SHE WAS NEVER HIS MISTRESS

CHAPTER 6: The Apartment

ARIA'S POV

The apartment was four hundred and fifty square feet on the fourth floor of a walk-up in Hawthorne. Jordan stood beside me while the landlord unlocked the door.

"It's small," Mrs. Kowalski said. She was maybe seventy, with white hair and kind eyes. "But the light is good. And it's quiet."

The door swung open. Hardwood floors. White walls. Two windows that faced east. Empty except for dust motes floating in the afternoon sun.

Our house had been twenty-four hundred square feet. This place would fit in our living room.

"Can I see?" Jordan asked.

Mrs. Kowalski gestured us in. "Take your time."

The main room served as everything. Living room, bedroom, dining room. A tiny kitchen in one corner with a two-burner stove and a sink the size of a mixing bowl. A bathroom so small I could touch both walls at once. A closet that might fit half my clothes.

Jordan opened the windows. March air rushed in, cold and sharp. "The bones are good."

I walked to the window. Below, Hawthorne Street stretched out. Coffee shops. Vintage stores. People walking dogs. A completely different world from Pearl District.

"What do you think?" Mrs. Kowalski asked.

I thought it was nothing like home. Nothing like the life I'd built. Nothing like anything I'd imagined for myself at twenty-eight.

"I'll take it."

Mrs. Kowalski smiled. "Wonderful. First and last month's rent, plus deposit. That's thirty-six hundred total."

I had it. Barely. I'd been saving my gallery salary in a separate account Flynn didn't know about. Money for art classes I never took. Supplies I never bought. A future I never quite got around to starting.

Turned out I'd been saving it for this.

I wrote the check right there. Watched my savings account drop by more than half. Mrs. Kowalski handed me two keys on a ring with a little Polish flag keychain.

"I'm a widow," she said quietly. "Thirty-two years. I know what it's like to start over."

I didn't correct her. Didn't say I wasn't widowed, just abandoned. It felt close enough.

Jordan helped me carry my things up the four flights. One suitcase. One bag of art supplies. My laptop. That was it. Three years of marriage reduced to what I could carry.

"We need furniture," Jordan said, looking around the empty space.

"I have an air mattress at your place."

"Aria."

"It's fine. I'll get stuff eventually."

She pulled out her phone. "Target delivers. We're getting you at least a lamp and some sheets."

While Jordan ordered, I stood at the window. The sun was setting. The room filled with orange light that made the emptiness look almost beautiful.

My phone buzzed. Flynn again. I'd lost count of how many times he'd called. I blocked the number and felt nothing.

Jordan's phone pinged. "Okay. Lamp, sheets, pillows, and some kitchen basics will be here by eight tonight. I also ordered you an actual bed frame. It'll come Monday."

"You don't have to-"

"Shut up and say thank you."

"Thank you."

She grabbed her keys. "Come on. Let's get pizza. You need to eat."

We picked up a large pepperoni from the place down the block. Ate it sitting on the floor with the windows open and traffic sounds drifting up. Jordan told me about the twins' latest chaos. Maya had decided she hated pants. Zoe had taught herself to unlock the baby gate.

Normal problems. Normal life. Everything I didn't have anymore.

The delivery arrived at eight like Jordan promised. We inflated the air mattress. Made it up with new sheets that still had the package creases. Set up the lamp in the corner. Stocked the tiny kitchen with paper plates and plastic forks because I didn't own dishes.

"This is depressing," Jordan said, looking around.

"It's fine."

"It's not fine. But it will be." She hugged me hard. "You're going to be okay."

"I know."

I didn't know. But saying it felt important.

Jordan left around ten. Her footsteps echoed down the stairwell. The building door closed with a heavy thud. Then silence.

Complete silence.

The apartment was so quiet I could hear my own breathing. Our house was never silent. Flynn hummed when he cooked. The heating system clanked all night. The refrigerator made ice with loud mechanical cracks. Our life had a soundtrack.

This was just empty.

I tried to unpack but gave up after pulling out three shirts. Tried to paint but couldn't even open the supplies. Tried to sleep but the air mattress squeaked every time I moved and the ceiling was wrong and the sounds were wrong and everything was wrong.

At midnight, I got up. Stood at the window. The street below was mostly empty. A few cars. A couple walking hand in hand. A man walking his dog.

I'd lived with someone for four years. Woke up next to him every morning. Fell asleep listening to his breathing every night. Even when I was mad at him, even when we weren't talking, I was never alone.

Now I was completely alone.

My chest felt tight. My hands were shaking. I sat on the floor with my back against the wall and pulled my knees to my chest.

This was freedom. This was what I'd chosen. No more lies. No more secrets. No more husband with a pregnant woman across town.

Just me in four hundred and fifty square feet with east-facing windows and hardwood floors and silence so thick I could drown in it.

I must have fallen asleep at some point because I woke up on the floor with the sun coming through the windows. My neck hurt. My back hurt. Everything hurt.

The apartment looked worse in daylight. Bare walls. Empty corners. The air mattress slightly deflated in the middle of the floor. My suitcase still mostly packed.

I'd left a home and landed in a room. But at least in this room, no one was lying to me.