Chapter 2

Our first breakup was five months ago.

It was our fifth anniversary.

I'd made a dinner reservation and was waiting at home for Ethan to change.

Olivia called and said someone was in the hallway knocking on her door, and she was scared.

Ethan only had time to say "I'll go check," and then he was gone.

I sat alone at the restaurant until one in the morning.

When I got home, he still wasn't back.

At three a.m., he walked in with wet hair.

I asked, "Did you take a shower?"

He said Olivia's water heater had stopped working. He'd gotten sweaty fixing it, so he'd rinsed off while he was there.

For the first time, I said everything that had been building up for so long.

I said he wasn't her friend. He was in a secret relationship with his ex, and he refused to admit it.

I said he used "she was abused" to shut down every question I had. The moment I felt uncomfortable, it looked like I was competing with a victim for attention.

In the end, I said, "Right now, you're no different from your dad."

Ethan's father had cheated for years during his marriage and hidden assets, and Ethan's mother had walked away from the divorce with almost nothing.

That hit him where it hurt most.

He slapped me across the face.

The room went silent.

Even Ethan froze.

But a second later, he said, "Don't compare me to that man."

Not "I'm sorry."

I looked at him for a long time. Then I said, "Let's break up."

He went cold.

"You always do this.

"The minute there's a problem, you threaten to break up with me."

"Yeah.

"And this time, I mean it."

He moved out that same day.

I thought I was just sad.

Later I realized it was more than that.

I couldn't eat. My heart raced every time my phone lit up. I'd sit up in the middle of the night to check the locks because I kept feeling like he'd walk back in any second.

I even took the long way past his office just to catch a glimpse of him from a distance.

Dr. Moore said that wasn't proof of how deeply I loved him.

"Attachment anxiety can make you feel like you can't survive the end of a relationship."

She didn't tell me to get back together with him.

She also didn't tell me "the worse he treats you, the easier it'll be to let go."

She just had me do boundary exercises.

Separate my life from his again.

Separate bank accounts.

A separate social life.

No more letting how fast he replied dictate how I felt.

Later, Ethan came looking for me.

He said that slap was the worst thing he'd ever done.

He said Olivia was just an old friend and nothing would ever happen between them.

I realized I still wanted to go back.

But this time, I didn't want to decide on impulse.

That's where the 60 days came from.

Dr. Moore only agreed to one thing. "If you're set on taking another look at this relationship, first decide what would make you walk away."

I wrote down four deal breakers.

Any more violence.

Touching our shared money again without telling me.

Making me set aside my basic boundaries to meet Olivia's needs again.

Using the promise of marriage to make me stop talking about real problems again.

If any one of them happened, I'd leave.

Three of them already had.

On day 44, Ethan started getting uneasy.

Not because I was making a scene.

Because I wasn't.

He worked late until 11, and I didn't ask any questions.

There was foundation on his shirt collar that wasn't mine. I saw it and didn't say anything.

On Saturday, we'd planned to go see a model unit. But Olivia suddenly said she had to drop off some documents at the courthouse, so he left me at the door of the sales office.

I toured the place by myself, then went home and kept packing.

That night he asked, "So what did you think of that place today?"

"It was nice."

"Then let's go back next week."

"Okay."

He stared at me.

"Claire."

"Hm?"

"Are you still mad?"

"No."

"Then why don't you care about anything?"

I almost laughed.

Before, when I cared, he said I was controlling.

Now that I didn't care, he started pressing me for answers again.

"Because I trust you to take responsibility for your own choices."

It was a perfectly gracious thing to say.

But Ethan flinched like it had stung him.

When we went to bed, he moved closer and put his arms around me.

I stiffened before I could stop myself.

He felt it.

"Have you been feeling tired lately?"

"Maybe."

"Once Olivia's gone, let's go to Miami for a few days."

I kept my eyes closed.

"Okay."

The truth was, my passport was already tucked into the inside pocket of my suitcase.

The London company had booked me a flight leaving in eight days.

Julian had also sent me a list of apartments.

He didn't say "I'll help you pick."

He just listed commute times, rent, and crime stats.

His email ended with one line.

[You choose. I don't get involved in personal decisions.]

I looked at that line for a long time.

Maybe because for the past five years, Ethan had loved making decisions for me.

How to split the wedding budget.

Which neighborhood to live in.

Where to go on vacation.

When Olivia needed our money.

For the first time, I realized how strange it felt to be given room to make my own decisions.