shirts, jeans, socks, underwear. If Eleanor wanted a war, fine. He’d leave. Rent an apartment or stay with Julie for a while and figure it out from there.
But when the bag was nearly packed, Mark stopped. Leave? Go where—to Julie’s? She had no idea he was nearly broke.
She thought he was a man with money, a man with options. What would happen when she found out the truth? Julie liked nice restaurants, gifts, trips. He had promised her the Maldives. Promised her a different life.
How was he supposed to pay for any of that now that Eleanor had taken the savings? On his salary of $4,800 a month, he could get by—rent a decent place, eat, keep the car running. But the Maldives? Not a chance.
Mark slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding a rolled-up T-shirt. He had boxed himself in with his own choices. If he hadn’t pulled that stunt with the card, if he hadn’t made that speech about being in charge, maybe Eleanor wouldn’t have made her move.
Maybe they could have had a real conversation. Maybe they could have worked something out. But it was too late now. The bridges were burned. His phone buzzed with a text.
Mark looked at the screen. A message from the bank: “Dear customer, your account has been closed at the owner’s request. All funds were transferred per instruction. Please contact your local branch with any questions.” Mark read it three times.
The account was closed. She had shut it down completely. No going back. This was final. He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Where was she now? What was she doing? Feeling triumphant? Or sitting somewhere thinking about how to live the rest of her life? Maybe she had mentally ended the marriage long ago and had simply been waiting for the right moment to cut the cord.
Mark closed his eyes. His head pounded with exhaustion, anger, and helplessness. He wanted to yell, hit something, break something. Instead he just lay there with his fists clenched, feeling the tension burn through him.
Somewhere deep down, in a place he didn’t want to examine too closely, a small thought stirred. Maybe this was his fault. Maybe he had pushed things to this point with his resentment, his pride, his inability to accept that his wife had done better than he had.
But he shoved the thought away almost immediately. No. This wasn’t on him. Eleanor had acted like a boss, like a supervisor. She had made him feel small.
He got up and splashed cold water on his face. He needed to do something. Not lie there feeling sorry for himself. But what?
Mark picked up his phone and called Julie. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. “Are you home? Can I come by?”
