Troy came home on a Thursday and told me Melina was moving in.
He didn't ask. He announced it. He was standing by the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone, and he said it the way you'd mention picking up groceries.
"She's between apartments," he said. "Just for a few weeks."
I was holding a mug of tea. It was still hot. I set it down carefully.
"She's staying here?"
"Yeah." He didn't look up. "The guest room. It's not a big deal."
I stared at him. "Troy, this is our home."
"It's my apartment," he said. Then he glanced at me. "I mean, it's ours. But Melina needs help. She's my best friend. You're not going to be territorial about this, are you?"
Territorial. Like I was a dog guarding a bone.
"I just think we should have talked about it first," I said quietly.
He sighed. The kind of sigh that said he was already tired of the conversation. "I'm talking about it now. She'll be here tomorrow."
He walked past me. Down the hall. Into his office. The door clicked shut.
I stood there. The tea went cold in the mug.
Melina moved in the next day. She had three suitcases and a smile that looked friendly until you paid attention to her eyes.
"Thanks so much for this, Lara," she said. She set her bags down in the guest room. "I promise I won't be in your way."
I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.
She was in the way immediately.
She left her things everywhere. Her shoes by the door. Her jacket on the back of the couch. Her makeup spread across the bathroom counter. When I moved her stuff, she'd smile and say, "Oh, sorry! I'm such a mess." But it kept happening.
Troy didn't notice. Or he didn't care.
I stopped bringing it up after the third time. His jaw would tighten and he'd say, "She's going through a hard time. Can you just be patient?"
So I was patient.
Two weeks later, I came home early.
I'd been at a meeting across town. It ended an hour ahead of schedule. I thought about texting Troy, then decided to surprise him. Maybe we could order dinner. Maybe we could talk. Actually talk, the way we used to.
I unlocked the penthouse door and stepped inside.
The living room was bright. Afternoon sun poured through the windows. And there, stretched across the couch like a cat in a patch of warmth, was Melina.
She was wearing my robe.
The silk one. Pale blue, delicate, with lace at the cuffs. Troy had given it to me on our anniversary last year. He'd had it custom-made. I'd worn it exactly twice because it felt too precious to risk ruining.
Melina had it on now. Loose. The belt barely tied. One shoulder slipping down. Her legs draped over the armrest, bare from the knee down. She was holding a coffee mug in both hands, steam curling up toward her face.
She saw me. And she smiled.
Not a guilty smile. Not an embarrassed smile.
A satisfied smile.
She stretched, slow and deliberate, arching her back like she'd been waiting for me to walk in. "Oh, hey, Lara," she said. Her voice was light. Easy. "You're home early."
I stood in the doorway. My bag slipped off my shoulder. I caught it.
"That's my robe," I said.
She glanced down. "Oh, this?" She touched the silk like she was just noticing it. "Yeah, I borrowed it. I hope that's okay. I got out of the shower and couldn't find a towel." She laughed. Soft. "This was just hanging there."
I couldn't move. I couldn't speak.
She took a sip of coffee. Her eyes stayed on me the whole time.
"Where's Troy?" I asked.
My voice sounded far away.
"Bedroom," she said. "He's on a call."
I walked past her. Down the hall. My hands were shaking.
I pushed open the bedroom door. Troy was at his desk, laptop open, phone pressed to his ear. He looked up. Frowned.
I waited.
He held up a finger. One minute.
I waited.
He finished his call. Set the phone down. "What's wrong?"
"Melina is wearing my robe," I said.
He blinked. "What?"
"The robe you gave me. The blue one. She's wearing it."
He stared at me. Then he sighed. "Lara—"
"She said she couldn't find a towel," I said. My voice was rising. I couldn't stop it. "There are towels in every bathroom. She didn't need to take my robe."
Troy stood up. His jaw was tight. "She borrowed a robe. That's it. Why are you making this into a thing?"
"Because it's mine," I said. "Because she's acting like she lives here."
"She does live here," he snapped. "Temporarily. And you're being insecure and exhausting."
I felt like he'd slapped me.
"She was cold," he said. His voice was hard now. Flat. "She grabbed a robe. That's it. You're making something out of nothing."
I looked at him. Really looked at him. His arms were crossed. His face was closed. He wasn't going to hear me.
Behind him, in the hallway, I saw movement. Melina. She was standing just outside the door. Watching. That same smile on her face.
She met my eyes. And she didn't look away.
Troy turned. Saw her. "It's fine," he said to her. "Don't worry about it."
She nodded. "Thanks, Troy." Then she drifted back down the hall.
I stood there. The ring on my finger felt like it was cutting off my circulation.
"I'm going out," I said.
Troy didn't stop me.
I grabbed my bag and walked out of the penthouse. I made it to the elevator before my vision blurred.
I didn't cry. I just stood there, staring at my reflection in the steel doors, and I didn't recognize the woman looking back.
