---- Chapter 7 7 | found a strange sort of peace in the following days. Ethan remained in Napa with Chloe. His calls became less frequent, then stopped altogether. Good. One evening, | was sorting through old photo albums, deciding what to keep, what to discard. | heard a key in the lock. Ethan. He looked terrible. Disheveled. Bloodshot eyes. He reeked of stale alcohol. He stumbled into the living room, not even noticing me, and collapsed onto the sofa. He was muttering to himself. "Chloe... why... why did you leave then... my fault..." He was still drunk. Or drunk again. He fell into a restless, snoring sleep. And in his sleep, he called her name. "Chloe... Chloe, | love you..." Over and over. A painful, pathetic litany. | went to my laptop. Opened the ledger. "Returned from Napa still obsessed with Chloe, drunkenly ---- confessing love for her in his sleep. -5 points." Total: -80. Then, | started to purge. His clothes in the closet? Charity bags. His golf clubs in the hall? Leaned against the door for him to take. His collection of pretentious philosophy books I'd never seen him read? Boxed up. Anything that was solely his, that reminded me of him, of us. It was liberating. Creating space. For me. He woke up late the next morning, groaning. He saw the bags, the boxes. "Spring cleaning?" he asked, rubbing his temples. "Something like that," | said. He didn't question it further. He was too hungover. Too self- absorbed. His phone rang. Chloe. Of course. "Yeah, Chlo? ... No, I'm home... What? Now? ... Okay, okay, I'm coming." He grabbed his keys. "Gotta go. Chloe needs me." He didn't even look at me as he left. Good riddance. | continued packing. My own things this time. ---- My books. My clothes. My architectural tools and drawings. My life. In boxes. Days passed. Ethan was a ghost in our apartment, sometimes sleeping there, sometimes not. Always on call for Chloe. | saw her Instagram. She was back in the city, loft-hunting, "bravely rebuilding her life" with Ethan by her side. | focused on my own plans. My flight to Austin was booked. Sarah had found a small, sunny apartment for me. The divorce papers were drafted, waiting for my signature. The anniversary of my father's death arrived. A grey, somber day. | always visited his grave. Alone. It was my private ritual. This year, surprisingly, Ethan offered to come. "| should pay my respects to the Professor," he said. He looked... subdued. Almost contrite. We stood before the simple granite headstone. "Professor Robert Miller. Beloved Father. Esteemed Scholar." | knelt, tracing the letters of his name. Dad, | thought, I'm finally doing it. I'm leaving him. I'm going to pursue my dreams. The ones you always encouraged. | hope you understand. A sense of peace settled over me. Ethan placed a small bouquet of lilies on the grave. Dad's favorite. ---- He remembered that, at least. He put a hesitant hand on my shoulder. "He was a great man, Ava. "Yes, he was," | said, standing up. | was about to tell him. About the divorce. About Austin. My mouth opened to form the words. Then his phone rang. The shrill, insistent tone I'd come to associate with Chloe's never-ending dramas. He answered, his voice immediately sharp with concern. "Chloe? What's wrong? ... An accident? ... Where are you? ... Stay there, I'm coming!" He hung up, his face pale. "| have to go. Chloe's been in an accident. A car hit her." He was already moving towards his car. "Get a cab home, Ava. | have to go. Now." He didn't wait for a reply. He jumped into his car and sped off. Leaving me standing alone at the cemetery gates. Abandoned. Again. For Chloe. Always for Chloe. | hailed a cab. The rain started to fall, heavy and cold. | stared out the window, numb. Then, a screech of tires. A blinding light. A crushing impact. Darkness.