Chương 2
By the last six months, he sometimes stood in the doorway without entering.
He said the smell of antiseptic made him nauseous.
The smell never bothered him when he asked whether Arthur had mentioned changing the will.
I had defended Curtis anyway.
That memory hurt more than his words.
I had explained him to his own father.
He was scared.
He was overwhelmed.
He loved deeply but showed it badly.
Arthur had once watched me make those excuses and said, “You work harder on that boy’s character than he does.”
At the time, I told him not to be cruel.
Now I looked at Curtis and wished I had listened.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Move out.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
He gave a small shrug.
“That’s not really my responsibility anymore.”
The landscaping crew started a blower outside, and the windows trembled faintly.
For ten years, this house had been my home.
I knew which burner on the stove ran hotter than the others.
I knew the upstairs toilet needed the handle jiggled in winter.
I knew Arthur liked the porch light left on even when nobody was expected because his mother had done the same thing when he was a boy.
Now my husband was looking at me as though I were a tenant whose lease had expired.
“You planned this before the funeral.”
Curtis’s face hardened.
“Don’t make it ugly.”
“You packed my clothes while I was choosing the inscription for your father’s grave.”
“I said don’t make it ugly.”
“Was I supposed to make it convenient?”
He set his champagne on the entry table with more force than necessary.
“You want the truth?”
I said nothing.
“You’ve been unhappy for years.”
My mouth opened.
He continued before I could speak.
“This marriage has been dead.”
“To you.”
“To both of us.”
“No.”
“You slept in the guest room half the time.”
“Because your father needed help at night.”
“You barely went anywhere.”
“Because your father couldn’t be left alone.”
“You stopped taking care of yourself.”
The sentence landed differently.
I looked down before I could stop myself.
My black funeral dress was wrinkled from hours in the car.
I had tied my hair back with an elastic from the kitchen junk drawer.
There were shadows beneath my eyes that no amount of drugstore concealer had hidden in years.
Curtis saw me looking and pressed the advantage.
“You became consumed by all of it.”
“By your dying father?”
“By being needed.”
I slapped him.
The sound was sharper than I expected.
We both froze.
His cheek reddened beneath the mark of my hand.
I had never hit anyone in my adult life.
My palm burned.
For one terrible second, shame swallowed everything else.
Then Curtis laughed.
Not loudly.
He touched his cheek and nodded as if I had just provided evidence in a case he had been building.
“There she is.”
“Don’t.”
“This is why I wanted security here.”
I turned toward the front windows.
A black SUV sat near the curb.
A man in a gray jacket stood beside it, pretending to study his phone.
My stomach dropped.
“You hired security?”
“I didn’t know how you’d react.”
“You knew exactly how I’d react.”
“Apparently not.”
“I spent three years cleaning vomit off your father’s sheets while you were playing golf, Curtis.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why?”
“Because the neighbors don’t need a show.”
That almost made me laugh again.
He could discard me, but embarrassment remained sacred.
Curtis went to the console table and picked up a white envelope.
“I’m not trying to leave you stranded.”
He held it out.
I did not take it.
“What is that?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
I looked from the envelope to his face.
“For what?”
“Call it a transition payment.”
“A transition payment.”
“Yes.”
“After ten years.”
“Vanessa, don’t be dramatic.”
“After three years caring for your father.”
“You keep bringing that up like I forced you.”
I stared at the envelope.
Then I looked at him.
“Is this what you think my care was worth?”
His silence answered before his mouth did.
“It’s generous.”
Something inside me went still.
I had expected betrayal to feel explosive.
Instead, clarity arrived quietly.
I finally saw the accounting he had been doing all along.
My marriage was an expense.
My loyalty was labor.
Arthur’s illness had been a temporary inconvenience.
Grief was merely the waiting period before wealth.
I took the envelope.
Curtis relaxed.
Then I opened it, removed the check, tore it once down the middle, then again, and placed the pieces on the table beside his champagne.
His expression changed.
“Very mature.”
“I learned from you.”
“Fine.”
He reached for his phone.
“I’m calling Derek in.”
“Don’t bother.”
I zipped the suitcase as best I could.
The sneaker kept catching, so I pulled it free and shoved it under my arm.
I left the leaking shampoo where it was.
At the door, I stopped.
For one weak second, I wanted him to call my name.
Not because I planned to stay.
Because some humiliating part of me still wanted proof that ten years had existed for both of us.
Curtis only picked up his champagne.
I walked outside.
The security guard stepped away from the SUV.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m leaving.”
He looked uncomfortable.
He was younger than I expected, maybe thirty, with tired eyes and a wedding ring.
“I can help with the bags.”
“I’ve got them.”
One wheel on the larger suitcase jammed halfway down the walkway.
I dragged it anyway.
The landscapers lowered their machines as I passed.
One of them looked at the scattered clothes visible through the broken zipper, then quickly looked away.
My car sat in the driveway where I had left it that morning, a seven-year-old Honda with a coffee stain on the passenger seat and an empty gas light glowing on the dashboard.
Curtis had once complained that it embarrassed him when clients saw it.
May you like
I loaded my life into the trunk.
The larger suitcase would not fit.
