Someone Else Delivers My Packages Now

I was working past midnight when my husband, Logan, sent me a text. "Forgot to grab your package.

You’ll have to get it tomorrow." Almost simultaneously, an update popped up on my feed. His childhood best friend, Kylie, had posted a new photo on Instagram. "Free home delivery.

My personal courier." The photo showed a man wheeling a handcart stacked high with cardboard boxes. The shot was taken from behind, but I’d recognize those shoulders anywhere.

It was Logan. In the three years we’d been married, Logan always managed to forget my packages.

But whenever Kylie ordered something, he was there, ready to handdeliver it to her doorstep.

When she ordered an ergonomic office chair, he said she wasn't good with tools and went over to assemble it.

When she ordered groceries, he said she was too weak to carry them and personally stocked her fridge.

He even picked up her lingerie deliveries, claiming that personal items shouldn't pass through a stranger’s hands. Rain or shine, he never missed a delivery for her.

A mutual friend had commented on Kylie’s post: "You two are too much. Stop feeding us dog food!" I quietly doubletapped and liked the photo.

Within seconds, Logan’s name flashed on my screen. "Don't be mad," he said as soon as I picked up. "I had to go out of town on an unexpected business trip today.

I’ll grab your package as soon as I’m back tomorrow." I stared out the window at the endless grid of city lights, my voice barely a whisper. "Don't bother." This particular package was from my lawyer.

It contained the divorce papers.

From now on, he would never have to pick up a package for me again. … I stayed at the office a little longer, finally unlocking the front door of our apartment at 2:00 AM.

My phone lit up again—another automated, relentless text from the lobby's parcel locker reminding me to collect my delivery.

I looked at the dark, hollow living room, turned back around, and took the elevator back down to the lobby.

As I pulled the thin cardboard envelope from the metal locker, a profound sense of unreality washed over me. From eighteen to twentyeight.

Ten years of my life with Logan, ending in something so incredibly cheap.

As I walked back across the courtyard, a man smelling heavily of alcohol stumbled out of the shadows, blocking my path. "Hey, beautiful.

Why are you out so late all by yourself?" Before my brain could register the danger, he lunged, tackling me to the concrete.

The stench of cheap liquor and sweat filled my nose, snapping me out of my shock. I screamed, kicking and clawing with everything I had.

Every inch of skin he touched felt like it was burning, rotting away.

Thankfully, the night security guard heard the commotion and rushed over, pulling the drunk off me and calling the police.

Soon, I was sitting in the brightly lit precinct, waiting to give my statement. The drunk was still belligerent, shouting to the officers, "We’re dating!

It was just a little lovers' quarrel!" "I'm married," I said, my voice dead and cold. "I've never seen him before in my life." The man scoffed, gesturing wildly. "Well, your husband’s worse than me then!

Leaving you to wander around alone at this hour. You were practically asking for it!" "Shut your mouth," a young officer snapped, shoving him into a holding cell.

He turned back to me, his eyes softening with pity. "I remember you," the officer said quietly. "You were here last year for something similar.

Didn't your husband swear up and down back then that he’d never let you walk alone at night again?" The memory hit me like a physical blow, leaving a hollow ache where my chest used to be.

That time, too, Logan had dropped me off at the entrance of our neighborhood so he could rush off to deliver a package to Kylie. He told me to just walk the rest of the way.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. "He's... out of town on business." The officer sighed. "You should still call him.

Let him know." With numb fingers, I dialed the number I knew by heart. He answered almost immediately, but the background was loud, filled with the roar of a crowd and commentators.

A game. "Is everything okay?" His tone wasn't cold, but it lacked any real warmth. Before I could speak, Kylie’s voice cut through the noise. "Logan! Stop lingering!

The game's starting! Get over here!" My grip tightened on the phone. "I thought you said you were out of town on business.

Why is she there?" Logan’s voice muffled slightly, as if he had placed his hand over the receiver. "I was just dropping off her package before I left, but when she found out I was traveling, she begged to come along.

It's... her time of the month, and she's been in a really bad head space.

I didn't feel right leaving her alone in her apartment, so I brought her with me to get her mind off things." He paused, as if waiting for me to argue. "I got her her own room next door.

She’ll go back right after the game." He knew her cycle. He knew her mood.

I looked down at my torn collar, at the raw red scratches on my arms. "What about me?" There was a brief silence on the line. "What about you? Don't start, Gloria.

She’s careless and fragile; I've been looking out for her for twenty years. It's just second nature now. You're different.

You don't make me worry." "Are you coming back tomorrow?" "Yeah." "We need to talk about a divorce." "What?" The roar of the stadium drowned out my voice.

I didn't try to repeat myself. I didn't even feel angry. I was just tired. When he was with Kylie, he could never hear me, and he could never see that I needed him too.

I hung up first. The next afternoon, the front door unlocked.

Logan walked in, with Kylie trailing close behind. "Logan, you are the absolute worst!" Kylie kicked off her shoes, tossing them aside as she collapsed onto our sofa. "We promised we'd stay up for the whole game, and you fell asleep halfway through!

