I nearly laughed.
“I don’t feel well,” I said, turning away.
He sighed like I had inconvenienced him.
“I’ll be gone ten days,” he muttered. “Try to miss me.”
“I will,” I whispered.
And in the dark, I smiled.
Part 2
Trevor’s alarm went off at four in the morning.
I had not slept.
He showered, shaved, dressed in his expensive travel clothes, and hummed while making coffee. He was practically glowing.
Of course he was.
My husband thought he was flying to paradise with his ex-girlfriend while his clueless wife stayed home folding laundry.
He came into the kitchen with his suitcase and pulled me into a hug.
“I’m going to miss you,” he said.
The cologne on his neck was the new one. The one he had bought after Vanessa came back into his life.
“Have a safe flight,” I said.
“I’ll text when I land.”
We both knew he would not.
He kissed Bailey’s forehead before leaving. For one second, his face softened, and I saw the father he could have been if he had ever loved anyone more than himself.
Then he rolled his suitcase to the car and drove away.
I watched his taillights disappear.
Then I locked the door.
And got to work.
Relle arrived at seven with coffee, boxes, and the kind of energy only a furious best friend can bring.
“He’s gone?” she asked.
“He’s gone.”
“Then let’s move your life.”
When Bailey woke up, I made pancakes.
“Special breakfast,” I told her.
She climbed onto the stool, suspicious. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, baby. Never.”
I sat beside her and took her small hand.
“We’re going on an adventure today.”
Her eyes widened. “Like vacation?”
“Kind of. We’re moving to Charleston. Near Aunt Simone.”
Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“What about Dad?”
My throat tightened.
“Your dad and I are having grown-up problems. We’re going to live separately for a while.”
“Is it because of me?”
The pain in her voice nearly broke me.
I pulled her into my arms.
“No. Never. You are the best thing in my life. This is not your fault.”
She was quiet for a long time.
“Can I bring my stuffed animals?”
I laughed through tears.
“Every single one.”
The movers came at nine.
I took my grandmother’s dining table, the bookshelves I had bought before Trevor, Bailey’s bedroom furniture, my mother’s quilt, our documents, my sketches, our clothes, and the kitchenware I actually used.
I left Trevor the giant leather couch he loved, the massive television he watched while ignoring us, and the bed where he had slept beside me while texting another woman.
On the kitchen counter, propped against his coffee maker, I left the divorce papers.
No screaming.
No note.
No explanation.
He had earned none.
By noon, the house looked hollow.
Bailey walked through each room saying goodbye. She touched the wall by the pantry where we had marked her height every year. She stood in her bedroom doorway for a long time.
“Change is scary,” I told her softly.
She looked at me. “Are you scared?”
