It takes less time than I’d thought to sever my life from Daniela’s.

Alec carts my books outside, and then my clothes. We’ve quickly filled my laundry basket, several shopping bags and—naturally—trash bags for my clothes and a quilt my mother made me.

The bed looks naked now. I had some happy times in that bed, getting in touch with my bisexuality. But apparently Daniela was having happy times in some other bed, too. No wonder she hadn’t made love to me in a while.

For a minute I just stand there and stare at the rumpled sheets, letting the hurt sink in. Last night I’d curled up close to her when she came to bed. But Daniela had rolled away from me, her skinny shoulder jutting up like a wall between us.

When she’d asked me to move in last spring, I’d been so happy. I’d thought I’d finally found someone who would be mine forever.

Ugh. I turn my back on the stupid bed. “Let’s go,” I say.

“Not so fast,” he says, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Room by room, okay? Do you have anything in the bathroom?”

He’s right. In my haste I’d forgotten about my toiletries. I’m not petty—I leave the new box of tampons we’d just bought, and the shampoo. I take my fancy moisturizer, my toothbrush, and my hairdryer.

Daniela can air dry, damn it.

“What’s in there?” Alec points toward the spare bedroom.

“Not much.” I walk over and open the door, even though it makes me feel stupid. I had imagined we would eventually need this room for a nursery. I’d wanted us to adopt a baby girl from China. Lately, when I’d brought it up, Daniela would change the topic.

I’d missed every damn clue she’d given me.

My eyes sweep over the mostly empty room, and just as I’m about to shut the door, I spot my knitting basket in a corner. It’s dusty from neglect.

“This is mine,” I say, retrieving it. There’s at least two hundred dollars’ worth of yarn and needles in the basket, but I haven’t knit anything in ages. Daniela had made a crack about my old-lady hobby more than once.

Goddamn her. Why had I listened to a thing she’d said?

Because you were lonely, my subconscious reminds me.

Oh yeah. That.

Alec takes the knitting basket from my hands. “No suitcase needed for this,” he says. “I’ll put it in the back seat. You check the kitchen?”

Here, too, I need to grab a few things. A ceramic pie plate that belonged to my grandmother. A couple of mugs, a rolling pin I’d brought to the relationship. Everything fits into a paper grocery bag.

I leave an entire defrosted chicken in the fridge. Tonight I’d meant to roast it for dinner, but now I bet it will just rot. Daniela didn’t ever cook for me the way I cooked for her. She didn’t care enough to plan meals or ask me what I wanted from the store.