“What does that mean?”
“I think you should stay somewhere else.”
I stared.
“For tonight?”
“A month.”
That brought us back to the opening.
A month.
My share of rent.
Hotel costs.
My belongings still there.
His “mental clarity” purchased with my inconvenience.
I drove straight to Ava’s house.
She opened the door wearing pajama pants printed with tiny tacos.
“Did somebody die?”
“No.”
“Do I need shoes?”
“What?”
“You have the face that means I may need shoes.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then cried.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that Ava opened the door wider.
We sat at her kitchen table.
I told her everything.
The shopping.
The rent.
The fights.
The month-long hotel request.
Ava listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she said, “Stay here tonight.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Sabrina.”
“What?”
“You once drove three hours because I called you crying over a dog.”
“Milo was sick.”
“Milo had gas.”
“We didn’t know that.”
“You can use the spare room.”
I looked down.
“I need to go to the leasing office tomorrow.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Good.”
She reached across the table.
“Find out what your options actually are before you decide.”
That sounded like me.
The next morning, I arrived at the apartment management office at 8:43.
The lobby smelled like copier paper, stale cinnamon rolls, and the industrial lemon cleaner property managers apparently buy by the barrel.
Patricia, the property manager, sat behind the desk sorting envelopes.
She recognized me.
“Morning, Sabrina.”
“Hi.”
“You need a package?”
“No.”
I sat.
“I need to talk about the lease.”
Her face changed slightly.
Not alarmed.
Experienced.
“What’s going on?”
“I may need to move out.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not asking Daniel to move.”
“Okay.”
“I need to know whether there’s any way I can be released from my obligation before the lease ends.”
Patricia opened our file.
“You’re both jointly responsible right now.”
“I know.”
“Our standard early-release option requires management approval, an administrative fee, and a review of the remaining tenant’s ability to continue or add an approved co-tenant.”
“How much is the fee?”
She checked.
“Your portion would be eighteen hundred if management approves the release.”
Two months of my half of the rent.
I thought about the hotel Daniel wanted me to pay for.
“What happens to Daniel?”
“He would be notified. He could apply to carry the unit himself, add a qualified co-tenant, or use the lease’s full termination option if he prefers.”
“So I can request this?”
“Yes.”
“Does he get to force me to stay?”
Patricia looked at me.
“No one can force you to live there. Financial responsibility under the lease is the part we have to process correctly.”
That distinction mattered.
I nodded.
“I want to request it.”
She slid a form toward me.
“Take your time. Read everything.”
I did.
Every line.
The release was not revenge.
It was not a trick.
Management could approve removing me from future lease responsibility after payment of the fee, provided the account was current and the remaining tenancy was handled according to their policy.
I paid $1,800.
It hurt.
Freedom can still have an invoice.
Patricia gave me a copy.
“We’ll process this and formally notify both of you.”
“How long?”
“Usually within forty-eight hours.”
I folded the paper and put it in my purse.
On the walk back to my car, I realized I was breathing differently.
Deeper.
I called Ava.
“Can you borrow your brother’s truck?”
She did not ask why.
“Say no more.”
That afternoon, Daniel had a client meeting expected to run late.
I texted him.
I’m picking up my personal belongings today. I won’t remove anything we bought jointly. Management will contact you regarding the lease.
He called immediately.
I did not answer.
Ava arrived with the truck at four.
“Operation Peace?”