To a Place He Can't Find

From that day on, Rhys became surprisingly talkative. In college, I never would have imagined he could be so chatty. He would ask me what I was doing and what I ate every day, and send me cute emojis with puppy-dog eyes, telling me he missed me.

Talking to Rhys chipped away at the crushing loneliness.

Three days later, Cole sent me a picture. It looked like he was at his parents' house for dinner.

He texted, "Hey, honey, haven't seen you in two days. Why haven't you called? How's the new place? Having trouble sleeping because I'm not there to hold you?"

If I wasn't mistaken, that pale, slender arm that "accidentally" appeared in the frame belonged to Chloe.

I replied dryly, "You and Chloe look like you're having a great time."

"She insisted on coming. Couldn't do anything about it. But my parents really like her, think she's very charming. I should have her teach you a few tricks someday," Cole added.

After all, I was just from a middle-class family. No one ever taught me how to charm his parents. He used to know that. "You married me, not my parents," he'd once said. "You don't need to win them over."

The bitterness and resentment I had tried so hard to bury resurfaced. I didn't respond. At night, he called, his voice demanding. "My housekeeper said you never showed up at the new apartment. Where are you?"

I sighed. "I didn't want to go."

Hearing the dissatisfaction in my tone, Cole laughed. "What's wrong, honey? Picking up Chloe's tantrums? I told you this was all an act. When I get tired of her, we'll go back to how things were. Come on, tell me where you are, and I'll come find you."

After a moment's thought, I decided a clean break was for the best. "I'm at my old place," I said softly. "The one from before we got married. You know where it is."

Cole was impulsive. I worried he'd show up the second he hung up, so I forced myself out of bed and waited for him in the living room.

In the end, he never came. A light drizzle misted the windowpane, and the wind whispering through a crack ruffled my hair.

It was a cold, rainy night. I closed the window and tried calling him, but he rejected it. A moment later, a voice message arrived.

A scoff. "God, she's so dramatic. I set her up in a high-end apartment, and she refuses to go, insisting on holing up in that dump she used to live in."

"I never loved her anyway. At first, I just thought her family background was decent and she had some design talent. Figured she'd look good on my arm. I didn't expect her to actually fall for me after a few jazz clubs. It's like she's never been anywhere. So naive."

He let out a derisive laugh. "I didn't marry her because I was out of options. She had the right background, and she was obedient. But she's boring as hell in bed, and I'm tired of it."

"Chloe is still the best. So vibrant and uninhibited. Come here, baby. Give me a kiss."

The voice message ended abruptly.

My heart shattered. It seemed an amicable split was impossible.

I sat listlessly in the living room until dawn. Then I heard a gentle knock on the door, followed by a man's voice. "Clara, it's me."

My mind went blank as I shuffled over in my slippers and opened the door.

I hadn't seen Rhys in years. He looked much more mature and serious than his playful online persona.

He was holding a rare, out-of-print jazz vinyl—one we used to love.

For a split second, Rhys's face overlapped with Cole's, and that horrible voice message replayed in my head. My vision blurred with rage and pain. I snatched the record from his hand and smashed it on the ground. "Go away! I don't want to see you!"