There was no dramatic revelation. Just a clean, cold understanding.
This marriage was over.
“So,” I said to Mike, “you really believe your mother knows better than we do how to run our life?”
“Of course I do,” Susan answered for him, biting into an éclair. “Family comes first. Always.”
I nodded once. “Good. That’s clear.”
Then I turned and walked to the bedroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Emily called after me. “That’s rude.”
I didn’t answer.
I went into the bedroom, shut the door, pulled my largest suitcase from the closet, and laid it open on the bed.
From there, everything became simple.
Documents into one folder. Laptop and charger into my work bag. Underwear, work clothes, jeans, shoes, toiletries, jewelry box—packed quickly and neatly.
At the same time, I made a list in my head.
First: take the envelope with my half of the rent.
Second: book a room at a good hotel. My company had a discount at a Hilton Garden Inn nearby.
Third: remove Mike’s access from every shared account and move my savings to my personal account.
Forty minutes later I was ready.
I changed into jeans and sneakers, threw on a trench coat, and rolled my suitcase into the hallway.
