By the afternoon, I knew Ethan would show up. He always did.
At 2 p.m., he arrived with Rebecca, his mother Margaret, and his sister Lily.
His belongings were already boxed and neatly labeled in the garage.
Margaret shouted. Lily sneered. Ethan tried to stand tall.
“This house was mine before I met you,” I said evenly. “Your name was never on it.”
Their certainty collapsed on the spot.
Rebecca’s credit card was declined when she tried to rent a moving truck.
Then Ethan’s card was declined as well.
The Vegas fantasy unraveled in real time.
When Lily mocked me for being alone and bitter, I stepped closer and replied quietly:
“I have my home. My career. My freedom. And I don’t have Ethan. That’s the best part.”
They packed their things. They left.
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