I had to drag your heavy ass to bed!" Logan picked up her shoes, placing them neatly in the entryway with an indulgent sigh. "You're one to talk.

Who was the little pig snoring so loudly she almost rolled off the bed? I had to reach over and pull you back." Kylie threw a sofa cushion at him, her eyes wide. "Liar!

One more word and I’m not helping you wheel my packages next time!" They bickered, entirely wrapped up in each other. As if this weren't my home, but their playground.

It took several minutes before Kylie seemed to remember I was sitting there. She let out a soft, awkward laugh. "Gloria, please don't get the wrong idea.

I lost my key card and I'm terrified of the dark, so I forced him to let me crash in his room.

We've known each other for twenty years—I have zero interest in him like that." I said nothing. Logan jumped in. "Honey, don't listen to her.

I must have owed her a massive debt in a past life, and now I'm stuck cleaning up her messes.

She wouldn't survive a day without me." He walked over and held out a beautifully wrapped gift bag. "She bought this mangoscented diffuser for you.

She said it's supposed to help with insomnia." "Thank you," I said, but I didn't reach for it. Logan frowned. "Aren't you going to look at it?

She spent forever picking it out." I looked up, my gaze completely flat. "I'm allergic to mangoes, Logan. I hate the smell." The room went dead silent.

Logan shifted on his feet, looking away guiltily. He quickly cleared his throat to change the subject. "So, why did you call last night?

Was there something you needed?" Kylie instantly piped up, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "What else could it be?

She missed you, obviously." "Go away," Logan muttered, though there was no heat in it. "We’re an old married couple.

We don’t do cheesy." I remembered a few weeks ago, when Logan had left his phone on the kitchen counter. A notification had popped up from Kylie.

Her contact name in his phone was "Chatty Little Peacock", and her messages were a constant stream of consciousness: "Logan, I'm bored." "Logan, I miss you." "Make sure you're thinking of me." My contact name in his phone was simply "Gloria".

Our text history was a dry ledger of logistics: "Working late? What time will you be home? I ate already." That was the day I had called the attorney to draw up the papers.

Now, I noticed a colorful, handwoven bracelet on Logan’s wrist. Kylie wore an identical one on hers.

We had been together for five years before marrying, and we had been married for another three. In all that time, he had never worn a single piece of matching jewelry with me.

He had taken his wedding band off the day after our ceremony, locking it away in our safe. "A grown man looks ridiculous wearing that kind of stuff," he had said.

Looking at the bright thread around his wrist now, my chest throbbed. "Last night, I was assaulted," I said. "I spent the night at the station giving a statement." The air in the room instantly froze.

Logan’s face went rigid. His voice cracked as he raised it. "Why didn't you tell me?!" Before I could answer, Kylie chimed in again. "And do what? You had drank so much, Logan.

It's not like you could have driven back. Gloria is always so independent and understanding.

I could never be that strong." Just like that, Logan’s attention drifted right back to her. "Oh, so you're proud of being codependent now?

If it were you, you would've been crying and begging me to rush home. You should learn a thing or two from Gloria." He didn't see the torn fabric of my collar.

He didn't ask if I was hurt. His world only had room for one person. A profound exhaustion settled deep into my bones.

The vows we took three years ago about being partners for life felt like a storm with a time delay.

My side of the world was drowning in the deluge, while his remained perfectly dry. I stood up, walked to the cabinet, and placed the envelope in front of him. "Take a look.

If it looks okay, sign it." Before Logan could reach for the papers, Kylie’s phone buzzed.

She glanced at it, then habitually looped her arm through Logan’s. "My new dress just arrived at the lockers! Come with me to grab it.

I want to wear it to the party tonight!" Logan looked at me, a brief flash of hesitation in his eyes.

Kylie’s lower lip trembled, her expression turning fragile. "Gloria just said she was assaulted. Now I’m terrified to go down there alone.

You know what happened to me when I was a kid... I still have trauma." Logan stiffened.

When he turned back to me, his tone carried an edge of blame. "You really shouldn't have gone down there. I told you I'd get your package today.

Why did you have to go in the middle of the night? If you had just waited, none of this would have happened." The memory of the drunk’s face flashed before my eyes.

I clenched my fists and let out a dry, hollow laugh. "Right.

My fault." Logan opened his mouth to say more, but Kylie tugged his arm, pulling him toward the door. "Come on, let's go.

We're going to be late." At the door, Logan knelt down to help Kylie slip into her heels. He was halfbent before her, looking exactly like a man proposing.

I turned and went upstairs to pack. There was a lot to go through, but so much of it was tainted by Logan’s presence that I left almost everything behind.

I only packed my everyday clothes and my documents. As for my job, I had submitted my resignation a month ago. Working late last night had just been to finish the handoff.

The transfer to our firm’s Los Angeles office had already been approved; they were just waiting for me to report for duty. As I placed the last dress into my suitcase, I paused.

Logan had bought this dress for me right after we got married. He said I looked beautiful in it. Back then, there was a light in his eyes when he looked at me.

