You can call me Vivian Cross. I am twenty-five years old. A week ago, if you had met me, you would have seen a lady who thought she had everything sorted out, a stable job in software design, a comfortable apartment that I worked hard to pay for, and a boyfriend who I believed I would marry someday.
Ethan was his name. Ethan was my entire universe for two years. For a while, I believed that his presence in my life was destined due to his boyish smile, which could brighten even the worst days.
He moved into my apartment eight months ago. It appeared to be the inevitable next step. He pledged to begin setting aside money for our future.
I
However, something had changed recently. Even though he seldom had much to show for it, Ethan frequently worked late. Placed haphazardly on the coffee table, his phone—always facing down and password-locked—became an extension of his hand.
I made an effort to push the discomfort away and remind myself that love is based on trust. I was sautéing vegetables for supper when I received the message, which was just a simple vibration on my phone. I figured it would be Ethan telling me he was finally heading home, so I grinned and wiped my hands on a dish towel.
Rather, I stayed at Lara’s tonight and read. Avoid waiting up. He worked with Lara, the same Lara whose pictures he liked on Instagram at two in the morning.
This is the same Lara who laughed a bit too much at his jokes during company parties. My heartbeat became sluggish. My initial reaction was one of incredulity.
Perhaps
I texted back, my fingers shaking. Thank you for informing me. That was it.
His fate was determined with seven words—no conflict, no showmanship. As I stood there in my kitchen, I stared at the pan on the stove with the smoke flowing upward from the slowly charring vegetables. It seemed to depict a moment from someone else’s life.
Instead of the searing that should have been in my chest, there was an empty quiet. I recalled a story my father had told me when I was seventeen years old and grieving over my first breakup. “A man who hides his phone is already gone in spirit,” he remarked, putting a strong hand on my shoulder.
When someone has already left you, don’t ask them to stay. I had rolled my eyes at the time, but now his statements seemed prophetic. I put down the spatula and turned off the burner, filling the room with the subtle, acrid smell of burnt onions.
I felt the weight of betrayal pressing down on me, yet behind it, a cool, exact, almost surgical feeling blossomed. Decide. Ethan could stay in Lara’s bed if that’s what he wanted.
Indefinitely. I refrained from screaming. I refrained from crying.
Rather, I grabbed the first empty cardboard box I managed to avoid moving. Day put it on the bed we used to share and started packing. One tidy fold after another.
I began by folding his favorite clothing, an old gray sweatshirt that had softened over years of use. I remember how the rain unexpectedly caught us off guard the night following our first date, and he draped it over my shoulders. My fingers lingered on the fabric for an extended period.
The remembrance was as painful as a lemon on a piece of paper. After that, I flattened the hoodie, put it into the box, and shut the lid. I was disassembling a life, not just packing clothing.
Two boxes turned into three. In an odd way, the rhythmic movements—shirt fold, stack close—calmed me. It felt like he was ironing away another piece of my heart with each crease ironed out.
Little glass monuments of lies, his cologne bottles lined the dresser. They went under bubble wrap. Tucked behind in a toiletry bag are his razor, toothbrush, and the half-used bottle of aftershave he used.
I even wound his electric razor’s cord very neatly, as though my accuracy would cover up the rage that drove every move. By midnight, I had removed all traces of him from the room. I packed eight boxes, two suitcases, his shoes, ties, and even the goofy mug that he bought from Ikea but claimed was a gift from his grandmother.
Not even the pillowcase that Ethan had used was left. I carefully folded it, set it atop the last suitcase, and took a step back. Without his stuff, the place had a different appearance.
lighter and cleaner. I looked at the time. 10 to 15 p.m. Like a bolt of lightning, the decision came to me.
I had no intention of allowing these cartons to gather dust. They were where Ethan wanted them to be. I packed the vehicle.
Breathing becomes rapid, muscles ache, and you keep tripping down the stairs. Every thud of the trunk closing sounded like a sentence’s final punctuation. It’s over.
The car was filled at 10:45. I had headlights cutting through the darkness as I drove across town by 11 Haru. Ahead was Lara’s apartment complex.
It was the type of property where people claimed to have it together, with its modern brick walls and well-kept hedges. I had vivid memories of the building. At one point, Ethan had requested me to take him there for a team meeting.
As luck would have it, I pulled up right as someone was leaving. The door opened wide. Pulling the first suitcase up to the third story, I slipped inside.
From behind one of the doors came the faint pounding of music. Laughter. My laugh is lower than a woman’s.
