Six weeks after my shoulder surgery, I still couldn’t lift my arm above my waist. I couldn’t wash my own hair. My fiancé, Tyler, helped for the first two weeks, then started sighing every time I asked for anything.
One Friday, he told me he and his best friend, Jess, were going to a hotel downtown “to decompress” for the weekend. “You’re so good about all this,” he said, kissing my forehead. “I’m glad you’re not being dramatic.”
I wasn’t being dramatic. I was in a sling.
My sister drove over that night to help me shower. While she was there, Tyler’s tablet lit up on the counter. It was synced to his phone. The message from Jess said: “Room 412. Tell her it’s a work thing next time, she’s starting to wonder.”
My sister called a locksmith the next morning. The apartment lease was in my name. I paid the rent. I had the locks changed by noon and boxed up his things with one good arm and a lot of help.
When Tyler came back Sunday night, his key didn’t work. He called me forty times. I didn’t answer. I left the boxes with the building manager.
Three months later, there was a knock on my door. Tyler was standing in the hallway holding a manila folder.
I thought he had come to apologize. Instead, he opened the folder and handed me a form.
“Jess and I are applying for an apartment,” he said. “The landlord needs a reference from my last landlord. Technically, that’s you. Could you just say I was a good tenant? You don’t have to mention anything else.”
I stared at him. I genuinely thought it was a joke.
“You left me in a sling to go to a hotel with her,” I said. “And you want me to write you a reference so you can move in with her?”
“It’s just a form,” he said. “You’re not still upset, are you? That’s kind of dramatic.”
There was that word again.
I took the form. I filled it out right there at the door, standing up, with my left hand. I answered every question honestly. Was the rent paid on time? “Rent was paid by me.” Did the tenant leave the property in good condition? “Tenant left during my surgery recovery. Locks were changed.” Would you rent to this person again? “No.”
I handed it back to him.
He read it in the hallway, and his face went red. “You’re unbelievable,” he said.
“I’m accurate,” I said, and closed the door.
My shoulder healed in the spring. I can lift my arm over my head now. The first thing I did when I could was repaint the bedroom, a bright yellow color Tyler always said was “too much.”
I heard through a friend that he and Jess didn’t get the apartment. I didn’t feel happy about it. I just felt finished.
