The day we moved into our marital home, Rodriguez asked me to set the door lock code. I typed in our wedding anniversary: 052 He glanced at it, then casually changed it to a different string of numbers — 0912. “This one’s easier to remember.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. It was only later that I started noticing 0912 everywhere. The door lock, the safe, his phone, delivery payments — all 091
Eventually I found out: that number was his ex-girlfriend Hector’s birthday. And on my own birthday, he stumbled home in the middle of the night reeking of alcohol. “Sorry, work thing ran late tonight. Forgot it was your birthday.” While he was in the shower, I saw his phone light up. A message from Hector’s mom: Thank you so much for coming to Hector’s birthday party. She had the best time. I let out a cold laugh. Every lock in this house needed to be changed. 1. My phone buzzed. A voice message from Ellis. “Joel! Happy birthday! What did your husband get you? Spill everything!” I stared at that 59-second voice message for a while. I typed back: All good, I’ll tell you tomorrow. Sent it, then flipped my phone face-down on the kitchen counter. The shower turned off. The blow dryer hummed from the bedroom. I picked up my phone and read the message again. Rodriguez — thank you so much for coming to Hector’s birthday party tonight. She was so happy. — Hector’s Mom. I turned off the living room lights and went upstairs. Rodriguez was propped up against the headboard scrolling through his phone, hair still damp, blanket pulled up halfway. My instinct was to grab a towel for him. My hand touched the edge of the bed. I stopped. I sat down beside him. “Rodriguez.” “Mm.” “Today is my birthday.” His finger paused on the screen. “I know. Didn’t I say I’d make it up to you?” He hadn’t said that. I remembered clearly. “You never said that.” “Well, I’m saying it now. I’ll take you somewhere nice this weekend.” “You went to Hector’s birthday party today.” He locked his screen and turned to look at me, brow furrowing. “Her mom called three times. I’ve known their family for over ten years. I couldn’t just blow them off.” “You could’ve come home for dinner first and gone after.” “Do you know what time it is? You were already asleep.” “I wasn’t asleep. I had four dishes on the table from six o’clock to eleven. I was waiting for you the whole time.” He didn’t respond to that. A few seconds passed, then: “Okay. I get it. I’ll make it up to you next week.” I watched his phone screen light up again. “All your passwords are 0912.” “I told you, I just typed something easy to remember.” “My birthday is September twelfth.” His finger went still on the screen. The second hand on the wall clock in the living room ticked through several beats. “Well then that works out perfectly — it’s the same day. It’s not like I don’t know that.” “You know. But you went to celebrate hers. You didn’t come home to celebrate mine.” Rodriguez set his phone down on the nightstand with a sharp thud. “Joel, what do you actually want from me? You’re going to keep bringing up one birthday? I said I’d make it up to you — what more do you want?” I looked at him for a moment. The crease between his brows was deep, like he’d been putting up with me for a long time. I didn’t say anything else. I turned off the light, lay down, and turned my back to him. He rolled over. Two minutes later, his breathing was steady. I lay there in the dark with my eyes open, completely still, counting to a hundred and twenty. Then I picked up my phone, turned the brightness all the way down, opened the browser, and searched for nearby rentals. I scrolled for twenty minutes and saved three listings. Then I went to my contacts and found a number I’d saved last month. Osman. Attorney. Too late to call. I’d do it tomorrow. I put the phone down and closed my eyes. Every lock in this house still had the same set of numbers. It’s the same day, he’d said. It’s not like I don’t know. But when two women share a birthday, he only remembered to celebrate one of them. The next morning when I came downstairs, he was already putting on his shoes. “Running late.” He pulled the door open. The lock screen flashed. “Wait — you said you’d make it up to me. When?” “Saturday, maybe. I’ll book somewhere.” “Not French food. I won’t eat it.” He glanced at me. “Fine.” The door closed. The lock screen glowed for two more seconds. I called Attorney Osman and made an appointment — tomorrow at three in the afternoon. He told me to bring the property deed, the marriage certificate, and bank statements. I texted Ellis: Are you free the day after tomorrow? I need to see you. Ellis messaged back immediately with a string of questions. I replied: I’ll explain in person. I sat down at the kitchen table and drank a glass of water. At the bottom of the glass, barely visible, was a faded letter — H. I looked at it for a moment. Then I put the glass back, grabbed my bag, and went to work. 2. Attorney Osman flipped through