Another:
I've felt trapped with him forever.
Another:
You're the first person in years who makes me feel alive.
That last one almost matched what she'd told me on the balcony.
The story she'd presented as a sudden emotional revelation had been rehearsed.
Planned.
Claire had arranged a romantic experiment inside the vacation we had saved a year to afford.
I was not her partner.
I was insurance.
Transportation.
Shared hotel costs.
The familiar person waiting nearby if her fantasy failed.
Everything suddenly made terrible sense.
Why she seemed energized on the second day.
Why she spent forty minutes at the bar.
Why she'd brought a dress I'd never seen.
Why she expected me to remain at the resort after the breakup.
I was supposed to stay available.
I sat at the kitchen table reading messages until daylight disappeared.
My coffee became cold.
At first I felt anger.
Then humiliation.
Then something unexpected.
Relief.
Until that moment, I'd still carried doubts.
Maybe I hadn't tried hard enough.
Maybe work had destroyed us.
Maybe Claire had genuinely met someone and been overwhelmed by a connection she hadn't expected.
Maybe what happened was impulsive rather than malicious.
The screenshots ended those questions.
There were no what-ifs left.
No romantic tragedy.
No complicated misunderstanding.
She had lied.
Repeatedly.
Deliberately.
To both of us.
I closed the conversation without answering Melissa.
I didn't know what to say.
Two days later, around nine at night, someone hammered on my apartment door.
Not knocked.
Hammered.
"Daniel!"
My entire body tightened.
Claire.
I had been watching a basketball game and eating takeout.
For once, I'd actually been having a decent evening.
"Daniel, open the door!"
I muted the television.
She knocked again.
"We need to talk!"
I walked to the door.
For several seconds, I stood there.
Then I opened it with the chain still attached.
Claire looked terrible.
Not dramatic-movie terrible.
Human terrible.
Hair pulled into a messy knot.
Dark circles beneath her eyes.
Wrinkled clothes.
No makeup except remnants around her eyes.
She looked exhausted.
Defeated.
And painfully familiar.
For one second, my instincts almost won.
Let her in.
Get water.
Ask if she's eaten.
Then I remembered the screenshots.
"Hi," she said.
Her voice cracked.
"Your stuff is in storage."
She stared.
"What?"
"Unit 212."
"Daniel."
"I'll text you the access code."
"Can you open the door?"
"No."
Her face changed.
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
"I just spent almost a week trying to get home."
"I know."
"I've been through hell."
I said nothing.
"Can I please come inside?"
"No."
Tears filled her eyes.
"We lived here together."
"Not anymore."
"Daniel, please."
"Claire."
"What?"
"Your belongings are safe. I paid the storage through the end of next month."
She stared like she couldn't understand who I had become.
"You changed the locks."
"Yes."