I thought moving in with Liam would be the start of our perfect life together until the door opened and a stranger called herself the only woman he’d ever love. Liam was everything I had dreamed of — funny, attentive, thoughtful. Four months in, and I was still catching myself smiling at my phone like a teenager every time his name popped up.
And finally, I was packing up my life to move in with him. “Are you sure you want to take this?” my roommate, Jenna, held up a chipped mug with a faded cat print. I laughed, tossing another sweater into the open suitcase.
“Lucky, huh? Because nothing says ‘new chapter’ like a mug that’s survived three breakups.” She winked and slipped it into the ‘donate’ pile anyway. “You’re getting new stuff now.
Couples stuff.”
Jenna had been my rock through two miserable relationships and one spectacularly failed engagement. So, moving in with someone again was a big deal for both of us. “Four months,” Jenna said, suddenly serious.
“That’s fast.”
“Hmm. Or when you think you know.”
“Oh, come on. He’s incredible.
Flowers, Sunday pancakes, little notes in my bag… I feel like I’m in a Hallmark movie.”
“Right, and those movies always end with a surprise twist. Tell me something — have you ever been to his place?”
I hesitated for a second, zipping up a suitcase.
“Well… no. But I don’t need to. He’s been staying over here almost every night.”
“Exactly,” Jenna said, pointing a spatula at me like a detective with a clue.
“Why hasn’t he invited you over?”
“Come on, Jenna,” I giggled. “You know I love you, but this is all a little too perfect. What if he’s… I don’t know… a total weirdo?”
“Or he secretly collects doll heads.”
“Stop.”
“Or, and hear me out, he’s got a pet guinea pig he keeps in an aquarium and calls it his ‘child.’”
I burst out laughing, doubling over.
“That’s ridiculous.”
We both laughed until tears rolled down our cheeks, but when the laughter faded, her words lingered in the air. What if she was right?
What if there was something I didn’t know? ***
I balanced the two small suitcases in my hands.
That was it. Thirty-six years of my life, neatly packed into two worn-out pieces of luggage. Everything else I had either sold, donated, or left behind.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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