After His Affair with Serenity, I Walked Away

It was late on a Tuesday night. I was sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed I shared with Dane. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner. I was scrolling through Instagram, killing time before sleep. Then I saw it.

Carter Flynn had posted a new story. Carter was Dane’s best friend and his favorite alibi. The location tag at the top of the screen read 'London'. Dane had told me he was in Chicago for a real estate conference.

I tapped the screen to pause the video. The lighting was dim and romantic. It was an upscale restaurant with thick candles melting on the tables. Dane was sitting in a velvet booth. His arm was wrapped tightly around Serenity Flores.

Serenity. His first love. The girl who left him for a study-abroad program and never really let him go. She looked beautiful. Her dark hair was styled perfectly, falling over her shoulders. She was laughing at something Dane said. On the table in front of them was a birthday cake. The name 'Serenity' was written in elegant chocolate icing.

But it was Dane’s face that held my attention. He was smiling. It was a wide, boyish, relaxed smile. I hadn't seen that smile in over a year. He looked at her like she was the center of the universe. He never looked at me like that.

I stared at the screen until the brightness timer kicked in. The screen dimmed, then went completely black. I saw my own face reflected in the dark glass. I looked pale. I waited for the familiar sting of tears. I waited for the heavy weight in my chest, the urge to cry and scream.

It didn't come.

Instead, a cold, sharp clarity washed over me. For two years, I had been the placeholder. I bent over backward to keep him happy. I memorized his coffee orders. I softened my voice when he was stressed. I swallowed my own needs so he wouldn't feel crowded. I thought if I just loved him hard enough, he would finally choose me.

He was never going to choose me.

I put the phone down. I stood up. I didn't slam any doors. I walked to the closet and pulled out my navy duffel bag. Moving with quiet efficiency, I started to pack. I didn't take everything. Just the essentials. My jeans, my sweaters, my leather notebook. I grabbed my migraine medication from the nightstand. I walked over to my dresser and picked up the framed photo of me and my best friend, Hayley, from our college graduation. I slipped it into the bag.

I looked at Dane’s side of the room. His expensive watches lined the glass case. His designer cologne sat perfectly angled on the silver tray. I left it all untouched.

I zipped the bag shut. I carried it out to the living room. The marble countertops in the kitchen caught the city lights from the window. I took my spare key off my keychain. I placed it gently on the island. It made a soft clink.

I pulled out my phone and opened my messages. Dane’s last text to me was from four hours ago. 'Meetings are running late. Going to sleep soon. Miss you.'

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I didn't ask questions. I didn't demand an explanation. I typed two words.

'We're done.'

I hit send. Then I tapped his profile and hit 'Block Caller'. I didn't wait for the little 'Delivered' notification to turn into 'Read'. I picked up my bag, walked out the door, and let it click shut behind me.

It took me forty-eight hours to find a sublet. It was a tiny one-bedroom in the East Village. The floorboards creaked, and it smelled faintly of someone else’s vanilla candles and old dust.

I dropped my bag by the door. I walked over to the bed and sat down on the unfamiliar mattress. I pushed my back against the cold wall and pulled my knees to my chest. Outside, a siren wailed down the avenue. Inside, the silence was heavy.

I felt dizzy. It wasn't relief. Not yet. It was the raw vertigo of a woman who had spent two years bracing for an impact that had finally happened. I didn't have to accommodate anyone anymore. I didn't have to shrink myself. The space around me felt too big.

The next afternoon, Dane landed back in New York.

My phone buzzed on the cheap nightstand. It was an unknown number. I ignored it. A minute later, a text came through. 'Lauren, it's Carter. Dane is using my phone. He's at the apartment. Please just talk to him.'

I blocked Carter's number without replying.

Five minutes later, Hayley called. I answered on the first ring.

“He just called me,” Hayley said. Her voice was tight with annoyance. “He's losing his mind.”

“Is he?” I asked. My voice sounded flat, even to me.

“He went back to the apartment and found the key. He saw your stuff was gone. He was practically shouting into the phone. Did you really block him on everything?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good.” I could hear her pacing. “I told him you were fine. I told him he needed to give you space.”

“He doesn't know what space is,” I said quietly. Dane was used to women waiting for him. He was used to me waiting for him. The idea that I had simply walked away without a fight was probably short-circuiting his brain.

“Well, he’s going to have to learn,” Hayley said fiercely.

Two nights later, the unraveling really began.

I was sitting on the floor of the sublet, eating Thai takeout straight from the carton. My phone lit up on the floor next to me. It was the college alumni group chat. I had left it months ago, but some well-meaning classmate had just added me back for an upcoming reunion.

The notifications started stacking up, one after another, rapid-fire.

Dane Marshall: [Voice message - 1:12]

Dane Marshall: [Voice message - 0:45]

Dane Marshall: [Voice message - 2:03]

He was drunk. The automatic text previews underneath the audio files were a messy, slurred stream of consciousness. 'Lauren please... just talk to me... you don't understand... it wasn't what it looked like... why won't you answer...'

I watched the green bubbles multiply. A year ago, if Dane had sounded this desperate, my heart would have dropped. I would have called him immediately. I would have rushed over to make sure he was okay. I would have forgiven him before he even apologized.

Now, looking at the screen, I felt absolutely nothing. My chest was perfectly still.

I didn't tap play. I didn't need to hear his voice. I pressed the side buttons on my phone and took a screenshot of the pathetic stack of messages. I opened my chat with Hayley, attached the picture, and typed a single laughing emoji. I hit send.

Then, I went back to the alumni chat, swiped left, and hit mute.

A second later, Hayley replied. A string of popping champagne bottle emojis.

Underneath it was a voice note. I tapped play.

“The man is finally learning what consequences taste like,” Hayley's voice rang out through the tiny apartment, clear and deeply satisfied.

I smiled. It was a small smile, but it reached my eyes. I set the phone face down on the floor. I picked up my fork and went back to my noodles. The food tasted good. The room was quiet. And for the first time in a very long time, the silence belonged entirely to me.