the documents and jotted a few notes. “Ms. Joel, I’ll be direct with you. From a financial standpoint, this marriage offers you very little protection.” “Are you certain you want to proceed with a divorce?” “Yes.” “If this goes to litigation, we’ll need evidence of irretrievable breakdown. Would you be comfortable sharing the grounds?” I thought for a few seconds. “Every password in our home is his ex-girlfriend’s birthday. The door lock, the WiFi, the safe, his phone, payment accounts — all 0912.” Attorney Osman looked up. “How long has this been going on?” “Three years. From the first day we moved in.” “Did you ever bring it up with him?” “Twice. He said it was just easy to remember, and that I was being too sensitive.” Attorney Osman drew a line across his notepad. “Good. I’ll have a preliminary draft of the agreement to you within three to five business days.” “Thank you.” I left the office at four in the afternoon. I walked past a bakery. There was a small cake in the display case, nine dollars and ninety-nine cents, with a single thin candle on top. I looked at it for a few seconds. I didn’t buy it. When I got home, Rodriguez wasn’t back yet. I changed into my slippers and stood in the middle of the living room. For the first time, I really looked at this place. The sofa was dark gray. I liked warm tones. The curtains were cool white. I liked linen. The bookshelf had a row of French novels, never opened. I didn’t read French. When we moved in, the whole apartment was already furnished. Rodriguez said there was no point redoing everything. I knelt down and pulled the safe out from under the bed. Typed in 0912. It clicked open. Inside: the marriage certificate, the property deed, a few insurance documents. And at the very bottom, pressed down under everything else, a small black jewelry box. I took it out and opened it. A silver ring. On the inner band, engraved in small letters: 0912. Our wedding rings, Rodriguez kept off his finger and on the nightstand year-round. But this ring was in the safe. Locked away. Buried at the bottom. I closed the box, put it back, shut the safe, and pushed it back under the bed. I opened Rodriguez’s side of the closet. In the far corner was a canvas tote bag. I unzipped it. Inside: a stack of postcards and a few letters. The top postcard had neat, delicate handwriting. Rodriguez — Paris is beautiful. Come back with me next time. Signed with a single letter: H. I went through them one by one. Paris. London. Iceland. Every one signed the same: H. The last postmark was four years ago. They’d broken up five years back. He hadn’t thrown out a single one. I put them back in order, zipped the bag, and pushed it into the corner of the closet. Ellis had sent another voice message. Answer me or you’re not sleeping tonight. I typed back: The safe password is 0912. There’s a ring inside. His ex’s name and birthday, engraved on the band. Ellis replied with a voice message. “What the actual fk.”
At lunch I met Ellis at the noodle place near my office. She grabbed my hand the second she sat down. “Don’t say a word yet. Eat first.” She ordered me a bowl. I pushed it to the side and told her everything — 0912, the ring, the postcards, and that whole night on my birthday. She didn’t say anything the whole time. “He didn’t change a single thing before you got married?” “Said it wasn’t worth the hassle.” “The couch, the curtains — do you even like any of it?” “No.” Ellis leaned back in her chair. “This apartment was decorated when he was still with Hector, wasn’t it?” “He finished the renovation the same year they broke up.” “So the passwords are hers, the furniture is hers, the safe has her ring, the closet has her letters.” “You didn’t marry Rodriguez, Joel. You moved into a shell that Hector left behind.” I squeezed the crumpled napkin on the table. “I know.” “You know?” “I’ve known for a while. This isn’t new.” Ellis studied me, her expression complicated. “Then why did it take you this long to get here?” “I kept thinking it would get better with time. But it’s been three years and he hasn’t changed a single password.” Ellis’s eyes went glassy. “What did the lawyer say?” “Draft agreement in three to five days.” “What about the apartment?” “He bought it before we were married. It’s his.” “So you get nothing.” “I don’t want anything.” She pressed her lips together hard. “You’re moving in with me.” “Not yet. There’s one thing I want to do first.” “What?” “He said he’d make up my birthday this weekend. I want to see where he books.” Saturday at five, Rodriguez sent me a pin — a Japanese izakaya in the city center. When I arrived, he was already looking over the menu. “You pick — get whatever you want.” I ordered two dishes. Rodriguez added a carafe of sake and a salmon sashimi platter. When the food came, I picked up my fork. “Have you been here before?” “A few times. Food’s good.” “With who?” His hand paused on the carafe. “Work dinners.” I pulled out my phone and searched the restaurant’s review