Eric and I were together for seven years. The thing he said to me most often was: “Sorry, I forgot.” He forgot my birthday. Forgot the trips we’d planned. Forgot to buy medicine when I was burning up with a hundred-and-four-degree fever. I’d cried over it. I’d fought with him about it. He’d always rub his temples, exhausted: “Once this busy stretch is over, I’ll make it up to you.” Looking at the weariness pooled beneath his eyes, I swallowed my hurt again and again, telling myself he was tired—that I shouldn’t make things harder for him. Until Grandma was suddenly on her deathbed, gripping my hand with what little strength she had left: “Harper… I still haven’t met your boyfriend…” I dialed his number with trembling fingers. It rang twice before he hung up. Eric sent back a cold text: **[Busy. We’ll talk when I’m home.]** At the same time, the company’s new intern Sarah updated her Instagram: **[Successfully convinced Boss to ditch work for a movie today!]** Half a face was visible in the photo beside hers. Eric’s. So when I needed him most, his time and attention went to someone else. Then there was no point in continuing this anymore. … The heart monitor flatlined into a cold, unbroken line. I reached over and closed Grandma’s eyes—the eyes that death hadn’t been able to shut. When I signed the death certificate, my hands shook so badly I could barely hold the pen. The nurse looked at me with concern. “Would you like us to contact another family member to help?” I shook my head. Fifteen years ago, my parents died in a car accident. I was about to be placed in a group home when Grandma took three connecting buses to come get me and bring me home with her. To raise me, she’d worked simultaneously as a milk delivery woman, a gardener, and a waitress. She’d wrecked her body doing it, and even on her deathbed, she was still worrying about me—afraid the man I’d chosen wouldn’t take proper care of me. I took three days off. Alone, I contacted the funeral home and watched her go into the cremation chamber. It wasn’t until I was holding the urn that I finally collapsed against the wall and sobbed. Eric’s call came through. “You took time off? Why?” I forced down the sound of crying. “I just… wanted to rest for a couple days.” He paused, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Have you been crying?” I was about to answer when a startled female voice came through from his end: “What happened to Harper? Did some creep grope her on the subway or something? If Eric had been there, no one would’ve messed with her!” Sarah. I had no idea what to say. Before, I would have demanded to know why he was with her again. Told her to mind her own damn business. But now, I just felt tired. When I said nothing, Eric cut in, his tone scolding yet indulgent: “Sarah, knock it off.” “So, Harper, what’s going on?” His voice went soft. “I’m done with work now. Just tell me straight.” All I felt was cold. I mumbled something vague and hung up. After the arrangements were handled, I dragged my exhausted body back to the apartment. The moment I pushed open the door, I froze. Sarah was wearing one of Eric’s dress shirts, bare-legged, curled up in his arms watching a movie. I’d begged him countless times to watch movies with me. He’d always pat my head: “I’ve got a multi-million-dollar case to deal with. Next time, Harper. I promise I’ll make up for every movie I owe you.” He could find the time to watch movies with someone else, but he’d never kept a single promise to me. Was he really that busy? Or was it because I never threw tantrums—so I was the one whose feelings didn’t require maintenance? Hearing me come in, Sarah looked up: “Oh! Harper’s home!” She opened the shoe cabinet with practiced ease, trotted over, and held out a pair of disposable slippers. “Come in, come in—it’s cold outside.” I looked down. On her feet were my favorite fuzzy slippers. As if she were the lady of this house. Before I moved in with Eric, I’d had a Maine Coon I’d raised for three years. He made me give it away, citing his germophobia. Yet now he casually took the blanket he always used and draped it over Sarah’s shoulders. He turned to me, his tone as light as if he were discussing tomorrow’s weather: “Harper, Sarah’s landlord kicked her out today. We’ve got a spare room anyway—let her stay for a while.” “You’ve always been reasonable. I know you won’t make a fuss about it.” Reasonable. I’d been hearing that word for too many years. I looked up, eyes rimmed red. “And what if I do make a fuss?” He stared at me, stunned. I spoke softly: “Eric, let’s break up.” —
The air went still for a beat. Eric’s brows drew together: “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Exactly what it sounds like,” I said. “If you two want to live together, there’s a hotel across the street. Get a room.” Sarah’s eyes reddened, her lower lip caught between her teeth: “Harper, you’ve got it wrong! Eric and I aren’t like that… If it upsets you, I’ll leave right now…” She wiped at her eyes and made to go, but Eric grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him, shielding her. His face went completely cold: “Harper, watch what you say. What’s the point of bullying a young girl?” “How many times have I told you—Sarah is like a little sister to me. We grew up together. She doesn’t know anyone else in Manhattan. What’s wrong with me looking out for her?” “And don’t forget—this is *my* apartment!” Watching movies with her was looking out for