I was supposed to be halfway across the country by evening. Instead, my flight was cancelled—weather, mechanical issues, vague excuses. At first, I was irritated. Then, strangely, relieved. Ethan and I had barely seen each other lately, and the idea of surprising him with a quiet night at home felt almost sweet.
So I took a cab back.
I unlocked the apartment door expecting silence. Instead, a woman stood in my hallway—wearing my robe. Her hair was damp. She held my mug—the blue ceramic one I bought on our first anniversary, the one Ethan always called “too sentimental” to use.
She smiled politely. “Oh. You must be the realtor, right? My husband said you’d come to evaluate our apartment.”
For one second, my world stopped.
But my face didn’t move. “Yes,” I heard myself say. “That’s me.”....