page. The top review had six photos. The last one was a selfie — Hector. At the end of the review: We come here every anniversary. The owner knows us by now. Thank you for bringing me, Rodriguez. Four years ago. Username: Cat On The Moon. I turned my phone screen toward him. Rodriguez’s face shifted. “You dug that up on purpose?” “It was the first review. I didn’t have to dig.” “That was a long time ago.” “So you brought me here to make up my birthday, and ordered the same things you used to order with her.” He set down his fork. His voice dropped. “Joel, are you ever not exhausted by this? I came here because the food is good. What does it matter who else I’ve been here with?” “Name one thing I like to eat.” He looked at me. “What?” “Just one. What do I like?” The tables around us hummed with conversation, the clink of glasses, laughter. Our table was the quietest corner in the room. Rodriguez’s mouth opened slightly. “You’re not picky.” “Okay, different question. What don’t I eat?” He didn’t answer. “I don’t eat anything raw. No sashimi. I told you that the first month we moved in. You just ordered the salmon sashimi.” “You never really emphasized it.” “I did. You just didn’t remember. Your memory is reserved for 0912.” His jaw tightened. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I set down my fork, picked up my bag, and stood. “I’m done.” “Joel.” I didn’t look back. “Do you need to make a whole scene before you’re satisfied?” I walked out. A light rain was falling outside. I stood under the awning and waited for my ride. My phone lit up. Rodriguez. Such a bad attitude. It’s just dinner, was it really that serious? I muted his notifications and got in the car. Rain slid down the window in long, slow streaks. I texted Ellis. I have all the confirmation I need. Can you make up the guest room?
Sunday morning, Rodriguez left to play basketball. I pulled a suitcase out of the closet, unzipped it, and started packing. Clothes, skincare, a few books — not even half a suitcase. In my jewelry box: one pair of earrings and a necklace. Both things I’d bought myself. I scanned the bedroom one last time. That was everything that belonged to me. Three years. Half a suitcase. I wheeled it to the front door, put on my shoes, and looked back one more time. The wedding photo on the coffee table — I left it. I walked to the door and opened the lock panel. Found the password change option. Old password: 0912. I looked at the blank input field and paused for a second. Then I typed four digits. The password I’d set the first day we moved in. Our wedding anniversary. The one he changed right in front of me. I changed it back. Confirm. The lock beeped. The screen flashed. I wheeled my suitcase out, and the door clicked shut behind me. I took a car to Ellis’s place and rolled the suitcase into the guest room. Ellis helped me make the bed. Halfway through, she stopped. “You okay?” “I’m okay.” “Do you need to cry?” “No.” She finished pulling on the pillowcase and smoothed it flat. “Are you hungry? I made soup.” “That sounds good.” I was sitting at Ellis’s kitchen table drinking soup when my phone started buzzing. Rodriguez called three times. I didn’t pick up. Then texts. Where are you? Why won’t the code work? Joel, answer me. I picked up the last call. “What the hell are you doing?” He was loud. He’d probably been standing at the door for a while. “I changed the password.” “Changed it to what?” “I’m not telling you.” “This is my apartment. You changed the lock and you’re not going to tell me?” “You’re right. It is your apartment.” Silence on the line. “Where are you?” “I moved out.” “Stop this and come home. Change it back.” “I’m not coming back.” “Over one dinner you’re really going to do this?” I held my bowl. The soup was still steaming. “It’s not about the dinner.” “Then what is it about?” “Because that was never my home.” “You lived there for three years.” “The passwords were her birthday. The safe had her ring. The closet had her letters. You took me to dinner at your place with her. I lived there for three years and never once felt like I’d actually moved in.” He went quiet. “Call a locksmith. I won’t give you the new code.” I hung up. Ellis sat across from me and didn’t say a word. After a while she said, “Your soup’s getting cold.” “Right.” I drank it. My phone buzzed a few more times. I put it on silent and flipped it over. About half an hour later, the screen lit up again. Rodriguez. He’d gotten a locksmith. The door was open. I changed your password too. I took a screenshot and saved it to a new folder. “Changed it back?” Ellis glanced over. “Probably back to 0912.” She sighed. “He can change the number. He can’t change what he lost.” Outside, the sky was going dark. The light in Ellis’s living room was warm yellow. I sat on the couch and noticed it for the first time. Three years in Rodriguez’s apartment, and I never once registered what color the lights were.
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