4

I pulled out my chair and sat down.

"I wouldn't know."

"I'd say it's a done deal."

Maggie leaned in.

"Lucas has never taken anyone away on his own before. This one looks serious."

I turned on my computer. The glare of the screen stung my eyes.

Priya came over too, phone in hand, Sophie's Instagram already open.

"Look, Sophie posted again."

I glanced.

The new photo was taken in the departures hall at Gatwick. A cup of coffee, and a man's overcoat draped around her shoulders.

The caption was a single airplane emoji.

I knew that coat.

Last year for Lucas's birthday, I saved for two months to buy it for him. Cashmere.

Priya made a clicking sound with her tongue. "Isn't that Lucas's coat? He wore it to the office last week — I asked him where he got it."

Maggie gave me a long, meaningful look.

"Like I said. Done deal."

At lunch, my phone buzzed again.

Lucas sent a video: the view from a hotel terrace, white houses stacked down the cliff in tiers, and below them the whole Aegean, blue enough to shine.

"The room has a private pool, right on the edge of the cliff. We'll come together next time."

I didn't reply.

Another message: "Thought about what you want yet?"

I deleted our entire chat history.

After work I walked alone to the Canary Wharf tube station.

Lucas called.

I didn't pick up.

He called twice. I didn't pick up either time.

A few minutes later, a message.

"I bought you a necklace. I'll show you when I'm back."

Still nothing.

On the third day, Sophie posted again.

This time a video of the sunset in Oia.

In the last two seconds, the camera turned and caught Lucas in profile.

He was looking at something off-camera, a smile at the corner of his mouth, the sea wind messing up his hair.

The caption: "Sunsets are so gentle. All the world is romance."

The comments exploded again.

"When did this happen, why did nobody tell me!"

"I knew there was something at the Christmas party last year!"

"Make it official! Make it official!"

Sophie replied underneath with a hands-over-face laughing emoji — neither confirming nor denying.

I closed Instagram and opened Rightmove and started looking for flats.

That evening Lucas called once more. I still didn't pick up.

He sent a very long message.

"Ellie, I know you're angry. But I really can't ignore Sophie's father. The promotion review is one step from done, and I can't afford a single mistake at this point. Wait for me to get back and I'll do whatever you say. We'll go public, all right? First day back I'll go to HR and fill in the form, then post a photo of us on Instagram so everyone knows. Whatever you want, I'll agree to it."

"Also — she had a bit to drink today and said some things to me. I think she might have feelings for me, but I didn't take it anywhere. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

He knows what he's doing.

If he knew what he was doing, he wouldn't let her post one suggestive thing after another and never explain a word to anyone.

He wouldn't leave the truth unsaid while she was making her feelings plain.

He was just enjoying it.

Friday afternoon, Lucas's flight landed at Gatwick.

He messaged: "I'm back. Dinner tonight."

I didn't reply.

That day I left work an hour early and went back to the flat we'd shared for a year and a half. The lease was in his name, and over the past few days after work I'd already moved most of my things out.

I packed the last batch into my suitcase.

I left the keys on the cabinet by the door, with a note under them.

"We're done. Don't come looking for me."

Then I wheeled the case out, called an Uber downstairs, and went to the small flat I'd rented in Greenwich.

I put down my bags, stood in the empty room, and took one deep breath.

Lucas called at ten that night.

His voice was urgent.

"Eleanor, what is this supposed to mean?"

"The note's clear enough."

"Have you lost your mind? You're breaking up with me because I went to Greece?"