What happens after they leave.

After he left, striding out huffily and incredulously without so much as a backwards glance, I paced the hallways of the apartment-turned-office that wasn't mine. I opened doors forbidden to me, peered into cabinets full of files and architectural renderings. I ran shaky hands across the surfaces of desks, over keyboards in the darkened offices that lined the converted compound where bedrooms, a kitchen, and memories should have been.