I stopped walking, my back still toward him.
"Are you threatening me?"
Two seconds of silence. He didn't answer.
I pushed the door open and left.
That night Hilary booked me for five private rooms.
By the third room my voice was already going hoarse. I took a sip of honey water and kept going.
Hilary leaned against the backstage doorframe, watching me.
"You keep wrecking your throat like this, you won't be able to talk, let alone sing."
"Hilary, how many rooms left tonight?"
The fourth room was full of Max's friends.
Someone recognized me. A glass stopped halfway to his lips, and he leaned over to mutter something to the man beside him.
A round of knowing laughter followed.
My grip tightened on the microphone. I sang the entire song through.
Stepping out of the room, my knees buckled and I caught myself against the hallway wall.
Hilary was right behind me. She took my hand and pressed her thumb over the veins standing out across the back of it.
"When's the last time you had a real meal?"
"I ate at noon."
"Instant noodles don't count."
She pulled two rolls out of her pocket and shoved them into my hands.
I got back to my rental at dawn. An insulated bag sat outside the door.
Rib soup, two small side dishes. Still warm.
I flipped the bag over and saw the label. The same takeout place Max always ordered from.
I picked up the soup and took a sip.
The warm liquid rolled into my stomach, wrapping a layer of heat around the hollow inside.
My eyes burned out of nowhere.
I set the bowl down hard, pressed the back of my hand over my eyes, and held it there. Ten seconds. Maybe more.
The heat behind my lids faded.
I picked the bowl up again and finished it, one mouthful at a time.
That was the cruelest thing about him.
When he hurt me it was clean and absolute, but every so often he'd leave a scrap of warmth like it cost him nothing, so I could never tell which version of him was real.
Day four. I went to the bank.
The number on the ATM screen held steady at $347.
I stood in front of the machine staring at those digits. There was nothing left.
Outside, my phone rang. Unknown number. The woman on the other end said she was Katherine's best friend.
"There are some things you need to hear, sweetie."
At the tea shop, the woman who introduced herself as May Fox wore head-to-toe designer and held her coffee like a prop.
"Gabriella, honey, you don't actually think he just had a moment of bad judgment, do you?"
She pulled out her phone, swiped to a screenshot of a chat log, and slid it across the table.
Max to Katherine: "Give me a little more time. I'll handle her."
The date was three months ago. Earlier than the day he told me he was sick.
I looked at the screenshot. I didn't say anything.
She put the phone away.
"Katherine told me Max lost feelings for you a long time ago. Marrying you was an impulse. It wasn't until he met her that he understood what it actually means to love someone."
She lowered her voice, one manicured nail tapping the tabletop.
"Stop dragging this out. It's better for everyone."
I stood up and left enough cash to cover the tea.
"Thanks for telling me."
Outside, I stood under a streetlamp for a long time.
Three months ago he was still promising me a proper ring for my birthday this year.
That night I didn't go to the club. I sat down at the keyboard and pressed a few notes. My fingers locked up on the keys and wouldn't move.
I lifted my hands and looked at them.
The fingertips were rough and stiff. These hands used to play a full Chopin piece start to finish. Now two chords in and they felt like they belonged to a stranger.
I closed the lid.
Slid down the wall and sat on the floor, knees pulled to my chest.
The half million dollars in that settlement wouldn't buy back the heirlooms I'd lost. Wouldn't buy back the voice I'd wrecked. Wouldn't buy back every time I bowed my head in one of those private rooms.
None of it was coming back.
Day five. I went to find William Whitney.
He was helping out in the kitchen of his new BBQ place. When he saw me walk in, he froze.
"Gabriella? How did you… You've lost so much weight."
