I snatch a row of John’s carefully folded sweaters out of a drawer, crumple them a little, and lay them at the bottom of the case as bedding.

I pick up Boles and drop him on top. “Here you go.”

He seems undecided at first, his feline nature probably telling him that if his human wants him to sleep somewhere, then he shouldn’t. But suitcase-naps are too inviting to pass up, so in the end, he curls up next to his brother.

Once the closet and dresser are taken care of, I move into the bathroom and unceremoniously throw John’s toiletries into a gym duffle bag. By seven p.m., I’ve packed all his things and, except for the array of suitcases waiting in the living room, it could be as if Johnathan never lived here.

The bastard, however, doesn’t get home at the usual time. Guess that with the extended lunch break, he had to pull long hours at the office to make up for it. The app is telling me he’s still at work.

When his dot finally starts moving, I sit on a stool at the kitchen bar and wait for him, eyes glued to the front door. The more time passes with no sign of Mr. Cheater, the angrier I get. Emotions range wild in a rollercoaster of betrayal, rage, sadness, anxiety, uncertainty, pain… until the cycle starts anew.

When I finally hear the key turn in the lock, I’ve chewed my nails to shreds and I’m exhausted. Still, my heart starts beating super-fast as a fresh rush of adrenaline floods my veins.

I watch Johnathan walk into the house as if it was any other night.

“Hi, honey,” he says. “Sorry I’m so late. Had a terrible day at the office.”

Whoa, what a performer.

A sneaky, cheating, lying bastard. How can he act so naturally after having spent the afternoon screwing the brains out of my best friend?

How?

“I had a pretty horrible day, too,” I say.

A raging understatement.

For a moment, I’m tempted to ask what has made his day so bad and listen as he feeds me more lies. See how far he’ll go. But, frankly, I’m drained, and I can’t wait for him to be out of the house and out of my life.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What—” He stops mid-sentence as he spots the suitcases. “Are we going somewhere?” He frowns. “Because I’m super busy at work. I can’t take any days off.”

Don’t worry, I think bitterly in my head, I won’t whisk you away from your mistress.

“Really, Lana,” John says, starting to look annoyed now. “You know I don’t like surprises.”

“Relax,” I snap. “I haven’t planned a romantic gateway if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“So what’s with the suitcases?”