My Boyfriend Gave Me An Ultimatum Until He Forgot Whose Name Was On The Lease

Sunday mornings in my apartment were supposed to sound like the hiss of my espresso machine, low jazz from the kitchen speaker, and the distant hum of Chicago waking up twenty-eight floors below. That morning, the sound was hard-shell luggage slamming against marble.

The first suitcase hit so hard it rattled the entry table. By the time the third and continue reading …