Chapter 6 #4
"The only mistake I made was staying this long."
I pull the suitcase toward the bedroom door. Rowan moves to block my path.
"Winter. Please. Don't do this."
I stop, look up at him. He's taller than me, but right now I don't feel small.
"Move,” I say, sternly.
"I love you..” he says in a desperate plea. The words should mean something. Two months ago, they would have. Now they're just noise.
"You don't even know what that means."
"I do. I know I fucked up. But I love you."
"You love having me." I meet his eyes.
"There's a difference."
"That's not fair."
"Neither is cheating." I step forward, and he doesn't move.
"Move, Rowan."
He stares at me for a long moment. Then steps aside. I walk past him, pulling the suitcase behind me. It catches on the bedroom doorway, and I yank it free with more force than necessary.
Down the hallway. Through the living room. Past the kitchen where I poured water just hours ago, thinking about Knox's offer and whether I'd accept it.
Everything has changed in six hours. I grab my portfolio from the console table by the door, shove my feet into the flats I left there earlier.
Rowan follows me. "Winter, wait. Please. Just wait."
I open the front door.
"We can fix this," he says behind me. His voice is cracking now.
"I'll do anything. Just don't leave."
I turn to look at him one last time. He's standing in the middle of the living room in his sweatpants and t-shirt, hair disheveled from sleep and running his hands through it, face pale. He looks smaller than I've ever seen him.
"Goodbye, Rowan."
I step into the hallway, pull my suitcase after me, and close the door. The lock clicks with a finality that echoes in the silent hallway. I stand there for a moment, suitcase at my side, trying to breathe. Then I walk to the elevator and press the button. Behind me, I hear the apartment door open.
"Winter—"
The elevator arrives. The doors open. I step inside, pull my suitcase in after me. I look at Rowan standing in his doorway, one hand on the frame. The elevator doors close, and he's gone.
I ride down thirty floors in silence. The elevator is mirrored on all sides. I can see myself—hair in a messy braid, face blotchy and swollen, eyes red. Still wearing the sleep shirt I put on hours ago, flats on my feet, a suitcase and bags clutched around me.
I look destroyed.
The elevator reaches the lobby. The doors open. Daniel, the night doorman, looks up from his desk. His eyes widen when he sees me.
"Ms. Hayes? Are you—do you need a car?"
My voice comes out hoarse.
"Yes. Please."
He picks up the phone immediately, calls the car service the building keeps on retainer. I stand in the lobby with my suitcase, shaking. Can't stop shaking. My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out and see a text from Rowan.
Rowan: Please come back. We can work this out.
I stare at the message. Then I block his number. He has other numbers—work lines, office phones, ways to reach me if he really wants to. But right now, I need this.
Another text comes through. Different number.
Unknown: Winter, please. I'm sorry. Just talk to me.
I block that number too. Daniel hangs up the phone.
"Car will be here in ten minutes, Ms. Hayes."
"Thank you."
I sit on the bench near the entrance, suitcase beside me, and wait. Ten minutes feels like hours. The car finally pulls up outside. Daniel helps me load my suitcase into the trunk.
"Where to?" the driver asks.
I give him Kate's address in Park Slope. As the car pulls away from the building, I look back.
The Sterling Building rises thirty stories into the night sky. Lit windows scattered across the facade, the penthouse level dark now except for one light.
One year of my life in that building.
Gone.
I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I don't cry. Not yet. I’m too numb for tears.
***
The car moves through Lower Manhattan's empty streets…
traffic lights flashing yellow at intersections with no one to stop for.
I pull out my phone with shaking hands. Scroll to Kate's number. Press call.
It rings three times. Please be awake. Please—
"Hello?" Kate's voice is groggy but alert.
"Win? What's wrong?"
"I'm in a car. On my way to your place." My voice sounds hollow in my own ears. "I can't stay at the apartment. Can't be with Rowan."
"What? What happened?"
"I'll tell you when I get there. Please just—can you open the door when I arrive?"
Kate's voice sharpens immediately.
"Of course. Of course. How far are you?"
"Twenty minutes maybe."
"I'll be waiting. Winter—"
"I'm okay. I just need to get there."
"Okay. I'm up. Door will be open."
We hang up.
I lean my head back against the seat, close my eyes, and breathe.
In. Out. In. Out.
The driver merges onto the Brooklyn Bridge. I open my eyes, watch Manhattan fall away behind us, the city lights reflecting on the East River below.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number. I don't answer.
It buzzes again. Different number.
Rowan.
I silence the phone and shove it in my purse.
The bridge spans dark water, connecting one borough to another. The car moves steadily, the driver silent and professional, not asking questions I couldn't answer anyway.
Brooklyn rises ahead—brownstones and tree-lined streets, a different energy than Manhattan's glass towers.
The driver navigates through Park Slope's quiet blocks. Pulls up in front of Kate's building at 1:47 AM.
"This is it," he says.
"Thank you."
He helps me get my suitcase from the trunk. I stand on the sidewalk, bags clutched around me, and look up at the brownstone. The front door opens before I can move. Kate is standing there. Her blonde hair in a messy bun, oversized t-shirt, bare feet. Her face worried and alert despite the hour.
The moment I see her, something breaks. I walk up the steps, pulling my suitcase behind me, and the second Kate's arms wrap around me, the tears come.
Hot. Ugly. Can't stop.
My whole body shakes with sobs I've been holding back since the car left Gramercy. I can't catch my breath, gasping between cries, my hands fisted in Kate's shirt.
