Page 158 of If Ever

"Calm down, you're acting irrational."

I stare at the doorknob for unwelcome movement. "Anna, I need to go."

"No, don't."

"I'll call you later." I hang up the phone with a new mission. Tom hasn't come home or called. For all I know he's hopped in bed with Barbie, and now I realize there's a strong possibility that she'll saunter back through that door to reclaim her territory. Well, I'm not going to stay where I'm not wanted, and I'm not going through the humiliation of Tom asking me to leave.

I step around the broken glass to the bedroom and pull my suitcases out of the closet. First I scoop all the clothes out of my two dresser drawers and drop them in. At the closet, I send hangers careening to the floor as I yank my clothes off. I toss in my shoes and then spot the pile of jeans on the shelf and grab them, too. My heart is pumping double time with adrenaline as I dump it all in, shoving socks into the shoes and boots as fast as I can. Now that I know I'm leaving, I want out of here as fast as I can.

I glance outside at the fading daylight. There's no snow, which is good. I don't even know how cold it is. That's when I realize I don't know where I'm going. Hell, where am I going? I really don't want to go to a hotel. Who do I know that would let me crash on their couch? The only people I know are Tom's friends. I scan through my phone and see my past texts. Yes! I know exactly who to call.

When I have that settled, I grab my shoulder bag and go through the bathroom, sweeping in my cosmetics. I knock over Tom's aftershave and carefully put it back in place, my heart lurching at the thought of never seeing him again. I open the medicine cabinet looking past his various throat remedies for anything of mine. I toss in a bottle of nail polish and some hairspray.

Back in the bedroom, I put the bag on the bed next to the suitcases. I check the time on my phone. It's almost five o'clock and still no word. A sense of resolve washes over me. I'm not overreacting. He's sending me a message with his act of silence.

I order an Uber. It will be here in five minutes. Perfect. I toss my phone into my open purse then zip up both suitcases. As I pull the over-packed bag off the bed, it knocks my purse over and half the contents scatter on the floor. Shit.

Kneeling down, I pick up up the runaway items, tossing them haphazardly into the bag, guesstimating how long it will take me to finish and get downstairs. When everything is picked up, I carry it and the suitcases to the front door.

With a quick look around, I realize I left the papers from my father’s lawyer on the couch. I grab them and shove them down the side of my purse. One final glance and there’s no sign I was ever here. I was just a guest and nothing more. My heart growing heavy, I slip on my coat. It was a wonderful ride, but as I've learned countless times in life, nothing lasts forever.

My eyes water as I set his key on the entryway table. I pull my bags into the hall and close the door.

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