In Another Life by E. E. Montgomery

Chapter 1
    â€œI can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.”
    I stopped stirring the white sauce and watched the bubbles rise and burst. After a long, silent moment, I let go of the wooden spoon and reached over to turn off the gas under the pan. It was too late. I could already smell scorched milk. Slowly, because my balance had disappeared, I turned to look at Mike. He looked the same as ever — dark curls like little horns on his forehead, violet-blue eyes rimmed with long black lashes, clear fresh-cream skin. For one stolen moment, I told myself he was talking about something simple like finishing the small rock garden we started planning last Christmas.
    His smile was gone.
    I opened my mouth to ask…I wasn’t sure what. Probably something inane like ‘What can’t you do? ’ I looked behind him and noticed two suitcases standing like toast soldiers next to the door.
    â€œI have that conference in New York.”
    I brought my gaze back to him but the sentence still didn’t make sense with what was going through my head. I blinked, knew it was too slow, knew I was too slow, too tired, too overworked, too…everything, to understand what was going on. Yet I knew what he was going to say next.
    â€œYou forgot that too, didn’t you?” Mike said, a mix of hurt and cynicism flickering over his features before they once again settled into blank stoicism. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, the little horns sitting upright for several seconds before sinking back to his forehead. “In another life, this might have worked. We’d always be together, you and me.”
    The words had weight, like they were supposed to mean something to me. I thought we were working. I thought we would always be together. I thought…
    â€œIt’s just long hours for a little while, Mike. You know that. You’re doing the same thing. In a few years, our careers will be settled and we’ll have time for all the things we want to do.” He knew that. We’d talked about it before I took the new job. We didn’t need to discuss it again when he was offered his promotion. I took an unsteady step toward him, my feet as foggy as my head seemed to be. “It’s your job isn’t it?” His skin reddened. “What have you done?”
    â€œDon’t use that tone with me, Eli. You knew what this promotion meant to me. Still means to me. You knew there would be…changes.”
    â€œWhat changes? What haven’t you told me about?”
    He stood tall and lifted his chin defiantly; “They’re transferring me to L.A., effective after the New York conference.”
    All the air huffed out of me and I staggered, my hand only landing on the kitchen counter by chance and preventing me from falling. You didn’t tell me. You didn’t want to talk this over and decide how we’d make it work . “You’re leaving me?”
    He got angry. “Like you’ll even notice. You’ve been so focused on your new job. This is the first time you’ve been home early enough to cook dinner in weeks. Most days you come in, shower, then work for a couple more hours before falling into bed and sleeping like you’ll never wake up.” He sounded so accusatory — like it was my fault he was leaving me.
    â€œThis is because I haven’t been cooking dinner?”
    â€œNo, this is because you don’t care about anything but yourself and your stupid job.”
    â€œ My job? What about your job? Aren’t you leaving me because of that?”
    â€œI’m leaving you because I don’t want to live with you anymore!”
    Silence descended. Looking at him made my throat tight and my eyes sting but Icouldn’t get out of the kitchen. He stood squarely in the doorway to the living room. I spun away from him, unable to witness his self-righteous anger.
    â€œLook. I’ll be back in a week to go through my