The next morning, after Luke kissed me goodbye and left for work, I called in sick.
Then I called my sister.
“Jane, I need you to come over today.”
She arrived two hours later with coffee and fear in her eyes.
I told her everything.
The phone call.
The words.
The eight years that had suddenly turned hollow.
I even told her about the wedding venues I had quietly toured alone, the small deposits I had placed just in case Luke finally proposed.
Jane did not gasp.
She did not cry.
She simply set her coffee down and asked, “What do you need?”
That question held me together.
By Thursday, a friend of Sarah’s helped me find a small apartment across town.
It had bright windows, a tiny balcony, and rent I could afford alone.
I signed the lease that afternoon.
That night, I lay beside Luke while he slept, knowing he had no idea the floor beneath his life had already shifted.
By Friday, I went to the bank.
