Epilogue
Two years later
The apartment is empty. All our stuff is gone and it’s so clean, it’s gleaming, all traces of us left. Nothing to show for the years we’ve spent here.
And still, if I close my eyes, the memories from our time in this apartment wash over me like a wave.
Memories of a bowl of carefully melted chocolate toppled over in the kitchen, spilling everywhere, and neither Frankie nor I caring because we were too busy tearing off clothes and kissing. Of nights spent on the couch cuddling, of dinner parties and laughter and bickering over whose turn it is to do laundry.
Memories of those first difficult months after the infidelity and the hours and hours of talking that followed. Memories of me and Frankie holding hands, standing in front of each other in the den, telling
