Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Regina straightened at once, and her face settled into the calm, tired expression of someone cleaning up after a long day. Mike came in carrying two suitcases, saw his wife standing among the broken pieces, and something in him finally gave way. He set the bags down, walked over, and pulled her into his arms.
“I’m sorry, Reg,” he said. “For all of it. We’re leaving tonight. And nobody is ever going to treat you like this again.”
“I know,” she said.
She rested a hand on the back of his head and looked over his shoulder at Eleanor. It was a brief, level glance that ended a very long chapter.
At the front door, with Mike beside her, Regina turned one last time. Eleanor stood in the dim hallway in a wrinkled sweater, clutching the envelope and staring at them with the hollow look of someone who finally understood she had dug her own hole. Regina gave her the smallest nod—calm, polite, final.
Then the door closed, and Eleanor was left alone with the wet rug, the broken china, and the silence she had made for herself.
