I drive away with tears in my eyes. I feel like such a fool. When I get to the first stop sign, I can barely see and I’m forced to pull over. I cry into the steering wheel.

I blame myself for letting that happen.

I blame myself for trusting him.

I blame myself for believing in him.

But mostly, I mourn what we used to have.

Not long ago, we had the most pure relationship two people could have. We were siblings and we loved each other like siblings.

At least, that’s what I thought.

When my tears dry, I look up a hotel or an Airbnb I can rent in the area. I find another house with a pool for not much more than a hotel room and go with that.

The pool has been one of the most wonderful things about our house and I’m not going to let Owen make me give that up.

Luckily, most of the money is in my account and he doesn’t have access to it.

I debate how long I should book this house for, eventually settling on a week. That should give me some time to figure things out.

The check-in instructions arrive via text almost immediately after my payment goes through.

I drive two miles and park the car in front of a little white house with a turquoise door. There’s a large gold statue of a greyhound right outside. I run my fingers over its smooth head and snout as I punch the code into the keypad.

There’s a wide reclining sectional couch in the middle of the room, facing a huge television. I drop my bag and curl up on it with my phone in my hand. I don’t wake up until the sun rises the following morning.

I stretch my arms out and move my neck from side to side. I’ve never slept in a recliner before but I now know why so many people do. Given everything that happened, my sleep was incredibly restful.

In the kitchen, I make myself some tea and then walk around the house with the cup in my hand.

It’s a two-bedroom that looks a lot like the one I rented for Owen and me. Same mid-century modern design with furniture to match. One of the bedrooms leads out to the backyard with a square-shaped pool.

Unable or perhaps unwilling to say no, I strip off my clothes and jump right in.

The water is heated but it’s not particularly warm. I dive under and relish in my own weightlessness. My problems start to disappear one by one, as if the water is absorbing them. But that only lasts until I come back to the surface and inhale a breath of air.

Later that morning, I drive by a local juice place and order a green smoothie before heading to a new hiking spot: Tahquitz Canyon.