The taxi sped away from the financial district, heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened a new message to Jorja. It's over. Bradly cheated. I'm heading home. She hit send, not waiting for a reply.
Charlotte sat in the back seat. Her eyes were fixed on the blur of buildings outside the window, completely empty.
Her phone vibrated violently against her thigh. The screen flashed with Bradly's name. The buzzing sound filled the quiet cab, grating against her nerves.
She picked up the phone. Her face showed no emotion. She swiped across the screen, tapped the settings, and blocked his number.
The world went silent.
She opened her social media app. She scrolled through five years of memories. Birthdays, vacations, the proposal. She selected every single photo of Bradly. She pressed delete.
When the screen showed an empty grid, she dropped the phone into her purse. She leaned her head back against the worn leather seat and let out a long, heavy breath.
Her muscles felt like they were turning to lead. A deep, bone-aching exhaustion settled into her joints.
The taxi pulled up to her apartment building in Brooklyn. Charlotte handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill, pushed the door open, and stepped onto the sidewalk.
She walked into the old, dimly lit lobby. She pressed the elevator button, rode it to the fourth floor, and walked down the hallway.
She pulled her keys from her purse. She slid the key into the lock. The metal scraped loudly in the empty corridor.
She pushed the door open.
The apartment was filled with wedding decorations. White ribbons on the table, sample centerpieces on the counter, a stack of unmailed invitations. The sight of them made her stomach twist.
She took a deep breath, forcing air into her tight lungs. She walked straight to the bedroom, peeled off the heavy white dress that still clung to her skin, and pulled on an old pair of jeans and a simple shirt. Only then did she move to the utility closet and yank out a massive black trash bag. She snapped it open.
She moved through the living room, grabbing everything tied to the wedding and shoving it into the plastic bag.
She picked up a pair of custom "Mr. and Mrs." coffee mugs. Just as she tossed them into the trash bag, the front door slammed open.
Jorja burst into the apartment. Her heavy combat boots stomped against the hardwood floor. She was holding two large bottles of dark liquor.
Jorja took one look at the trash bags on the floor and Charlotte's pale, bloodless face. She dropped the bottles onto the sofa. She ran across the room and wrapped her arms tightly around Charlotte's shoulders.
The warmth of Jorja's body broke the dam.
Charlotte's rigid posture collapsed. She buried her face in Jorja's shoulder, and the tears finally spilled over. Her chest heaved with violent sobs.
Jorja rubbed her back firmly. "He is a piece of trash," Jorja spat, her boots tapping angrily against the floor. "A toxic, unrecyclable piece of garbage."
Charlotte cried until her throat was raw and her eyes burned.
When the tears stopped, she wiped her face with the back of her hand. The heavy, suffocating weight in her chest began to hollow out, leaving behind a cold, numb emptiness. The fragile girl who had planned a wedding just hours ago was gone. In her place, a quiet, simmering anger began to take root. When she looked up from Jorja's shoulder, her eyes were completely dry. They moved to the sofa. Jorja cracked open one of the liquor bottles and poured a generous amount into a glass.
She handed the glass to Charlotte. Then, Jorja pulled out her phone.
"Look at this," Jorja said, her voice dripping with disgust. She opened a celebrity gossip website and shoved the screen toward Charlotte. The site had just posted a leaked photo twenty minutes ago—Bradly and Kira at a private brunch, clearly taken weeks earlier. In the center of the frame, Bradly stood next to Kira, holding a glass of champagne, smiling brightly, looking like a man who hadn't a care in the world.
Charlotte stared at the photo. Her pupils contracted.
A cold, self-deprecating laugh escaped her lips.
She raised her glass and swallowed the liquor in one gulp. The alcohol burned a fiery trail down her throat, settling hot in her stomach. It incinerated the last lingering trace of grief she had left for him.
Jorja snatched the phone back. "I'm calling him. I'm going to ruin his life."
Charlotte reached out and grabbed Jorja's wrist. "Don't."
Charlotte's voice was steady. "He's not worth the breath. I'm done with him. Completely."
She stood up from the sofa. The alcohol warmed her blood. She walked into her bedroom and opened the closet.
She grabbed every shirt, tie, and suit jacket Bradly had left at her place. She threw them onto the bed, stuffed them into another black trash bag, and dragged it out to the hallway.
She dusted her hands off on her jeans.
She walked back inside and opened her laptop on the kitchen island. The office where she and Bradly had built their careers now felt like a mausoleum she could never enter again. She opened her email client and pulled up a blank document. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She typed out a formal, brutally direct resignation letter, addressed it to her direct supervisor, CC'd her personal email for the records, clicked send, and closed the laptop.
A sudden wave of lightness washed over her. Her chest expanded.
Jorja raised her glass. "To a new life."
Charlotte picked up the bottle and clinked it against Jorja's glass. The sharp sound of glass hitting glass echoed in the quiet room.
Suddenly, a violent pounding erupted on the front door. The wood rattled in its frame.
A shrill, furious woman's voice screamed from the hallway.
"Charlotte! Open this door right now!"
