Haley—

Made it to the condo last night, late. The smell of chlorine in the lobby familiar as a favorite old T-shirt.

Front desk gave me the key, no problem (thank you for calling).

Condo itself: Total time warp. Nothing changed since my last visit (that summer trip after college, I think). I swear not a single doily has moved.

Couldn’t sleep. Stayed up and counted all the rabbits. If you want to finally know: 187 total (counting figurines and decorative plates but not the bathroom wallpaper).

I’m not making fun. You know I love this place. And am so, so grateful. For your generosity; also for your mom’s beach stockpile of frozen dinners, mystery novels, and lite beer. Been here barely twenty-four hours and already devoured a couple of each.

Spent most of today drinking and thinking about Q. Brought a cooler of beer down to the ocean—wanted to watch the waves and replay our relationship from the beginning. Wanted to pinpoint the moment I started lying to myself about him. Took me three beers to get through our first date.

Now I’m sitting on the balcony, late afternoon, hunched over the glow of this phone. Typing is exhausting. My finger muscles all out of shape. But writing is therapeutic. And your email was the brightest spot in my day.

To answer your question: The car is Q’s. I grabbed his keys and phone on my way out the door. Middle of a big fight. He was in the kitchen. Banging open drawers. I got out before he could find whatever it was he was looking for.

Don’t worry, I checked already, the phone is not set to track its location (Q’s paranoid about data). I’m sure he’s reported the car stolen, but it’s safe in the condo garage, and I’m safe here, for now, on my own two feet.

Am fully aware that I sound melodramatic. Forgive me and I’ll tell you everything sometime,

Over a Lean Cuisine,

Alice