The Fall
When Ethan opened his apartment door, he froze.
A pair of men’s sneakers — cheap, size eleven — sat in the hallway.
From the bedroom came laughter. Male and female.
He pushed the door open.
There she was — Madison — tangled in silk sheets with a young man who looked like her intern.
She gasped, clutching the blanket.
“Ethan! It’s not what it looks like! He—he made me do it!”
Ethan laughed quietly.
Not in rage — in disbelief.
“Made you? With what — a promise to follow you on Instagram?”
He didn’t shout. He didn’t throw anything.
He just looked around — the spilled wine, the designer chaos, the shallow perfection — and said softly,
“It’s over. Rent’s due in three days. I hope he can afford it.”
He left without looking back.
In the elevator, one tap — her credit cards disappeared.
He drove aimlessly through the city — Times Square, rain-slicked streets, neon light.
All he wanted was distance. From her. From himself. From the emptiness.
