Chapter 2

"Break up?" Joseph let out a scoff, like I'd just told the world's biggest joke.

He pulled one earbud out.

Those eyes that once made me lose myself now only held a condescending gaze.

He said coldly, "Eunice, are you done with this drama?

"Stop trying to get attention with this. It's childish."

With that, he slipped his earbud back in.

The thunderous bass drowned out everything between us.

Joseph didn't even bother to ask again.

To him, my meltdown and resolve were nothing but a ridiculous show that would fizzle out on its own.

I stood there, staring at the side of his face as he lost himself in the music.

The last bit of warmth in my heart froze over completely.

The next day, I took half a day off work. I sat across from the rental agent.

"Miss Bagwell, it's a one-year lease. Are you sure you don't want to check with your husband first?" The agent pushed the contract toward me, her smile warm and friendly.

My pen hovered over the signature line, a tiny blot of ink spreading on the paper.

Check with him? Joseph's impatient face flashed through my mind.

He had said, "Just change the lightbulb yourself. It's not a big deal.

"I've got rehearsal. Go home on your own.

"Grown-ups deal with their own stuff. Don't bug me."

Those words used to cut me like a dull knife, slowly killing all my hopes.

Now, they were the rules I lived by.

I lowered my eyes and signed my name without hesitation. "No need. I'm making the call myself," I replied.

When I got back to the apartment, Joseph was there, just like I expected.

He was sprawled out on the couch with his noise-canceling headphones on, playing air guitar in the empty space.

He didn't even acknowledge me when I opened the door. That suited me just fine.

I opened up my suitcase. I started erasing every sign that I ever lived here. Piece by piece.

I spent half a month's paycheck on high-end imported cookware.

Joseph complained it made the place feel too ordinary, ruining the aesthetic.

But he'd turn around and wait in line for three hours just because Giselle casually mentioned a limited-edition dessert.

I found an antique guitar at a flea market.

Joseph dismissed it as nothing but a worthless hunk of wood taking up space.

But when Giselle wanted to learn guitar, he taught her himself, used his connections to open doors for her, and went around bragging she was his "inspiration."

I'd confronted him about it before. All I got was that look from Joseph, like he thought I was crazy, disappointed and sneering.

He had said, "Eunice, don't be so basic. I'm just appreciating talent.

"She's a family friend's little sister. It's just my duty.

"Getting jealous over this only makes you seem immature and insecure."

He was right. I was not exactly immature and insecure.

All I know was, the patience he gave Giselle was a kind of luxury I'd never had.

I packed my books into boxes.

Joseph always called my books too worldly, but he'd rave about Giselle's obscure poetry collections, even though he couldn't understand a single word.

My phone buzzed with a new message.

My bestie Rosalina pinged me on WhatsApp. [Eunice, did you see the wedding photos? You better be at my wedding next month.]

The bright smiles in the photo felt almost too much, and my eyes prickled with tears.

I used to picture myself living that dream too.

But Joseph always said marriage was where art goes to die, a safe haven for the boring and ordinary.

I thought if I just played nice and kept being patient, maybe he'd make an exception for me.

It turned out he wasn't really cold-hearted after all.

He just saved all his warmth for someone else, and that someone was never me.

His double standards were painfully obvious whenever Giselle was around, and it stung every time.

The carpet, the curtains, the decorations tucked in the corners. Bit by bit, every sign that I ever lived here was erased.

In the end, only the mattress he bought, and Joseph himself, remained.

I shut the last box tight. The harsh zip cut through the heavy bass, sounding extra sharp in the room.

Joseph finally reacted. He took off his headphones, his brows furrowed. "What the hell are you doing? It's so damn loud."

His eyes glanced at the neatly stacked boxes in the corner, and for a moment, there was a brief look of surprise in his eyes.

I didn't say a word. I set the keys down on the entryway table. Next to them was the only photo we ever took together.

In the picture, I was grinning like I'd won the lottery, while Joseph was looking away, totally checked out.

I reached for the photo and turned the frame over, hiding our faces from sight.

Once I walked out, Joseph would have no way to find me again.

My phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a message from Rosalina. [Eunice, I've got an early flight tomorrow.

[Mind if I crash at your place tonight? Same old rules. The fold-out bed, and I'm in charge of food.]

Looking at my phone, I felt a bit of cold slip into that empty space inside me.

At least I wouldn't be alone tonight.

I texted Rosalina back. [Sure, the door's open for you.]

I put my phone down and walked into the study. It was the only spot in this apartment where I could actually catch my breath.

My hand paused mid-motion on the doorknob, caught off guard.

The door was slightly ajar. A sickly-sweet perfume rushed out, flooding my senses and stinging my nose.

I swung the door open. Chills shot through me.

My sanctuary had become a dumping ground.

Black instrument cases piled up, effects pedals and cables snaked all over the floor, chaos everywhere.

On the walnut desk I'd carefully chosen, a pink guitar sat there, mocking me.

On the headstock, a cartoon sticker with Giselle's initials was plastered on, marking it as hers.

The space that used to be mine was now saturated with another woman's scent and belongings.

"You're back?" Joseph hummed as he wandered in, sounding totally relaxed.

He didn't even bother to look at the mess in the study, just glanced around and kept moving.

He said flatly, "Giselle's place has crappy soundproofing. Her neighbors keep complaining, and it's messing up her music.

"So I told her to bring her stuff over. It's not like you ever use this room anyway."

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he was just telling me what we were having for dinner.

My chest tightened. My voice strained. "You could've at least given me a heads-up about this.

"And by the way, Rosalina's crashing here tonight."

Joseph's brows instantly furrowed, annoyance written all over his face. "What's the big deal?" he snorted.

He probably realized his tone was too sharp, and gave my shoulder a perfunctory pat.

Then he said softly, "Giselle's got a burst of inspiration going. We can't break her flow. Try to be understanding."

My gaze slid right past him. It stopped at a takeout bag perched on the edge of the desk.

The logo jumped out at me, so familiar it almost stung.

It was from that exclusive spot, the one tucked away and crazy expensive.

I'd mentioned it countless times, but Joseph always complained it was too far and never once took me there.

Now, that bag was all that was left from their midnight feast.

I felt something inside me snap, like a string pulled too tight finally breaking.

I walked over and grabbed the bag. It was still warm.

I tossed it straight into the trash can in the corner, not even hesitating.

The bag landed in the trash can with a sharp thud.