Chapter 4 - Forty Miles Out
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At one o'clock in the afternoon, I followed the moving van down the highway toward the self-storage depot.
The storage facility was an expansive, gated complex of corrugated metal buildings surrounded by chain-link fencing and razor wire.
I paid for a ten-by-ten climate-controlled storage unit using a disposable debit card.
I authorized one single month of rent.
I declined the automatic renewal option and checked the box indicating that the unit should be vacated or auctioned after thirty days of non-payment.
The movers stacked Nathan’s twenty boxes, his golf bag, his gaming rig, and his weights neatly against the back wall of unit 412.
I handed both men a twenty-dollar cash tip, signed their electronic delivery manifest, and pulled down the metal rolling door.
The latch clicked shut with a hollow, metallic clatter.
I slid a heavy brass padlock through the hasp, snapped it shut, and slipped the small brass key into a padded manila envelope.
Inside the envelope, I also placed the storage facility’s gate code, the rental agreement, and the unit number.
I sealed the envelope, drove to the nearest branch of the United States Postal Service, and mailed it directly to Nathan Doyle at his dental office downtown.
I sent it via certified mail, requiring an adult signature upon delivery on Monday morning.
By the time I returned home, it was three in the afternoon.
A local mattress company arrived twenty minutes later to haul away the king-sized mattress Nathan and I had shared for over a year.
I had ordered a brand-new hybrid memory foam mattress online two days prior, timing its delivery for this exact window.
The delivery men carried the pristine, wrapped mattress upstairs and centered it on my reclaimed-wood bed frame.
I dressed the bed in crisp, three-hundred-thread-count white Egyptian cotton sheets that I had purchased that morning.
I walked into the home office and sat down at my desktop computer.
I logged into our shared home Wi-Fi router settings and permanently removed Nathan’s phone, laptop, and tablet from the network whitelist.
I changed the network password to a string of random characters.
Next, I opened every streaming platform account under my name.
I logged out of all active sessions, removed his profile avatar, and updated the login credentials.
I removed him as an authorized user from my Costco membership, my grocery reward accounts, and my rideshare profile.
At five-fifteen, my phone buzzed on the kitchen island.
The screen illuminated with a text message from Nathan.
“Just got settled at the cabin,” the message read.
“Reception up here in the woods is terrible, babe.”
“The team is going over clinic goals by the fire, so I probably won't have service until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Love you, don't stay up too late stressing over work.”
I looked at the text message for several quiet seconds.
He was probably sitting on a plush leather sofa with a glass of pinot noir, smiling at Evelyn while he crafted his pathetic lie.
He thought he was being smooth.
He thought he was managing a gullible, docile girlfriend who would spend her weekend pining for his return.
I tapped the screen and typed a four-word response: “Enjoy your weekend, Nathan.”
I hit send and placed the phone face down on the granite counter.
The first phase of the operation was officially complete.
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Nathan believed he was on an all-expenses-paid weekend of forbidden passion.
He had no idea that he was already completely homeless.
