Chapter 1

I find my cat in her carrier beside the trash cans outside our apartment building.

My husband put her there.

Upstairs, he won't unlock the door.

"Is she with you?" Ethan asks through it.

Mochi presses against the back of the carrier. She hasn't made a sound since I found her.

"Open the door."

"Sophie found cat hair in her food, Claire. We've talked about this."

I look down at the carrier. The towel inside is bunched up beneath her paws.

"You left her next to the garbage."

"I put her somewhere you'd find her."

"I've been looking for forty minutes."

"Then you should have answered your phone."

My phone is in my coat pocket. I called him six times.

Behind him, Sophie says something too softly for me to hear.

His voice changes when he answers her.

"It's fine. Go sit down."

Then, to me, "She's barely eaten all day. Can we please get through one dinner without a fight?"

Five years.

That's how long Mochi has lived with us. I adopted her three weeks after our wedding, when she was small enough to fall asleep in one of my slippers.

Ethan used to send me pictures of her while I was at work.

Now he's leaving her beside the trash.

"Let us in," I say.

"You can come in. The cat needs somewhere else to stay."

I stare at the door.

A few months ago, Sophie needed somewhere to stay, too.

She was finishing a college program in the city. Her housing had fallen through. Ethan had known her family for years, and we were already helping with her tuition.

"It would only be until she gets on her feet," he told me.

I washed the guest room sheets myself.

The first thing to disappear was Mochi's bed by the window.

Sophie was allergic, Ethan said, although she never seemed to sneeze.

Then the scratching post went into the closet.

Sophie complained about the sound of paws in the hallway at night.

Our wedding picture came off the living room wall because she wanted that spot for a piece of art she'd made.

When I asked where he'd put the photo, Ethan told me I was making her feel unwelcome.

"Claire?"

I tighten my grip on the carrier.

"Take her to your parents," he says. "Or find someone who wants her. You're being unreasonable."

My parents live a flight away.

He knows that.

On the other side of the door, a fork scrapes a plate.

They're eating dinner.

I'm standing in the hallway with my frightened cat, waiting for permission to enter my own home.

"Fine," I say.

The lock clicks.

I'm already walking toward the elevator.

"Claire?"

I don't turn around.

The veterinary clinic is still open when we arrive.

Mochi's regular vet checks her over while I stand beside the table with my coat on.

"She seems physically fine," she tells me. "Probably just scared."

I let out a breath that hurts my chest.

When she places Mochi back in the carrier, I reach through the open door. Mochi pushes her head against my fingers.

"Can you take her somewhere quiet tonight?"

"Yes."

For once, I don't have to think about how Ethan will react before I answer.

I book a room at a hotel that allows cats, then stop for litter, cat food, and a cheap litter box.

At the hotel, I set everything up in the bathroom and open the carrier.

Mochi stays inside for almost an hour.

I sit on the floor a few feet away and wait.

Eventually, she comes out. She sniffs my shoes, rubs against my knee, and climbs into my lap.

That's when I start crying.

Not loudly. I don't want to scare her again.

I keep one hand on her back until her breathing slows.

My phone lights up beside me.

Ethan.

Where are you?

A second message arrives.

You've made your point.

Then a third.

Be home early tomorrow. Sophie wants those breakfast sandwiches you make.

I read it twice.

There's nothing about whether I'm safe.

Nothing about Mochi.

One last message appears.

And don't bring the cat back until we've figured this out.

Mochi stretches across my lap, warm and heavy, finally asleep.

I turn off my phone.