Chapter 4 - The Apartment That Was Never Theirs
I did not break anything.
That is important.
I did not rip clothes, smash dishes, or throw their photographs into the street.
I packed carefully.
Coldly.
Legally.
Clothes into boxes.
Shoes into boxes.
Kitchenware into boxes.
Picture frames wrapped in towels.
Derek’s gaming equipment labeled fragile because Thomas had taught me not to become cruel just because other people were.
The movers arrived at three.
I handed them the key and paid extra for same-day delivery.
“Where are we taking everything?” the foreman asked.
I gave him my parents’ address.
Richard and Barbara had once given me an emergency key to their house, mostly so I could feed their cat when they traveled.
That day, I used it to open their front door and instruct the movers to stack Chloe and Derek’s belongings in the middle of their living room.
Box after box.
Bag after bag.
A monument to the family that always showed up for Chloe.
Then I called a locksmith.
“Just the apartment?” he asked.
“The apartment first,” I said. “Then my house.”
By sunset, every old key was useless.
By night, I opened my laptop and canceled every payment I had been making.
My parents’ car insurance.
My mother’s grocery card.
Their medical supplements.
Chloe’s phone.
Derek’s car payment.
Utilities.
Subscriptions.
Small quiet leaks that had drained nearly three thousand dollars a month from my life.
With each cancellation, I remembered a sentence.
You can handle it.
You always do.
They were right about one thing.
May you like
I could handle it.
Just not for them anymore.