She doesn't ask questions. Just holds me, one hand in my hair, the other around my back, anchoring me while I fall apart.
"I've got you," she murmurs. "I've got you."
My knees feel weak. Kate guides me inside, kicks the door shut behind us, locks it. Leads me to the couch in her living room.
I collapse onto it, and the crying intensifies. Everything I held back during the fight, during the packing, during the elevator ride down—all of it pours out now.
Kate sits beside me, arm around my shoulders, handing me tissues from the box on the coffee table.
I cry until my throat is raw. Until my face is hot and my eyes burn. Until the sobs slow to hiccupping breaths. Kate strokes my hair, doesn't rush me. Just lets me break.
Finally, I can breathe again. Sort of. I wipe my face with a tissue, take the water Kate hands me, drink half the glass.
"Tell me what happened," Kate says quietly.
So I tell her.
About the phone ringing at 12:33 AM. About Madeleine's voice, young and confused. About her saying Rowan told her he was single.
About waking Rowan up. The confession. Over a year of lying.
About him blaming me for working too much. Calling Madeleine easier than me.
About packing my bags while he watched. Him blocking the door. The things he said.
Kate's face shifts from shock to fury as I talk.
"That motherfucker," she says when I finish.
"He said it was my fault." My voice cracks.
"For working too much. For not being present."
Kate grabs my shoulders, makes me look at her.
"Winter. Listen to me. You could have worked every hour of every day. That doesn't justify cheating. Nothing justifies that. This is NOT your fault."
"I ignored the signs." Fresh tears spill over.
"The phone calls. The texts from 'M.' I saw it and I just... I didn't want to know."
"That doesn't make it your fault."
"I feel so stupid."
"You're not stupid. You trusted someone you loved. That's not stupid. That's human."
I want to believe her.
But all I can think about is the year I wasted. The apartment I gave up. The life I thought we were building that was a lie the whole time.
My phone buzzes in my purse. Again. Again.
I pull it out. Three more missed calls. Two voicemails. Six texts from numbers I don't recognize.
All Rowan.
Kate sees my face. "Block them all."
"He has so many numbers."
"Then turn your phone off."
I stare at the screen. Another text comes through.
Unknown: I love you. Please just talk to me.
I turn the phone off completely. Set it face-down on the coffee table.
Kate squeezes my hand. "Do you want me to call Amy?"
I nod, unable to speak.
Kate pulls out her phone, steps into the kitchen. I hear her voice, low and urgent, explaining.
I sit on the couch, staring at nothing. My chest aches. My head pounds. Everything hurts.
Kate returns. "She's on her way. Fifteen minutes."
"It's almost two in the morning."
"She doesn't care. Neither do I." Kate sits back down beside me.
"You'd do the same for us."
I would. I know I would. Kate disappears for a moment, comes back with a blanket.
Wraps it around my shoulders even though it's summer and not cold.
The weight of it helps somehow. We sit in silence for a few minutes.
Kate's presence steady beside me, grounding me when everything feels like it's spinning.
A knock at the door. 2:18 AM.
Kate gets up, opens it. Amy rushes in—brunette hair pulled back, still in pajamas with a coat thrown over, eyes wide with concern.
"Winter." She crosses the room in three strides, wraps her arms around me.
I start crying again. Can't seem to stop tonight.
Amy sits on my other side, and I'm sandwiched between my two best friends at two in the morning, crying in Kate's living room.
"What did he do?" Amy asks.
Kate fills her in while I cry. The phone call. Madeleine. The confession. Everything.
Amy's face goes through the same progression Kate's did. "I'm going to kill him. Actually kill him."
Kate nods. "Get in line."
"He's not worth it," I manage to say through tears.
"You're worth it," Amy says fiercely.
That makes me cry harder. Because they're here. At 2 AM on a Thursday night with work tomorrow. No questions, no hesitation. Just here.
Kate gets up, comes back with more tissues.
"It's summer Friday tomorrow. I'm working from home. You're not going through this alone."
Amy nods. "Same. My calendar is clear. You need us, we're here."
"I'm sorry for keeping you up."
"Stop," Kate says. "You'd do the same."
We sit there, the three of us, while the night stretches on. I cry in waves—sometimes hard, sometimes just silent tears, sometimes stopping for a few minutes before starting again.
Amy makes tea no one drinks. Kate puts on soft music from her phone. They take turns holding my hand, stroking my hair, just being present.
Around 3 AM, the crying finally stops for good.
I'm empty. Wrung out. Exhausted.
"I need to figure out everything," I say, my voice hoarse.
"Where to live. My stuff at the apartment. Work tomorrow—"
"Not tonight," Kate interrupts gently.
"Tonight you rest. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow. Guest room is yours as long as you need it."
Amy adds. "Or you can stay with me. Whatever you want."
I nod, too tired to argue.
Kate stands. "Come on. You need to try to sleep."
She leads me to the guest room—small, cozy, safe. The bed is already made up with clean sheets.
"There's towels in the bathroom if you want to shower," Kate says.
"Or just sleep in what you're wearing. Whatever you need."
"Thank you." My voice breaks.
"For everything."
Kate hugs me. "Always."
She leaves, closes the door softly. I sit on the bed, still in my sleep shirt from hours ago. It feels like a lifetime since I put it on. I should shower. Should change. Should do something. Instead, I just lie down, pull the blanket over me, and close my eyes.
Sleep doesn't come. But I lie there anyway, in the dark, in Kate's guest room, two years of my life shattered in one phone call. And for the first time in hours, I'm not crying. I’m just... empty.