With the icy wind biting at my skin, she left me there, alone. The bitter northern wind howled, cutting through my jacket like it wasn’t even there. Yet, she expected me to walk home, barely dressed for the cold.

By the time I reached my apartment, my fingers were stiff, and my face stung from the relentless wind. But that wasn’t the worst of it. By the time I reached home, the distinct scent of someone else’s perfume still lingered in the air—one that certainly didn’t belong to me.

I opened the windows to let in the frigid, cleansing air and began packing my things. It took less than an hour to gather everything Odessa had left at my place: clothes, makeup, books she claimed she’d read someday but never did.

By the time I finished, I had delivered every last item next door to her apartment.

Her place, as always, was pristine and untouched. Not a trace of me remained there, just as it had been from the beginning. Odessa never allowed me to leave anything behind—no toothbrush, no sweatshirt, not even a stray pair of socks.

That is, except for one glaring inconsistency in her closet—a pair of men’s underwear that didn’t belong to me. She must have been in such a rush that she forgot to hide it.

It took me the rest of the day to restore my home to the way it had been five years ago. The couple’s items we bought but never used—trinkets meant to symbolize a love that never saw the light of day—I had them hauled away by the junk collector.

By the time I was finished, it felt like everything had been reset. Aside from the door I walked through, Odessa and I were right back where we started—at square one.

Just as I was about to call a contractor to undo the renovations we had made together, Odessa came home.

“Leif, why haven’t you been answering your phone or replying to my messages? I went out of my way to have dinner with you, and now I have to pick you up too?”

I glanced at her, noting the faint red marks under her collar. My voice was flat as I replied, “I’ve been busy. Cleaning up the place. Didn’t check my phone.”

She scanned the room, her expression quickly souring. “Busy with what? I cleaned up this place just yesterday.”

“Throwing out some things I don’t need.”

She frowned, her gaze landing on the cardboard boxes stacked near the door. “I told you not to buy that stuff in the first place. Now you’re wasting time throwing it out,” she grumbled, and without hesitation, she picked up one of the boxes and carried it outside. 

I followed her, watching as she casually discarded the items into the dumpster—things meant to commemorate five years of memories. They meant as little to her as I apparently did.

Later, at the restaurant, she ordered our usual seafood-boil and sides but added a dish I hated—milt or fish sperm.

My appetite evaporated instantly. This time, I decided not to hold back.

“Waiter,” I said calmly, “take this dish away and just bring the check, please.”

Odessa grabbed the plate and pulled it toward her. “Are you still upset because I didn’t visit you in the hospital? Leif, you fell down the mountain on your own. Don’t pin your clumsiness on me.”

I’d seen her care before, so her indifference now was impossible to ignore. The woman who once insisted on rushing me to the hospital for a paper cut couldn’t even be bothered to visit when I was admitted for three days. The woman who avoided milt because she knew I hated it was now ordering it. She had reverted to the person I met five years ago.

I gave her a faint smile, “You know I hate it. I feel like throwing up just seeing it.”

“Then don’t eat it!” she snapped. Her irritation didn’t bother me. If anything, it amused me. I leaned back in my chair, my smile fading as I began to speak. 

“Maybe it’s time we break—”

“Odessa!” he exclaimed with a grin. “After all these years, you still remember I love milt!”

Before I could finish, a man appeared at our table, interrupting me.  I looked up to meet the smug, condescending gaze of the man standing beside her. Odessa shifted in her seat to make room, and the man slid in beside her, sitting directly across from me.

“Let me introduce myself,” he said, smiling. “I’m Odessa’s boyfriend, Kirk Washington.”

I didn’t respond, and he reached over to pinch Odessa’s cheek affectionately.

“Why don’t you introduce me to your friend here?”

Odessa’s expression faltered. It was clear she hadn’t anticipated Kirk showing up. She avoided my eyes, her hands fidgeting with the napkin in her lap. I decided to make it easy for her. Smiling faintly, I answered for her. 

