shifted a little closer into him then. She smiled, not unkind, but sure of herself. She ran her hand once over his chest and looked around the living room like she was already inventorying it.
"This place is perfect," she said. "Take your old clothes and go."
For a second I didn't answer. The dim ambient light made the apartment feel smaller than it had that morning when I'd packed. I could hear myself breathe. I could hear the soft creak of the sofa when Ryan leaned back. My gaze dropped to the suitcase at my side and then to the papers. They were folded once, white and sharp at the edges. They weren't apology letters.
I tightened my grip on both. My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to and then steadier.
May you like
"The movers will be here tomorrow," I said.
No one moved. The door was still open behind me, letting in the hall air. The suitcase stood upright by my leg. Ryan's arm was still around Mara on the cream sofa, and the city lights kept flickering behind them, and the space between the doorway where I stood and the sofa where they sat felt suddenly like the only distance in the apartment that mattered, and it was still completely intact.
