When I excuse myself to use the bathroom, I realize there isn’t really one—just a tiny door off the main room. Inside, the sink is cluttered. Pill bottles everywhere. Different kinds. Different labels.
I don’t stare.
It’s none of my business.
When I come back from the bathroom, Sage is already on the phone.
She presses a finger to her lips, eyes apologetic but bright.
“Ethan,” she says softly. “Yeah, sounds good.”
Then she glances at me, lowering her voice. “Hey, sweetie—can you hang tight for one second? I’ll be right back.”
“Of course,” I say quickly. “Take it.”
She grabs her jacket and slips out the door, heels tapping down the stairs, her voice fading as the door clicks shut behind her.
The apartment goes quiet.
Too quiet.
I stand there for a second, awkward, not sure what to do with my hands. The movie menu hums softly on the TV. Candles flicker, throwing warm light over piles of clothes and handbags.
That’s when I see the mail.
It’s stacked on the small table by the door—neater than the rest of the place, like it’s been pushed aside deliberately. Not hidden. Just… postponed.
PAST DUE
PAST DUE
FINAL NOTICE
Visa.
MasterCard.
Victoria’s Secret.
Thick envelopes. Multiple months. Red ink. Amounts that make my stomach drop.
Thousands.
I swallow hard.
I’ve always wondered—quietly, privately—how she managed it. The clothes, the makeup, the dinners, the gym, the constantpolish. Because I can barely manage my own spending some months, and I don’t live like she does.
Maybe none of us are.
I look away immediately, heat crawling up my neck, like I’ve seen something I wasn’t meant to. I feel guilty, even though I didn’t touch anything. Didn’t open anything.
The door opens.
Sage breezes back in like a gust of summer air, smile already back in place, phone tucked away.
“Sorry about that,” she says brightly. “He just needed to vent for a second.”
“No worries,” I reply, a little too fast.
