"Still."
"No."
I hung up again.
Blocked the number.
Then poured another drink.
I didn't sleep.
Around three in the morning, my phone vibrated.
A message from Claire.
Long.
Almost unreadable.
No punctuation.
Sentences blending together.
She apologized.
Then apologized again.
She said she'd made the worst mistake of her life.
She said the man had lied to her.
She said his wife had attacked her.
She said she was terrified.
She said the police treated her like a criminal.
She said she had nobody.
Then came the line that nearly got me.
You're the only person who has ever really cared about me.
I read that sentence three times.
Because once, it would have made me get on a plane.
Once, I would have emptied my savings to help her.
Maybe that was exactly the role Claire expected me to resume.
Safety net.
Emergency contact.
The reliable man waiting behind the exciting one.
I put the phone down.
Didn't respond.
At five, another message arrived.
Please Daniel.
At six-thirty:
I know you hate me.
At seven:
Please just answer so I know you're there.
I wasn't there.
Not anymore.
The next morning, after coffee and a shower, I called the resort.
I gave my reservation information.
The employee became noticeably uncomfortable when I mentioned Claire.
"I'm not asking for medical details," I said. "I just need to know whether she's safe."
There was a pause.
"She has left the property."
"Was she released by police?"
Another pause.
"Yes."
"Can she leave the country?"
"I believe there are some procedures she needs to resolve first."
"Is she alone?"
"I'm afraid I can't discuss another guest."
"That's fine."
Before hanging up, I asked one more question.
"Does she still have a room?"
"No, sir."
"Okay."
Later, Claire messaged that she had moved to a cheaper hotel.
She was required to remain in the country for several days while authorities reviewed the incident.
Her card was nearly maxed.
She needed help.
I felt satisfaction.
Then immediately felt disgusted with myself for feeling it.
Then anger that I felt guilty.
That cycle lasted all day.
Satisfaction.
Guilt.
Anger.
Repeat.
That evening, I called my best friend Jake.
Jake and I had known each other since college.
He interrupted almost every story I ever told him.
That night he didn't interrupt once.
I explained the balcony.
The other guy.
My flight home.
The midnight call.
The wife.
The hospital.
The police.
When I finished, silence came through the phone.
Then Jake laughed.
Not a polite laugh.
He completely lost it.
"Dude."
"Glad you're enjoying this."
"I'm sorry."
He tried to stop.
Then failed.
"She dumped you on day three of a ten-day vacation for some guy she met at a pool bar."
"Correct."
"The guy was secretly married."
"Correct."
"His wife flew in."
"Apparently."
"And your ex got into a fight with her."
"Yes."
"And now both of them are calling you to fix it."
"Pretty much."