I was three minutes late for the train. My fiancé knew I was twelve weeks pregnant and had booked a window seat because the nausea had been brutal—but when I boarded, his new intern was sitting there with his blazer over her shoulders. “Sit in the back,” he told me. “She needs it more.” I got off before departure and canceled our wedding. He still thought I’d be waiting for him in Boston.

PART 4

I reached Boston after nine that night.

I did not tell Ethan which train I took.

I checked into a different hotel.

The team was staying at the Harbor Regent.

I booked the Ames House three blocks away.

Smaller.

Quieter.

I needed distance.

My phone showed twenty-eight missed calls.

Most were Ethan.

Three were Denise.

Two were my mother.

One was Maya.

I stared at Maya’s name.

Then opened her message.

Claire.

I’m sorry.

I really did tell Ethan I could move.

He insisted.

I did not know he had taken your seat without asking.

I hope you’re okay.

I read it twice.

Then typed.

Thank you for telling me.

That was all.

At 9:43 p.m., Ethan finally sent something different.

Where are you staying?

I did not answer.

Then.

We need to talk before tomorrow.

No.

He called again.

I answered.

His first words were.

“Where the hell are you?”

I almost smiled.

“Safe.”

“Which hotel?”

“Why?”

“Because we need to fix this.”

“What is there to fix?”

“You overreacted.”

“I disagree.”

“Claire.”

“It was a seat.”

“No.”

“It was a decision.”

He exhaled sharply.

“I was helping someone who felt sick.”