I couldn't remember when that light had gone out. I didn't want to think about it anymore. My phone rang. It was Kylie.

Her voice was bubbling with excitement. "Gloria, get dressed and come down! Today is your anniversary, and Logan’s been planning this party for weeks.

You absolutely have to be here." I froze. In three years of marriage, he had never once celebrated our anniversary.

I used to care, but he always told me that marriage was about daily life, not showing off for others.

I didn't know what had changed, but since I was leaving anyway, I figured this could be our final goodbye. "Okay." I changed into a simple outfit and walked down.

Kylie was already sitting in the passenger seat of Logan's car. On the dashboard, there was a small customized sticker: "Little Princess's Seat".

As I opened the back door, Kylie gasped, slapping her forehead. "Oh my gosh, Gloria! Do you want to sit up front?

I'm just so used to sitting here, I swear I didn't mean to take your spot." "It's fine. Stay there." I got into the back.

Kylie immediately turned and playfully punched Logan's shoulder. "You lucky dog. You hit the jackpot marrying someone as sweet as Gloria.

You were just saying she’d be mad at me, but look at her—she doesn't mind at all." Logan caught my eye in the rearview mirror, then quickly looked away. "Just sit tight and behave." We navigated the streets in silence—or at least, my silence.

In the front, they talked and laughed the entire ride. I sat in the back, as quiet as a passenger in transit.

When we arrived at the lounge, the doors swung open, and a crowd of our friends shouted, "Happy Anniversary!" Confetti rained down on my face.

But the crowd was surrounding Logan and Kylie.

On the wall behind them, a banner read: "Celebrating 20 Years of Best Friendship!" Kylie looked at me, a sudden look of realization on her face. "Oh... Gloria, I'm so sorry.

I must have gotten the dates mixed up." She hadn't mixed anything up. I had.

I had gotten everything wrong for a very long time. "It's fine," I said, finding a quiet corner to sit down. Logan was surrounded by his friends.

Kylie mentioned she wanted some grapes, and he immediately began peeling them, laughing as he fed them to her. Our friends cheered and egged them on.

Nobody noticed me sitting in the shadows.

After a few rounds of drinks, someone started a game of Truth or Dare, thrusting a microphone in front of Logan. "Alright, Logan, truth time.

Have you and Kylie ever actually had feelings for each other?" Logan stayed silent, but a visibly tipsy Kylie leaned her head onto his shoulder, tears brimming in her eyes as she whispered, "Of course we did.

You jerk... How could you call another woman your wife? You promised you’d marry me when we grew up." The room fell dead silent. Every eye in the lounge slowly turned toward me.

I remembered what a mentor had told me when Logan and I first started dating: "Don't date a guy with a tightknit childhood crew.

You'll always be the outsider." But back then, I was already too deep. Logan was handsome, we shared the same values, and he seemed completely devoted to me.

I thought love could overcome anything. When we were dating, Kylie lived out of state and rarely visited. On the rare occasions she did, I viewed her as a younger sister.

It was only after we got married that her shadow truly fell over my life.

If she couldn't figure out her tracking numbers, Logan had her route her packages to our address so he could personally deliver them to her.

When she had cramps, he knew her cycle better than an alarm clock, bringing brown sugar tea and pain meds to her bedside.

When she had a presentation at work, he stayed up all night formatting her slides. But when I asked him to pick up a package for me, he always forgot, or said he was too busy.

Once, when I went back to visit my parents for a month, I ordered two boxes of fruit that ended up rotting in the parcel locker.

During that same month, Logan had delivered packages to Kylie seventeen times. "Have fun, everyone.

I'm going to head home." Leaving the stunned crowd behind, I walked out of the lounge. Logan ran out after me, panic written all over his face. "Gloria, wait! Don't misunderstand.

She’s just drunk and talking nonsense.

We’ve been friends for so long, if anything was going to happen, it would have happened years ago." I looked at him, my voice very quiet. "Can you drive me home?

I don't want to walk in the dark." He glanced back toward the lounge, his brow furrowing. "Can I call you an Uber? Or maybe the doorman can walk you to the door when you get there?

Kylie’s really drunk, and I don't feel safe leaving her alone." He raised his hand to hail a cab, opening the door for me. "Just this once," I said, looking at him. "Can you please just take me home?" We were standing inches apart, yet he felt miles away.

A flicker of impatience crossed his face. "Stop making a scene, Gloria. It's not the first time you've gone home by yourself." He turned and walked back inside. He didn't look back.

I got into the cab and gave the driver my address. The city lights blurred past the window, a visual tracker of the ten years I had wasted.

When I got home, I dragged my suitcase to the door and looked around the apartment we had shared for three years.

Our wedding portrait hung on the wall, but on the coffee table, Kylie’s sunglasses and lipstick sat neatly in a tray. Ten years, and I had never managed to fit into his world.

I slipped my wedding band off my finger and placed it directly on top of the divorce papers. The door clicked shut behind me. The cab was still waiting downstairs.

I climbed in, turned my phone to airplane mode, and gave the driver our final destination: the airport.