Chapter 13
Finley rushed home, heading straight for the bedroom as soon as he stepped inside.
He thought back to their worst fights–Claire had threatened to leave before. Every time, she’d leave her things behind, a built–in excuse to come back and make up with him.
He yanked open the closet, expecting to see her clothes still hanging there. Just another bluff.
But the closet was empty.
Every last piece of Claire was gone.
Her voice echoed in his head, sharp and unforgiving: “You had five chances. Only five.”
And just like that, he realized–he’d burned through them all.
Would she ever come back? Could she? The weight of it hit him like a brick wall, and he sank to the floor, crushed by regret.
Snapping out of it, he fumbled for his phone. He had to call her, had to hear her voice. But as he scrolled through his contacts, her number wasn’t there.
He always saved it under a nickname–but now, it was gone.
Panic clawed at him as he tried to recall it from memory. Nothing. The digits blurred in his mind. Instead, Renee’s number popped up, clear and familiar, burned into his brain from
years ago.
But Claire’s? A total blank.
He remembered how, early in their marriage, Claire had laughed and said, “Finley, you’ve gottą memorize all my numbers, okay? My phone, my ID, everything.”
He’d brushed it off back then. “Why bother? I’ll never lose track of you.”
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Now, she was gone.
Out of options, he started calling friends.
“What? You’re her husband. If you don’t know her number, how would we?”
“This has to be
Joke. Claire’s your wife–how do you not know her number?”
“Why are you asking us? We’re your friends, not hers!”
Every call hit a dead end. That’s when it hit him–he didn’t even know who Claire’s friends
were.
For years, her life had revolved entirely around him. She’d had no one else. She’d lost
herself.
Desperate, he turned to social media, searching for her account. Nothing. She was gone
from there too.
What he didn’t know was that the night he’d gone to see Renee, Claire had taken his phone.
She’d scrolled through his contacts, and at the top of the list was Renee–pinned, front and
center.
And her? She’d been buried, somewhere far down the list. It had taken forever to even find
their chat.
When she opened it, the messages were painfully one–sided–her long texts filling the screen, answered only by silence or cold, clipped replies.
In that moment, she’d realized just how little she mattered to him.
Without a word, she’d removed herself from his social media and deleted her number from his phone. Then, she’d placed it back exactly where she found it.
The days that followed? He never noticed. Not once.
Now, Finley’s voice cracked as he whispered, “Claire, do you hate me that much?”
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With no other choice, he called Kevin, his assistant. “I need you to find Claire’s number. Now.”
Kevin didn’t take long. The number came through, and Finley dialed it.
After several tries, the line finally connected.
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