Chapter 3

I leaned against the doorframe and looked at her.

"Go ahead."

"Can I come in?"

"You can say it here."

She bit her lip.

"Sarah, I'm really sorry about today. I didn't know you'd mind this much. Nothing's going on between Henry and me. I just wanted to save money by catching a ride. I feel awful that you two fought because of me. Please don't blame Henry. This is all my fault."

Her eyes were red.

Then I noticed her shoulder bag wasn't fully zipped. The corner of a small square box stuck out.

Ultra-thin.

Jenny noticed where I was looking. She glanced down, zipped her bag shut, and panic flashed across her face before that sweet, helpless look came back.

"Sarah, it's not what you think. It's mine. It has nothing to do with Henry."

"You don't have to explain. It has nothing to do with me."

"So... you're really not mad at Henry? Could you get back together? I can tell he's pretty upset."

"Henry and I are over. He's not part of my life anymore. Whatever's going on between you two isn't my business. Do what you want. You don't owe me an explanation."

She looked like she wanted to say more.

I closed the door.

The second the door shut, I heard her laugh softly.

I leaned against it, eyes closed.

Henry and I had been together for three years—from junior year through graduation, then our first year after.

I'd given him all my firsts. First relationship. First time holding hands. First kiss.

My mom never approved. She said Henry didn't seem dependable.

I didn't listen. I fought with her, packed my bags, and moved into his apartment.

It faced north—freezing in winter, suffocating in summer.

We crammed onto a four-foot bed, barely moving at night so we wouldn't wake each other.

Every morning, we raced for the bathroom. Every night, we fought over hot water.

I never complained.

Later, I found a job. I made a little more than he did, so I paid most of the rent.

He said things would get better once his project took off.

I told him there was no rush.

I waited three years.

And what did I get?

Another woman sharing a hotel room with him.

***

By the time I got into bed, it was almost midnight.

The curtains weren't fully closed. A strip of light slipped through the gap.

I stared at it as memories from the last three years replayed in my head.

He'd chased me for three months, waiting outside my dorm every morning with a breakfast burrito and a latte from the campus café.

Back then, I thought he was the one.

Then, little by little, things changed.

He said I was too controlling. Paranoid.

Going out with girls from his club was work. Lunch with female classmates was him looking out for younger friends. Liking girls' posts was basic etiquette. Looking at pretty women on the street was just instinct.

"You can't expect my eyes to be on you all the time."

He really said that.

He always told me I was overthinking.

Now I knew better.

I wasn't overthinking.

He'd been pushing my boundaries the whole time, and I'd kept giving in.

Until there was nowhere left to go.

Then he put another woman between us.

I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow.

The next morning, I woke up with puffy eyes.

I held a cold towel over them until the swelling went down a little, then used light makeup to cover the rest.

I'd planned to visit Silverbrook, an old historic town. I was already here. I wasn't wasting the whole long weekend in a hotel room over one guy.

Once I was dressed, I headed downstairs.

The elevator stopped on the ninth floor.

The doors opened.

Henry stood outside.

He looked surprised to see me, then stepped in.

Just us.

For a few seconds, neither of us said anything.

He wore a loose white T-shirt. Right above his collarbone, a bright red mark stood out against his neck.

A hickey.

He caught me looking and tugged at his collar.

"Bug bite," he said, not meeting my eyes.

I smiled.

"You don't have to explain. We broke up. Who you sleep with, who you kiss, how many marks you have on your neck—none of that is my business anymore."