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How come I forgot he hates roses? Am I too stupid to understand a simple sentence?

He’ll sneer at me for thinking I could ever be better off without him. I’ve heard every word before.

Just over a year ago, after I found out he’d slept with Principal Garret and he somehow—fucking how?—convinced me that he had been coerced and I should quit my dream job at Legirton, a private school with one of the best art programs in the country that I busted my ass to get right after graduating from my masters. I’d had that job for three years and hated giving it up, but I did because . . .

It was for the best, really, because didn’t we want to start a family soon?

We did, I did, but soon never came.

And he can take care of both of us. He’s paying for the apartment’s mortgage after all, isn’t he?

Not like I’d be able to pay for it since I’m good for nothing, and no piece of paper saying otherwise will ever be enough to erase the truth—I’m a waste of space.

“Enough!” I scream to the empty apartment, then I can’t control my arms anymore.

I’m pulling whole drawers out of the built-in closets, dumping everything on the floor or in the suitcase.

I rush out and get the other big suitcase from the guest bedroom’s closet—the bedroom that we were supposed to convert into a nursery.

No.

I won’t let thoughts of the family I dreamed we’d build stop me this time.

Never again.

This isn’t me.

Henry’s relentless questions and his oh so reasonable tone disappear from my head long enough for me to call my sister.

Two sentences into my apology, she’s buying me a one-way plane ticket to New York, nonstop thankfully.

I haven’t talked to her in two years because Henry thought her husband was flirting with me at their wedding—and I hope that’s enough for him to think I won’t go to her.

The thought of Henry going to our parents’ house has me panicking and Hannah buying them and Jace, our younger brother, surprise tickets to Japan for a whole month.

Her husband, Barry, takes over the phone call while she deals with that, and I can’t do anything but sob and try to apologize for being the worst brother ever, then listen to his reassuring babbles.

He’s a good man, has always treated my sister well, and he’s a good enough person to still talk me down from a panic attack when this is all my own damn fault.

“Can you order a car?” he asks when my breaths have slowed down enough.

“The a-app has his c-c-credit card attached,” I stutter and sniffle. “I don’t want him to find out where I’m going. My phone is also⁠—”

“Shit, that’s gonna complicate some things but it’s okay. It’s okay.” He keeps speaking low and trying to sound happy, I can tell, but the thought of inconveniencing them even more almost breaks me.

I’m bothering them. I can’t even fucking escape by myself.

Barry keeps talking, though.

“Okay, I’m calling a buddy of mine who plays for the Squids. How long can you stay in the apartment?”

“He normally gets here around five, but . . .” I trail off, because I don’t want to admit that he sometimes comes home early just to make sure I’m not fucking anything up.

“Get out of there by foot then, this is fine. You’re gonna leave your phone at the apartment, okay? You’re going to tell me what you’re wearing, what color your suitcase is, and tell me the place you’re going to so my buddy can find you.”

“I . . .”

I try to think. Think, Sunny, use your goddamn brain.