In the kitchen they were still talking about curtain colors for Emily’s condo. The sound of my suitcase wheels on the floor cut through the conversation immediately.
Mike came into the hallway first. The smile fell off his face when he saw me.
“Diana… what is this? Are you going on a work trip?”
“No,” I said calmly. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving where?” he asked, blinking.
Susan lumbered out behind him. “It’s late. Where exactly do you think you’re going with a suitcase?” she demanded. “And who’s going to wash these dishes?”
I looked at her until even she stopped talking.
“You brought a bag of rotten apples into my home and somehow thought I’d be grateful enough to finance your daughter’s mortgage,” I said. “You all miscalculated.”
Mike’s face turned red. “Who do you think is going to want you with that attitude?” he snapped. “You’ll be back. You’ll see.”
I gave him a thin smile. “Not to worry. I’m sure I won’t be missed by the people trying to spend my paycheck.”
Then I added, “One more thing. The lease is in your name. Tomorrow at ten, the landlord will be here for the rent. He expects cash. I wish you the best of luck explaining all this to him.”
I opened the apartment door.
Behind me, Emily suddenly found her voice. “Wait—if you leave, who’s going to help pay my mortgage?”
I didn’t turn around.
“Ask your mother,” I said. “She’s the one with all the answers.”
Then I walked out and let the door close behind me.
The taxi ride into the city was quiet and smelled like leather instead of rotting fruit. My phone kept buzzing in my purse—Mike, then Susan, then Mike again.
I blocked them all.
Then I opened my banking app, removed Mike’s access to our shared account, and transferred my savings into my personal one. I left $13.50 behind in the joint account. Enough, I figured, for a one-way subway ride if he decided to come looking for me.
Oddly enough, I didn’t feel heartbroken. I felt lighter than I had in years.
At the hotel, the lobby was quiet, the air smelled faintly of sandalwood, and the woman at the front desk smiled professionally.
“Good evening,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“I’d like a room for one,” I said. “And breakfast in the morning, please.”
The next morning did not begin with coffee for Mike.
It began with pounding at the front door.
