Silence again. I heard a door open on the floor above. A neighbor stepped out.
“What’s with all the racket?” a deep voice boomed. It was Mr. Henderson, a retired Colonel from 4B.
“My wife’s having a breakdown,” Mark started, his voice shaking.
“Your wife?” the Colonel growled. “I heard you promising to break her face, son. And I saw your mother earlier—she was moving just fine until she saw your car. You two should move along before I call the precinct myself. My grandkids are trying to sleep.”
That was the breaking point. Mark couldn’t handle the public shame. He lived for appearances.
“You’re going to regret this, Sarah,” he hissed through the keyhole, his voice low now. “You’ll be alone. Who’s going to want you at thirty-four? You’ll come crawling back.”
“Take your bags, Mark. And don’t leave your trash in the hallway,” I replied, stepping away from the door.
I heard the rustle of plastic, the groan of the elevator, and Eleanor’s muffled voice: “You coward. You couldn’t even handle her!” Mark snapped back at her as the elevator doors closed. Then, it was quiet.
I turned off the recording. My legs felt like jelly, and I sank into the chair, hugging Jasper. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a violent shiver. I looked around the entryway. The coat rack was empty. No Mark’s jacket, no gym bag, no umbrella. It was empty. But it wasn’t the scary kind of empty. It was the emptiness of a clean slate. A space that finally belonged only to me. No one to tell me my books were “clutter.” No one to bring their mother over to rearrange my life. No one to lie to my face while draining our savings.
