"She doesn't have anyone here."
"She had someone."
Silence.
"You."
He didn't respond.
I continued.
"Remember? You were the exciting one."
"I deserve that."
"Yes."
"She doesn't have money."
I actually thought I'd misheard.
"What?"
"Her cards are almost maxed."
"How?"
"Hotel charges. Medical stuff. I don't know."
"And you can't help?"
There was a long silence.
Then he said, "My wife is here."
I laughed again.
"So?"
"My marriage is exploding."
"That's unfortunate."
"I'm trying to keep her from leaving me."
"You brought another woman to a resort."
"I know."
"You lied about being married."
"I know."
"And now you're calling the boyfriend she dumped for you because helping her would inconvenience your attempt to save your marriage."
When I said it out loud, even he seemed to hear how insane it sounded.
"Look, I know how this sounds."
"It sounds exactly like what happened."
"She's scared."
That stopped me for a second.
Because I knew Claire scared.
I had seen her afraid when her father had surgery.
When we thought someone had broken into our apartment.
When she nearly lost her job during layoffs.
For four years, when Claire was scared, I was the person she called.
That reflex did not disappear just because she betrayed me.
"What hospital?"
He told me.
"What do you expect me to do?"
"I don't know. Call her. Send money. Maybe change her flight."
I stared at the wall.
"No."
"Daniel."
"No."
"She needs help."
"Then help her."
"I told you I can't."
"That's not my problem."
The words sounded cold.
Dead.
Almost unfamiliar coming from me.
"She ended our relationship."
I continued.
"She chose you."
"She made a mistake."
"Yes."
"You're really going to leave her stranded in another country?"
That sentence triggered something.
"No."
I said it carefully.
"She left herself stranded."
Then I hung up.
I put the phone on the table.
For ten minutes, I sat motionless.
The television flickered.
A car alarm started outside.
Someone upstairs dropped something.
The refrigerator hummed.
Normal life continued.
My phone rang again.
Same number.
I answered only because anger had replaced shock.
"Don't hang up," he said immediately.
"What?"
"She really needs help."
"I heard you the first time."
"She might be facing charges."
"Then she needs a lawyer."
"She can't afford one."
"Neither can I."
"Come on."
"No."
"You're seriously going to do this?"
I almost admired the audacity.
"Do what?"
"Abandon her."
That word.
Abandon.
I stood.
"She was on a ten-day vacation with the man she'd lived with for four years."
My voice stayed quiet.
"On day three, she told him she'd found someone more exciting and wanted to stay at the resort with that person."
Silence.
"She abandoned me."
I continued.
"What happened afterward doesn't reverse the order of events."