I didn’t stay. Rather, I arranged all of the boxes, bags, and suitcases nicely against the doorframe. There are eight boxes.
Two bags. There is a shrine dedicated to treachery. I put one folded note on the very top.
Ethan’s possessions. Now you have him. Vivian.
I took a picture with my phone as evidence, not out of retaliation. This was evidence that I had actually completed the task. My heart did not race as I left.
With every step, it became calmer and slowed. The silence inside of me was nearly terrifying by the time I got into the driver’s seat. I returned home about 11:30.
A locksmith was changing the locks by midnight. $180. Well worth the money.
I revoked Ethan’s emergency credit card, which he used every day at Starbucks, changed the door code, and removed him from my Netflix and Spotify gym membership. Once everything was complete, I settled down on the couch, turned on a movie, and poured myself a glass of red wine. The initial call came at 11:47 p.m.
Ethan. The second call arrived at 1149. Text messages started coming in at midnight.
I put the phone face down and allowed it to buzz itself to death. The boxes he used to call home were now neatly packed outside someone else’s door across the room, and I felt liberated for the first time in weeks. The humming was still going strong at 12:30 a.m.
Voicemails, texts, and phone calls piled on top of each other, and my phone lit up like a fire alarm. What is this, Vivian? Where are my belongings? The situation isn’t amusing. Respond to me.
I didn’t. The doorbell rang at 1:00 a.m. Then the frame of the door shook as fists pounded against it.
Ethan’s irate and desperate voice reverberated throughout the corridor. Open the fucking door, Viv. You’re acting crazy.
I folded my arms and listened while leaning against the wall. Lights flickered on through the peephole as my neighbors stirred. A small part of me thought about letting him yell until everyone in the building realized what a terrible man he was.
I sent him a single text instead. You decided to remain at Lara’s. All I did was assist you in moving.
A new number showed up on my screen around 3:00 a.m. I responded, against my better judgment, “It’s me, Vivian.” Ethan’s tone faltered.
You must pay attention. I swear nothing occurred. “What happened?” I inquired quietly.
So what about Lara’s couch? Why not use your flat instead of Lara’s? It was a single evening. At work, he stumbled. I escaped, echoing a sour laugh for work.
Ethan, hotels are there for business. Don’t make fun of me. A pause occurred.
Then his voice changed to one of entreaty. Where do I go at this point? With the alcohol from earlier still warm in my veins, I closed my eyes. The natural question is, where did you stay last night?
Shouting was not as heavy as the silence that followed. Before he could say another word, I hung up. My landlord called in the morning.
Just making sure you changed the locks last night, Vivian. He laughed, yes. Figured.
When your boyfriend arrived at my workplace, he demanded a spare key and claimed that everything had been an error. I edited it to “ex-boyfriend.” He was on the lease, he vowed.
He has never been and never will be. It’s good to know the landlord’s tone was amused. I’ll take care of it, so don’t worry.
Ethan wasn’t done, though. How did I feel at nine? His mother, Darlene, the queen bee of mistaken loyalty, was descended from the flying monkeys. Her name flashed as my phone rang.
I answered against my instincts. She yelled, “How dare you throw my son out onto the street?” Your son Darlene texted me to let me know that he was staying at someone else’s place.
He made it permanent with my help. She snarled that he had made one error. No, he made up his mind.
I appreciated it. According to the law, you must give him 30 days. False.
His rent was never paid. The lease was never signed. He was a visitor. High-quality rental homes
Visitors are not granted 30 days. You lack compassion. No, Darlene.
I’m done being his safety net at last. I heard the trembling edge in her voice before she hung up, as though she knew in her heart just who her son was. I was surprised to see something when I put my phone down.
I didn’t have trembling hands. I felt stable for the first time in months. I knew Ethan wouldn’t let go lightly, of course.
He and other men never did. And I could feel it in my stomach as the sun climbed higher. This was just the start.
My phone was vibrating once more at noon, but this time it was from an unidentified number. I let it ring out, but when it returned a second time, my curiosity overcame me. Vivian.
It was a furious, harsh male voice. This is Ryan, Lara’s boyfriend. Please explain why there is a pile of Ethan’s trash outside her door. It nearly made me chuckle.
How about asking Ethan or Lara? Behind your back, they’ve been up to a lot. He didn’t initiate that, but I interrupted him. Look through Ethan’s messages.
His iPad remained connected to my wireless network. I could look at screenshots for the rest of my life. Quiet.
Then he hung up after muttering a swear. Soon enough, Ethan himself would give another call. He wasn’t pleading this time.
