I found them in his apartment.

Four years. Four years of waiting, of saving myself, of believing Eric when he said he was just working late. I had cooked his favorite meal, put on the dress he once said made me look like trouble, and used the spare key he had given me “for emergencies.”

The emergency turned out to be my best friend on her knees in his living room.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I set the keys on the counter, turned around, and walked out while they were still scrambling for clothes. By the time I reached the street my hands were shaking so hard I...