Chapter 4

I turned my head and looked at him, calm.

"I called you. Why didn't you pick up?"

He strode over, reaching out to stop me.

"My phone was on silent!"

"Ethan. You changed the lock. Without telling me?"

He paused. His eyes slid away.

"I… look, I was worried about break-ins. Celine's here alone. It's not safe. Smart locks are safer."

The contractor stood there with the crowbar still in his hand, not sure whether to keep going or set it down.

That was when a small, tremulous voice came through the door.

"Ethan? Is that you out there? I'm scared. Someone's been banging on the door, and I heard something like it was being pried open."

Celine's voice came through the wood, soft and thin.

Ethan answered her immediately, and his voice dropped into something low and gentle.

Nothing like the tone he'd been using with me a second ago.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm here. It's just the contractor come to fix something. You're safe."

Then he turned back to me, frowning.

"June, are you done? Celine is living here by herself. You bring somebody to break down the door—of course she's scared. Did you even think about how she'd feel?"

How she'd feel.

I suddenly felt like a punchline.

"And me, Ethan? Do you have any idea how long I was knocking on that door?"

"How many times did I call you? Did you pick up once?"

"This apartment is mine. I can't get into my own home, and you're asking me whether I considered her feelings?"

His voice jumped.

"You want to come in, you tell me! One phone call, I give you the code, done! You have to bring somebody to break the lock?"

"She's in here alone. She hears people trying to bust the door down—wouldn't you be scared?"

"June, can you please be reasonable?"

The door behind him stayed closed.

Celine stayed inside, snug behind the brand-new smart lock. And I stood in the hallway with a crowbar, like some hysterical woman making a scene.

I was suddenly exhausted.

I didn't want to ask him where he'd spent the night anymore. Didn't want to ask if his phone had really been on silent by accident, or on purpose. Didn't want to ask whether, when he changed that lock, he'd hesitated for even a second.

I handed the crowbar back to the contractor. "Sorry. Not today. Go ahead and go. I'll reschedule."

The contractor exhaled in relief, packed up his tools, and headed briskly for the elevator.

When the doors slid shut, he glanced at me. There was pity in it.

The hallway was empty then. Just me, Ethan, and that closed door.

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. His tone softened a little.

"Celine says she's not feeling great today, she's lying down. If you're going in, don't pick a fight with her. Okay?"

I looked at him.

"I'm not fixing it. I'm not living here anyway. Whether that cabinet door shuts or not has nothing to do with me."

I turned and walked toward the elevator.

Behind me, Ethan called out. "June!"

I didn't look back.

Once I was out of the elevator, I pulled out my phone, found my real estate attorney's number, and hit call.

"I need to schedule a consultation on splitting a jointly-owned property."

After I hung up, I stood there staring at the screen for a long time.

I remembered how, standing outside that door just now, I'd heard Celine say, I'm scared.

And Ethan had said, immediately, I'm here.

His voice full of protectiveness.

Four months ago, I was alone in that apartment waiting for paint to dry. It got dark. The lights weren't wired yet. The hallway was pitch black, and the wind was rattling the windows against their frames.

I called him.

He said, I'm working late. Head home early. Be careful out there.

Then I closed the windows, used my phone flashlight to make my way down the stairs, and stood on the curb for twenty minutes waiting for a car.

Back then, I'd wanted somebody to say Don't be scared. I'm here.

I never got it.

Now it was being said. Just not to me.

And I didn't want to hear it anymore.