It was contorted into something arrogantly practiced. It wasn’t what you believe he started, Viv. It served as a test.
An examination. I laughed sharply and without humor. You would fight for me if you truly loved me.
You would feel envious. When women care, they act in this way. You’ve let Viv down.
You didn’t engage in combat. I was almost rendered speechless by the arrogance. Nearly.
Ethan, you wanted a puppy. I’m not one. I replace, not chase.
After cracking, his voice lost its smoothness. Who will take my place? I waited a moment before delivering the phrase sharply. I texted Marcus already.
Tomorrow, coffee. It was delicious how silent he was. Ethan always accused me of having too much affection for Marcus.
He referred to the individual as a threat simply for being in my vicinity. Ethan didn’t need to know that, in all honesty, Marcus and I had never been more than friends. “You won’t,” he muttered.
“Watch me,” I said. The campaign started at that point. By nightfall, my phone was ablaze with notifications.
Ethan had posted all over Facebook. My former partner is unstable. I was thrown out on the street by her.
She is violent. She is not telling the truth. I was ready, but it was a classic deflection.
I undermined his story before it had a chance to gain traction with a single screenshot, his text about Lara, his late-night emojis, and his hushed promises. His own friends sent me private messages; some declared their breakup with him, while others expressed regret. Even my friend Mia, who had previously stood up for him, commented, “I’m so sorry, Viv.”
He is poisonous. Remain resilient. Ethan’s message was removed by evening, but the harm was done to him rather than to me.
He was still unable to stop. He sent another, almost pathetic, message at two in the morning. I was laying the groundwork for our future.
Lara had no significance. You’ll be sorry you left me. I tensed my jaw as I gazed at the words.
There was no end to the lies. But I knew the truth in my gut. Ethan wasn’t merely thrashing.
He was planning what to do next. Ethan and other males didn’t go unnoticed. I believed I would finally get some peace and quiet the morning after his slander campaign failed.
I was mistaken. My phone buzzed with a fraud alert at 9:15 a.m. Someone had attempted to use the emergency credit card I had cancelled weeks prior.
Refused. Another alert—a credit application submitted in my name—arrived ten minutes later. Ethan.
My heart didn’t race. My hands remained steady. Rather, a cold stillness swept over me.
After verifying the attempt over the phone with the bank, I called the non-emergency police line. After I filed the report, the detective informed me that attempted identity theft is a felony, Ms. Cross. Do you want to file charges? But I said, I’ll give it some thought.
I already knew the answer inside. The repercussions multiplied by midday. I got a ping on LinkedIn.
My profile had been examined by Ethan’s supervisor. Soon after, there was a message. Hello, Vivian.
A strange query. Has Ethan been doing all right? You were on his emergency contact list. I also saw a request for a salary advance that included your name.
I didn’t hold back. We ended our relationship two days ago. He spent the night with Laura, a coworker.
Both of them have been phoning in ill. A pause occurred. Subsequently, an intriguing coincidence emerged.
Fraternization is strictly prohibited here. Thank you. Ethan called from an unidentified number at 3 p.m., his voice raspy with rage.
I was laid off because of you. “No,” I responded coolly. You lied about dating a coworker and ended up getting fired.
He yelled, “I wasn’t dating her.” Your supervisor doesn’t appear to agree. How am I going to make ends meet without a job or money?” Perhaps Laura can help you,” I said, as sweet as poison.
Whoa, she was also dismissed. Before the call ended, his anger became incoherent. His mother gave him another call later that night.
Her tone had softened to the point of pleading. Please, Vivian. He has realized his mistake.
Avoid filing charges. You will destroy his life. I pushed the phone closer while I looked about at the empty apartment without him.
I said evenly, Darlene. He attempted to impersonate me. Twice.
His life was ruined. I simply refuse to take responsibility for it. Before she hung up, there was a long pause followed by the sound of her stifled cries.
I felt almost satisfied for the first time since the episode started. It was because the mask had finally fallen, not because Ethan was tumbling. The self-centered youngster who played games until he lost was suddenly visible to everyone else.
I understood, deep inside, that cornered men seldom back down. They strike out. Furthermore, I hadn’t yet witnessed Ethan’s ugliest side.
Saturday afternoon. A powerful rumble rattled the street outside while I was brewing coffee. I noticed a U-Haul vehicle parked unevenly at the curb through the blinds.
Ethan. He wasn’t by himself. Rodney and Derek, two of his cousins, emerged out of the taxi, their muscles showing off beneath their cheap tank tops.
