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My thumb hovers over the call button for a few seconds before pressing it.

The phone rings once. Twice.

"Quinny? Hey, I was just thinking about you. Want to grab lunch?"

I open my mouth to answer, to say something normal, to pretend I am fine.

Instead, my voice cracks.

"Leah." Her name comes out broken. "He left."

The line goes quiet for half a beat.

"I'm on my way. Are you at home?"

She doesn't ask questions or hesitate. I hear rustling on her end, keys jingling, a door closing.

"Yes, but you don't have to?—"

"Quinny, shut up. I'm already walking to my car."

The call ends.

I sit at the kitchen table and wait. The bright sun filters through the curtains all cheery, like the break in the weather is something to celebrate. It's too peaceful for the wreckage inside me. I prefer the rain.

Twenty minutes later, her knock comes, and then I hear her jiggle the knob. It's locked from the outside.

I walk over and open the door. Leah stands on my porch in yoga pants and an oversized sweater, her black hair pulled into a messy bun. I envy the job that allows her to wear yoga pants if she wants.

She steps inside and wraps her arms around me.

I don't cry again. I think I'm empty. But I hold on to her, and she holds on to me, and neither of us speaks for a long moment.

"First, I'm going to make us both a hot peppermint tea. That always helps me," she says, pulling out a box of tea bags. "Then, we talk."

She moves into my kitchen with the ease of someone who has been here a hundred times. Because she has. I watch her fill the kettle and find the mugs.

I sit on the couch. She brings two cups and settles beside me, tucking her legs underneath her. I hold it between my palms while it steeps.

"Okay. Start from the beginning."

I open my mouth, not yet sure where to start. So I go back to the beginning, reminding her that I told her I shouldn't be with him in this situation. We go through the whole sequence of events, so she knows how it escalated.

Once I get to what I found at work, her jaw drops, but she doesn't say anything. I tell her what I had to do, how I even slept on it, but ultimately couldn't unsee what I saw.

"So when you filed it, he found out?"

"I guess. I honestly don't know how he found out, especially so quickly, but he did. And I was naïve to ever think he wouldn't. And besides that, the point is, I did it."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"He came here this morning early. I was still in my robe." I stare at the steam rising from my coffee. "He was so angry. So hurt."

Leah listens. She doesn't interrupt.

"He looked at me like I was a stranger, like everything between us was something I made up." My voice catches. I force it steady. "I told him I loved him."

The words hang in the air between us.