Given my moral high ground and Ethan's lofty Capital Sage status, the public naturally turned on the unknown Mia.
Unsurprisingly, Ethan called.
"Gia, got a sec?"
"Nope, busy reading about your sister being called a homewrecker."
I was annoyed at the interruption.
I heard Ethan's deep breath.
I could picture him furiously working those prayer beads.
"Gia, you know it's not like that between Mia and me."
"Oh? News to me."
He was barely containing his anger.
"I need you to clear this up. Set the record straight for Mia."
"And if I don't? You'll keep 'borrowing' my stuff for her?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Gia. They're just bags. I'll buy you more later."
"It's not the same, Ethan."
And neither were we, anymore.
I hung up, my appetite for online drama gone.
Some things, the more you mull them over, the angrier you get. The more you let slide, the more you lose.
Why should I hand over what I bought with my own money?
Ethan raced to the downtown apartment after a barrage of missed calls and frantic texts from Mia. He was too late—the movers and I had already packed everything up.
We'd tossed all the personal stuff: toothbrushes, towels, bedding.