Behind them, Ethan strode like a general advancing into combat. My heart wasn’t pounding. I had been anticipating this.
I barely opened the door to observe. Derek was dragging patio chairs over to the truck while Rodney was already tinkering with the latch. Ethan smirked as if he had already won and stood with his arms folded.
When the front door opened wider and my brother Noah emerged next to me, that smirk vanished. Noah was a broad-shouldered, former collegiate wrestler who had the ability to silence a whole room with his gaze. My best buddy Camilla then showed up with her phone already recording.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Noah calmly. Rodney froze the screwdriver, and it fell out of his fingers as he planned to rob my sister in the middle of the day. Derek set the seats down.
Ethan’s mouth clenched. Noah, this is also my place. I am entitled to certain privileges.
“You don’t,” I interrupted. I was surprised by how loud my voice was. A week ago, all of your trash was brought to Lara’s door.
Keep in mind that it is irrelevant. This is where I used to reside. I’m returning home.
With the camera firm in her grasp, Camilla took a step forward. Do you mean breaking and entering? I’m fairly certain that matters. Then a familiar voice called from the pavement, as though the cosmos was fond of theatrical effects.
Officer Torres, my pal Carlos, flashed his badge, gentlemen. Would you mind telling me why you’re trying to break in? The cousins went pale. Rodney backed toward the truck and muttered something about being misinformed.
Derek mumbled his apologies and followed. Ethan lost his temper. Desperation wrenched his visage, leaking through his haughtiness.
You can’t do this to me, Vivian. There’s nowhere else for me to go. With unwavering stability, I folded my arms.
Ethan, you did this to yourself. You got here because of every decision you made. His voice broke as he yelled, “You love me.”
“No,” I replied. I adore the man I believed you to be. There is no such dude.
Carlos moved in closer. We already have a report of attempted identity theft against you, Ethan Harper. Do you want to include trespassing on the list? Ethan became pale.
His gaze shifted between Carlos’s badge, Camilla’s phone, Noah’s scowl, and us. Despite his knowledge of the war’s loss, he made yet another pitiful attempt to play a card. I can change, Viv, please.
Just one more opportunity. I nearly felt sorry for him. Nearly.
You had your chance the night you picked Lara, the night you made up my name, and every other time you chose to lie instead of speaking the truth. There was a long pause before Carlos eventually took out his radio. Dispatch.
Here I have a suspect. He was broken by that. The cousins had already left him and were driving away without him when Ethan turned and ran toward the U-Haul.
It was easy for Carlos to catch his arm. Not even Ethan resisted. His voice cracked over his shoulder as they escorted him away.
Vivian, you’ll regret this. You’ll be sorry you lost me. The entire block could hear me loudly as I held the doorframe.
I’ll be sorry I ever allowed you in, Ethan. He lost the rest of his control over me when the U-Haul vanished down the street. It was peaceful in my flat for the first time in months.
Hushed. And I sensed a sense of serenity blossoming in that quiet. Like the aftermath of a cyclone, the week following Ethan’s imprisonment was oddly quiet.
His presence lightened the weight of my apartment. The sun shone more warmly, and the stillness became soothing rather than oppressive. The first few mornings were spent rediscovering basic joys.
Making coffee without questioning if he had used up all the beans and blasting music without his grumblings reverberating through the bed and into his restless body. Silent was lovely, and freedom was silent. There were still echoes, though, as his mother left voicemails that veered between pleading and accusing former associates in an attempt to start a rumor.
All of them went to voicemail. I owed them nothing. Then, one evening, Marcus left a message on my phone.
This week, would you like to get coffee? There is no pressure. For a long time, I gazed at the text, feeling a softer sensation than fear squeeze my chest. I hope.
It wasn’t a dramatic meeting. No movie soundtrack, no fireworks. Just two folks laughing at little things while sitting across from one another and drinking coffee.
I wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop, for once. When I spoke, Marcus listened, asked questions, and never looked at his phone. It was therapeutic in its simplicity.
Since then, we have slowed down. We have become stable yet cautious. And perhaps—just possibly—I will allow myself to think that genuine partnerships are based on respect rather than deception and smoke.
I was carrying a glass of wine when I entered my flat one evening and stopped by the door where Ethan used to beat his fists and cry for me to come in. The wood was repainted and smooth once more. The spirits had vanished.
I recalled my father’s advice to believe people when they show you who they are. When Ethan showed me, I at last trusted him. “You won’t find anyone like me,” he said in his final text before being arrested.
I grinned. since he was correct. I won’t.
And I’m grateful for that.