“I’m her neighbor, Leif Delgado. We’re just sharing a table since the place is packed.”

Odessa’s head snapped toward me, her eyes momentarily wide with shock before she exhaled in visible relief. Kirk didn’t seem to notice, leaning back with an easy grin.

Kirk’s grin widened as he heard her words. “First time seeing Odessa dine with another guy besides me. She doesn’t get much of a male friends you know? Since, you’re familiar with her, let’s exchange numbers,” he said, sliding his phone toward me.

His profile picture caught my eye—a photo of him and Odessa locked in a passionate kiss under a cascade of fireworks. The matching outfits they wore today—a subtle but unmistakable nod to high-end couple's fashion—only emphasized how inseparable they looked.

I silently put my napkin back on the table and stood to leave.

Kirk grabbed my wrist, his fingers digging into my skin where Odessa couldn’t see.

“Hey, buddy, if you don’t want to exchange number, fine. But walking away as soon as I show up? That’s rude. How about I apologize?”

His grip tightened, and I tried pulling free, but weakness overtook me. After a few failed attempts, I finally succeeded—just in time for Kirk’s hand to collide with a server carrying a steaming pot of soup. The tray wobbled, and the soup spilled everywhere.

Odessa screamed as Kirk pulled her into his arms, shielding her from the scalding liquid. I wasn’t as lucky. By the time I looked back, it was too late. My hand bore the brunt of the spill, angry red blisters instantly forming across the skin. The searing pain brought tears to my eyes.

Odessa’s scream pierced the air as Kirk pulled her into his arms, shielding her from the spill like a hero in a melodrama. I wasn’t as lucky. By the time I turned back, it was too late. The soup drenched my hand, angry red blisters forming almost instantly. The searing pain sent tears streaming down my cheeks, blurring my vision.

“Leif, are you okay? Let’s get you to the hospital!” For a fleeting moment, Odessa’s voice was filled with genuine panic. She reached toward me, her usual aloof demeanor shattered. The way she said my name—it was intimate, protective, as if I were someone who truly mattered.

But the moment dissolved as quickly as it had come.

“Kirk!” Odessa gasped, her focus snapping back to him. A faint splash of broth marred his hand, and her face crumpled with worry. “Does it hurt? What if it leaves a scar? Oh, what should we do?”

Kirk, ever the actor, groaned softly for effect but remained calm and collected. “Odessa, don’t fuss over me. I’m fine. Really,” he said, his tone noble. “Go check on your neighbor. He seems to be hurt worse than I am.”

Odessa froze, torn for the briefest moment, but her worry quickly turned to anger. “I don’t care about him! This is all his fault! If he hadn’t flung your hand away, the server wouldn’t have stumbled. Now, because of him, you’re hurt!”

Her voice rang through the restaurant, drawing the eyes of every patron. Judging whispers rippled through the crowd. Even the server, who had looked apologetic moments before, seemed emboldened by her words.

“Sir,” the server stammered, his voice tinged with both fear and indignation. “I warned you to be careful while I was serving the broth. But you deliberately moved his hand into my path! If I hadn’t reacted quickly, this poor man could’ve been seriously injured!”

Odessa glared at me, her frustration boiling over. “Leif, I can’t believe you! Apologize to Kirk!”

The heat on my face rivaled the burning pain in my hand. Her words were a slap harder than any physical blow. My voice shook as I forced myself to speak. “Is this really what you think of me?”

She said nothing. Her silence was deafening, a final confirmation of where her loyalties lay.

Kirk watched the unfolding chaos with poorly concealed glee. He smirked, relishing every moment, before finally stepping in as though to play the magnanimous hero. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone dripping with false kindness. “It’s not entirely his fault. Don’t be too hard on him.”

Odessa’s anger simmered, but she nodded reluctantly, her attention still fixed on Kirk’s supposed injury. Kirk winced dramatically, clutching his hand. “Odessa, this burn stings pretty badly. We should go get it looked at. Let’s not make things harder for your neighbor, okay?”