With a steady breath, I whispered, “Goodbye,” to the space—and to the girl who had once believed that love alone could hold people together.
Then I picked up my suitcase, stepped out the door, and didn’t look back. I checked into a modest hotel across town—something temporary until my flight. No goodbyes. No closure.
Just silence.
It wasn’t peace yet, but it was the closest I’d come in years.
I was sipping tea in the hotel room when my phone buzzed.
Nathan: What is happening? Why is there someone here picking up our things??
I didn’t answer right away. I let him stew in confusion for a moment. Then I typed back: Oh, that’s the eviction notice.
A second later, he called.
I answered.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “Eviction? Why are movers here? Is this some joke?”
“I’m selling the apartment,” I said calmly. “The papers were signed this morning.”
“You can’t sell it!” he shouted. “We didn’t agree to that!”
“I don’t need your agreement,” I said coldly. “It’s my apartment. You’ve never paid a single cent. Not for rent, not for electricity, not even for the groceries.”
He went quiet, but only for a second.