After He Chose Her Over Me, I Took Everything Back

Chelsea dropped the file on my desk at five-forty on a Friday.

"Portland. Monday morning meeting with Hawthorne Logistics. You're flying out tonight."

I stared at the folder. Then at her. "Tonight is my anniversary."

"Then I guess you'll have to celebrate when you get back." She was already turning away. Her heels clicked on the polished floor like a metronome. "Three days. Don't come back without the contract."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. The cubicle next to mine had gone very still. Marcus Webb didn't look up from his monitor, but I saw the muscle tighten in his jaw. He'd seen this script before. We all had.

I texted Dash from the cab to the airport. *I'm so sorry. Last-minute trip. I'll make it up to you when I'm back.*

His reply came twenty minutes later. *No worries, babe. Take care of yourself.*

Three dots. Then nothing.

The Portland hotel smelled like industrial carpet and stale coffee. I rehearsed my pitch in the bathroom mirror until my mouth felt rubbery. Four months I'd spent on Hawthorne. Four months of late calls, custom proposals, hand-delivered samples.

I walked into their office Monday at nine sharp.

The receptionist gave me a confused smile. "Oh. Ms. Lawrence. We thought you knew. Ms. Howard's team finalized everything Saturday. Lovely woman. Very thorough."

The air-conditioning hummed somewhere above me. I felt my fingers go cold inside my coat pockets.

"Saturday," I repeated.

"Yes. They flew in Friday night."

I thanked her. I don't remember walking out.

On the early flight home, I didn't cry. I watched the clouds break apart over the Cascades and tried to do the math on my own life. Four months of work. One weekend. One signature.

I landed at SeaTac before noon.

The apartment was quiet when I let myself in. Dash's gym bag was gone. Good. I needed a shower and a long, ugly nap before I had to be a person again.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone.

The security app opened on the second tap. Dash had insisted on the cameras six months ago. *For safety, babe. You travel a lot now.* I'd thought it was sweet.

I scrolled to Saturday night. Eleven-twelve p.m. Living room camera.

The front door opened. Dash walked in first. Then a woman.

Chelsea.

My thumb hovered. The clip kept playing without me. She laughed at something he said. He pulled her in by the waist like he'd done it a hundred times. Like the choreography was already memorized.

They moved out of frame, toward the bedroom.

I switched cameras.

I shouldn't have. I did.

The bedroom feed loaded. Our bed. The gray duvet I picked out at Crate and Barrel. The lamp on his side, on. Her hand on his chest. His mouth on her neck. No hesitation. No glance toward the door. No flicker of the man who used to text me good morning before I was awake.

I watched it