her. Moving her into the apartment he shared with his girlfriend was looking out for her. Fighting with me over and over for her sake—all just looking out for her. I smiled bitterly: “OK. Keep looking out for her, then. I’ll move out.” I walked straight to the bedroom to pack. Eric soothed the shaken Sarah and coaxed her into taking a shower before finally appearing in the doorway: “Haven’t you made enough of a scene?” “It’s the middle of the night. Where would you even go? Besides, you have work tomorrow.” When I didn’t stop packing, he softened his tone. “…I promise there’s nothing between us.” My hands stilled. I looked at him: “Eric, do you remember the call I made three days ago?” He pressed his lips together. “I was busy. Forgot to call you back.” “Busy with what?” “Work.” The answer came fast, but his eyes slid away from mine. He’d been with Sarah. I didn’t call him out on it. I quietly zipped my suitcase shut. Seven years, and everything I’d left in this apartment didn’t even fill a twenty-four-inch carry-on. On the couch, Sarah’s clothes and snacks were piled everywhere. Eric blocked the door: “Is this really necessary? All because I didn’t return a phone call?” “Harper, you’re almost thirty. Aren’t you a little old for this childish running-away act?” He rubbed his brow. “I don’t have the energy to coax you back.” I didn’t need him to. I stepped around him and saw the key hanging behind the door. Early in our relationship, he’d pressed it into my palm with a tender smile: “Welcome home, my lady. From now on, this place is our safe harbor.” What a shame that *from now on* was over. I pulled the key off its hook and tossed it on the cabinet, then yanked open the front door. Eric’s expression shifted—he moved to stop me—but from the bathroom, Sarah called out timidly: “Eric, I forgot to grab a towel. Could you get me one?” Eric turned away without a second’s hesitation. From inside, Sarah’s voice came, soft and coy: “Eric, maybe I should just leave. Harper’s so upset…” His tone carried a trace of contempt he didn’t seem to notice: “Relax. She won’t actually leave. She loves me too much. This is just her throwing a tantrum for show—she’ll be back in a couple days.” I smiled, bitter to the bone. So he did know I loved him. But Eric—even love runs out eventually. I pulled my suitcase through the door and let it close behind me. At the hotel, I opened my laptop and started writing my resignation letter. —
Vivian, the HR manager, didn’t approve my resignation. She asked me to come to her office the next day to talk. The next morning brought a downpour. I hadn’t brought an umbrella and was drenched by the time I ran into the building. I was wringing water from my clothes in the lobby when a black Bentley pulled up outside. Eric stepped out with an umbrella, sheltering Sarah in the crook of his arm as they climbed the steps together. He spotted me and frowned. “Why didn’t you call me for a ride?” Sarah covered her mouth. “Seriously, Harper—it’s on the way! You’re soaking wet. What kind of image does that give the company?” I said nothing, quietly straightening my wet sleeves. I’d asked him so many times before. On rainy days when I couldn’t get a cab, I’d ask if he could pick me up since he drove right past. He’d only ever reply with cold indifference: “I’m in a rush. Besides, it wouldn’t look good if colleagues saw. Just take an Uber.” I looked up at him: “Director Eric, we’ve already broken up. Please don’t say things that could give people the wrong idea.” A flash of triumph flickered in Sarah’s eyes. Eric’s gaze went ice-cold: “Fine. Let’s see how long you keep this up. Sarah, let’s go.” In her office, Vivian sighed: “Harper, are you sure about this?” She studied me, her expression caught between admiration and regret. “Back then you turned down an offer from an international firm to come here for Eric. You’ve finally worked your way up to project lead. Quitting over a lovers’ quarrel—it’s not worth it.” Vivian was my college classmate. I gave a tired smile. “Vivian, this isn’t spite. We really broke up.” “My grandma passed away. I want to take her home. Manhattan isn’t the place for me anymore.” She stared at me for a long time, then sighed: “Alright. But you’ve been on this core project for three years. You need to see it through—it’ll be important for your next job search.” I agreed, grateful. My flight was booked for next Wednesday—just enough time to wrap things up. To finish sooner, I stayed late working into the night. At some point Eric appeared, rapping his knuckles on my desk, holding out an iced latte: “Why aren’t you answering my messages?” I checked my phone. An iMessage from two hours ago: **[What kind of milk do you take in your coffee?]** Meanwhile, Sarah had just posted on Instagram—more than a dozen coffee cups spread across her desk, captioned: **[Eric’s such a dummy—didn’t know what I liked so he ordered one of EVERYTHING. I’m gonna turn into a little piggy! He spilled one though, what a waste 🥺]** I looked at the coffee stain on the rim of the cup in front of me and pushed it straight into the trash. “Sorry. I’m lactose intolerant.” Eric blinked, frowning. “Since when?” “Always.” “Sorry. I forgot.” Silence stretched between us. Eric shifted uncomfortably for a long moment before speaking again: “…Harper, that project you’ve been leading for three years—could you hand it off to Sarah? Let her get some practice?” —
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