He blinked. \u201cThat\u2019s it? You\u2019re okay with it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d I said. \u201cIf she\u2019s important to you, she\u2019s welcome.\u201d<\/p>\n
He studied my face, looking for sarcasm, but found nothing.<\/p>\n
<\/ins><\/div>\n
\u201cGood,\u201d he said, relieved. \u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019re not going to make this awkward.\u201d<\/p>\n
The moment he walked away, already texting someone about his \u201ccool\u201d girlfriend, I grabbed my phone.<\/p>\n
\nMe:<\/b> Hey, Harper. Is your guest room still free? Harper:<\/b> Always. What happened? Me:<\/b> I\u2019ll explain on Saturday. I just need somewhere to stay for a while. Harper:<\/b> The door is open. Come anytime.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/ins><\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n
The Setup<\/h3>\n
I\u2019m Chloe Jenkins, 29. I fix commercial HVAC units for a living. I met Liam two years ago. He was charming and attentive. Six months ago, we moved into his apartment\u2014our<\/i> place, supposedly. But somewhere along the way, I stopped being myself. I thought about everything I\u2019d ignored\u2014his jokes, his control, how I\u2019d shrunk to keep the peace.<\/p>\n
The next day, he was full of excitement. He kept texting me about the snacks, the music, the decorations, and who was coming. Not one word about Vanessa. In his mind, that issue had already been settled.<\/p>\n
At lunch, sitting alone in my work van, I made my own list of what actually belonged to me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/ins><\/div>\n
My clothes<\/p>\n
My tools<\/p>\n
My laptop<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n