Chapter 4

He glanced at his mother.

Diane spoke first. "She's already booked the movers. Someone has to let them in."

I put my phone back in my pocket.

"Cancel them."

Amy stepped forward. "They'll charge me if I cancel now."

"Then change the address."

"To where?"

"That's for you to decide."

Her voice shot up.

"Mark already said I could!"

"Then have him arrange it. I won't be opening the door or accepting any furniture on Thursday."

Mark reached out to stop me.

"You're really going to make her find storage now?"

"I didn't tell her to bring her bed here."

I stepped around him and headed downstairs. Halfway down, I heard Diane lower her voice. "Don't argue with her now. We'll talk when you get back."

Mark didn't object.

I stopped on the stairs, opened the group chat between the three of us, and put what I'd just said in writing.

"I haven't agreed to Amy moving in, and I won't be clearing out my office."

"Please change the delivery address. Don't send the movers here."

Half an hour later, Amy sent a storage booking to the group.

"Changed it. It's over two hundred dollars a month."

Then she added:

"The bed and dresser can stay there for now. We'll move them after we get back."

Mark replied, "Okay."

I stood in the kitchen, staring at that one word.

They'd worked out where to put the furniture temporarily.

No one was taking my refusal to let her move in seriously.

I didn't eat with them that night.

Takeout containers covered the table while Diane asked Mark what documents they needed to board.

Amy sat beside them, checking the weather near the port on her phone.

I took a glass of water upstairs and closed my office door.

Less than ten minutes later, Jenna texted.

"You gave Amy your anniversary trip? Weren't you really looking forward to it?"

Below it was a screenshot.

Amy had posted a picture of her suitcase and straw hat. The caption said the past few months had been hard, but she was lucky her family had been there for her.

The final paragraph read:

"Thank you, Mark, for taking me away for a fresh start. And thank you, Claire, for offering me your place on the trip and helping me get settled into my new life. I'm so lucky."

Diane had commented:

"You can always count on family."

Mark had liked the post.

I carried my phone downstairs and held the screenshot in front of him.

"Tell her to change it."

He glanced at it.

"She's just trying to thank you."

"When did I offer her my place? I don't need that kind of thanks."

"Claire, everyone's trying to make her feel better."

"What about me? I've been unhappy for years. Who's trying to make me feel better?"

Amy put down her chopsticks.

"What do you want me to write? That you're upset? Then everyone will start asking questions. What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Then don't post anything. I don't want your happiness to come at my expense."

She looked at Mark.

Mark pushed my phone back toward me.

"That's enough. Let her finish eating."

I looked at his hand against the edge of my phone.

He could tell his sister what my schedule was. He could let the movers assume I'd be home.

He'd already made so many decisions for me.

But now that I wanted to correct one claim, he had a problem with it.

I took my phone back and replied to Jenna:

"I didn't give her my place. Mark changed the ticket and told me afterward."

She called almost immediately.

I went back upstairs and sat at my desk.

When she asked, "Are you okay?" I suddenly couldn't speak.

I bowed my head and pressed a hand over my eyes.

It took a long time before I could tell her about the room and the moving checklist.

All she asked was whether I wanted to come over and stay that night.

I said I didn't need to for now.

After we hung up, I logged into my bank account and checked my balance.

Then I factored in the next two payments I expected to receive and the deposit I'd need to rent a place on my own.

The numbers weren't high enough to make me feel secure, but they weren't so low that I had to stay.

I found a furnished apartment nearby available for a short-term lease, less than twenty minutes from my new client's office.

The kitchen in the photos was tiny, but there was an empty space by the window big enough for my desk.

The landlord replied, asking how long I planned to stay.

I typed "One month."

Downstairs, Mark was telling his sister to put her travel documents in her carry-on, not her checked luggage.

I deleted the words.

"Three months. Can I see it tomorrow afternoon?"