I walked into the bedroom. My side of the bed was neat. His side was a tangle of blankets balled up, pillow knocked sideways.

The closet door hung open. He'd torn through it looking for clothes that morning, and my T-shirts had been shoved to one side, wrinkled into a ball.

I stood in the middle of the bedroom, dripping water onto the floor.

Then I walked to the closet, pulled open his side, and started yanking his clothes out one by one. Throwing them on the ground.

Dress shirts. T-shirts. Hoodies. Jeans. The coat I'd bought him. The scarf I'd knitted. Two months I'd spent on that scarf, pricked my fingers more times than I could count. He never wore it. Not once. Said it was ugly.

All of it, on the floor.

Then I crouched down, picked up the coat, and held it against my chest.

It still smelled like him. Aftershave. Cigarettes. A faint trace of liquor.

I buried my face in it and breathed in deep.

Then I let go and threw it back on the pile.

I stood up, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the shower.

Hot water poured over me, and my body finally stopped shaking. I stood under the stream with my eyes closed, mind blank. Not thinking about anything.

I didn't know how long I stayed like that. When I finally stepped out, the mirror was completely fogged over. I reached up and wiped a streak through the condensation, and my face appeared.

White. Eyes swollen. Lips drained of color.

I stared at that face for a long time.

Then I walked out and picked up my phone.

A flood of unread messages.

From a coworker: "Girl, what happened?? What's that flower on your social media about?"

A text from a friend: Did you and Valentine get into a fight?

A text from my mom: Sweetie, coming home for dinner next week? I'll make ribs.

I replied to each one.

I'm fine.

We didn't fight.

Yeah, I'll be there Saturday.

When I was done, I opened the photo of that wilting rose and stared at it for a long time.

Then I deleted the post.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number. This time, a call.

I picked up.

"What the hell do you want?" Valentine's voice, raw, like he'd smoked through an entire pack.

I didn't say anything.

"I've been out looking for you for hours. I'm soaked to the bone, you won't pick up, you won't text back. What do you want from me?"

I still didn't say anything.

"Say something."

"Say what?"

He choked on that.

"Tell me what you want." His voice dropped low. "Just tell me. I'll give it to you."