"How long are you staying here?" Caleb asked.
"Until I figure out my next move," I said.
"That could be tomorrow. Could be next month."
"Are you kicking me out already?"
"Just calculating how much extra coffee to buy." He hooked the metal measuring tape onto his belt loop. "You froze his corporate accounts. You know he is going to retaliate."
"Let him try," I said. "He cannot un-cancel a flight while standing at the gate."
"He is going to call you."
"I will not answer."
Caleb studied my face. He did not look convinced. "Guest room is upstairs. First door on the right. Watch the loose floorboard on the landing."
"I remember the floorboard," I said. "Chloe and I used to sneak out over it."
"You thought you were sneaking," he corrected. "I heard you every time."
I grabbed the extended handle of my suitcase. I hauled it up the narrow wooden staircase, the wheels thumping against each step. Caleb followed close behind, his steps silent on the treads.
I pushed the bedroom door open.
Stale air hit my face. The room smelled of old paper and closed-in spaces. Dust motes danced in the fading afternoon sunlight filtering through the grime-streaked windowpanes.
Caleb walked past me. He did not ask why I was crying earlier. He did not ask for the gory details of Ryan's betrayal at the terminal. He simply planted his hands on the window frame and shoved upward.
The rusted hinges groaned in protest. The wood splintered slightly, but the window gave way. A cool autumn breeze swept into the room, chasing away the stagnation.
"Thanks," I said, leaving my bag by the closet.
"Do not unpack everything," he said, wiping dust from his palms onto his jeans. "The closet rod is barely hanging on."
"I packed for a two-week luxury resort vacation," I told him. "I have three evening gowns, five silk sundresses, and zero pairs of sweatpants. There is not much to unpack."
Caleb let out a short, rough laugh. "You are going to freeze in this house."
"I will manage."
"Sit down," he instructed. "I will be right back."
He disappeared down the hall.
I sank onto the edge of the twin bed. My fingers traced the rough, faded cotton of the quilt. The mattress dipped under my weight, squeaking in protest.
Thirteen years.
I had slept next to Ryan for thirteen years. I knew the exact pitch of his snoring. I knew the way he stole the blankets at two in the morning. I knew the heavy, unyielding weight of his arm thrown over my waist, pinning me in place.
Now, there was just this quiet, empty room. No snoring. No expectations. No Ryan.
The silence was deafening.
Caleb's heavy footsteps returned. He walked through the doorway holding a glass of water and a heavy ring of brass keys.
He handed me the glass. "Drink."
I took it. The water was warm, soothing the dry scratch in my throat. I had not realized how thirsty I was.
He tossed the keys onto the small nightstand. They hit the wood with a sharp clank. "Front door, back door, and the deadbolt. Keep them on you."
"Chloe usually hides a spare under the ceramic frog on the porch," I said.
"I threw the frog away. And I changed the locks yesterday," Caleb replied. "Neighborhood is not what it used to be. Keep the doors locked."
"I appreciate this. Truly."
"Save the gratitude. The water pressure in the shower is a joke."
He turned and headed back downstairs.
I finished the water, setting the empty glass next to the keys. I needed to move. Sitting still in the quiet room allowed the reality of Gate K12 to creep back into my brain. Lauren's innocent smile. Ryan's flat, indifferent eyes.
I stood up and followed Caleb's path down to the kitchen.
The space was a disaster zone. Exposed wooden studs lined one wall, and plaster dust coated the linoleum floor. Next to the sink, a precarious stack of dirty plates, greasy pans, and coffee-stained mugs leaned against the counter.
My autopilot kicked in.
A messy kitchen meant a bad morning. Ryan hated waking up to a dirty kitchen. If the sink was not empty before bed, he would pace the floor, lecturing me about time management and laziness while I scrambled to scrub the pans.
I rolled up my sleeves. I grabbed the yellow sponge from the edge of the sink and reached for the faucet handle.
A large, calloused hand clamped over the metal fixture, blocking me.
"What are you doing?" Caleb asked. He stood right beside me, smelling of sawdust.
"Cleaning up."
"You are a guest."
"I am crashing at your sister's house uninvited," I argued, trying to reach around his arm to turn on the hot water. "The least I can do is wash a few plates."
"Drop the sponge, Emma."
"It will only take ten minutes."
"I said drop it."
"If the sink is not empty, Ryan gets angry," I snapped, my voice tightening. "He says it sets a bad tone for the whole day."
Caleb did not move. He kept his hand firmly over the faucet. He looked down at me, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
"I am not Ryan."
I froze. My wet fingers hovered over a ceramic plate smeared with dried ketchup.
"I know you are not," I said, defensive.
"Then stop acting like I am going to grade your performance as a houseguest."
"I am just trying to be helpful."
"You are trying to earn your space," Caleb corrected. "You do not have to do that here."
"I do not know how else to be."
"Figure it out." He nudged me away from the sink with his hip. He took the sponge from my hand and tossed it onto the counter. "You can start by sitting down while I wash my own dishes."
"That sounds inefficient."
"It sounds like practice."
He turned on the faucet and filled the basin. I stood beside him for another second, fighting the urge to take over. Then I forced myself to step back.
My phone began to vibrate on the kitchen table.
Ryan's name filled the screen.
Caleb glanced at it but kept scrubbing the pan in his hands. "You said you weren't going to answer."
I watched the call ring out. A voicemail notification appeared, followed by another incoming call.
I turned the phone facedown.
"Good," Caleb said.
"It does not feel good."
"Boundaries rarely do the first time."
The phone buzzed a third time. I left it where it was and carried my untouched beer to the back porch.
For once, Ryan could stand in the consequences of his own decision without me rushing in to soften them.
