I looked around the apartment—my apartment—for what I knew was the last time. It felt quieter than usual, but maybe that was just the emptiness finally settling in. The walls that once held laughter now only echoed back silence.
I walked through the living room slowly, letting my fingers trail across the back of the couch where we used to pile up on movie nights. The dent in the cushion where Sabrina used to sit was still there. So was the chip in the coffee table Gabriel caused after tripping over his own shoes. Even the photo on the wall—our first one together, fresh out of college—still smiled back at me.
I remembered baking banana bread with Nathan at 2 a.m., how we burned the first one and still ate it anyway. The nights we all sat around this very table, playing cards, betting on who’d do the next grocery run. The way they made me feel like this place was more than just bricks and furniture—it had been ours.
I had built my little world here. A home.
And now it was a graveyard of memories.
A part of me still wanted to believe we could’ve saved it. That maybe, if I had just tried a little harder…
But no. I had tried. Far too long.
With a steady breath, I whispered, “Goodbye,” to the space—and to the girl who had once believed that love alone could hold people together.
Then I picked up my suitcase, stepped out the door, and didn’t look back. I checked into a modest hotel across town—something temporary until my flight. No goodbyes. No closure.
Just silence.
It wasn’t peace yet, but it was the closest I’d come in years.
I was sipping tea in the hotel room when my phone buzzed.
Nathan: What is happening? Why is there someone here picking up our things??
I didn’t answer right away. I let him stew in confusion for a moment. Then I typed back: Oh, that’s the eviction notice.
A second later, he called.
I answered.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. “Eviction? Why are movers here? Is this some joke?”
“I’m selling the apartment,” I said calmly. “The papers were signed this morning.”
“You can’t sell it!” he shouted. “We didn’t agree to that!”
“I don’t need your agreement,” I said coldly. “It’s my apartment. You’ve never paid a single cent. Not for rent, not for electricity, not even for the groceries.”
He went quiet, but only for a second.
“You’re overreacting—again,” he snapped. “Come on, Elena. We can fix this. Stop making it worse.”