Chapter 4

At eight o'clock Sunday morning, I sat in Rachel Moore's office and signed the divorce petition. She sealed the separation notice and the initial filing inside a white envelope with Ethan's name printed on the front. By nine thirty, my sister Audrey was parked in our driveway with three empty suitcases in her trunk. She didn't ask if I was sure. When I showed her the screenshots from the tablet, she simply picked up the heaviest box and asked which room to start with. I took only what belonged to me. My passport, birth certificate, tax records, and client contracts went into one folder, and the jewelry box my mother had left me went into my carry-on bag. In the bedroom, I packed my clothes and left my half of the closet bare. Ethan's suit from our anniversary dinner still lay across the armchair, waiting for me to take it to the dry cleaner on Monday morning as I always did. His leather portfolio sat beside it on the dresser, stuffed with unsigned client receipts he expected me to sort before his Monday meeting. I walked past both of them without touching either one. In the home office, I unplugged my work monitors and stopped my automatic monthly transfer into our household checking account. For seven years, my deposits had quietly covered the gap between Ethan's salary and our mortgage, property taxes, and utility bills. From now on, the account would run on what he put into it. Audrey was carrying my second suitcase downstairs when my phone chimed on the desk. It was a direct message from Lauren. [The guest room faces south, right? Ethan says I'll love the morning light.] A second message appeared before I could lock the screen. [The movers arrive at nine tomorrow morning. I hope you don't mind clearing out the guest-room closet before we get back tonight.] I stared at the screen. Then I opened our neighborhood portal on my phone and checked the pending requests for our address. A moving and guest registration had been submitted by Ethan ten days ago—more than a week before our anniversary dinner. Under Special Instructions, he had written: [Claire has agreed to clear the guest-room closet before Sunday night.] He hadn't only planned to take Lauren on our anniversary trip. He had already promised her a room in our house and volunteered my hands to prepare it. I screenshotted the registration and both of Lauren's messages for Rachel, then canceled the moving request under my co-owner account. "Is there anything of yours in the guest room?" Audrey asked from the landing. I looked at the closed door down the hall. "Nothing I need," I said. At ten forty-five, Audrey loaded the last suitcase into her trunk. I stood alone in the dining room for a moment and looked down at my left hand. The ring Ethan had bought me in college had stayed on my finger through late shifts, cold apartments, and ten years of marriage. It resisted slightly at my knuckle before sliding free. A pale mark remained on my skin where the metal had been. I placed the white legal envelope in the center of the dining table and set my wedding ring on top of it. Beside the ring, I left a single sheet of paper with one sentence: [You wanted to be free with her. Now you don't have to pretend.] I locked the front door behind me and got into Audrey's car. As we pulled onto the main road, I called the bank and deactivated Lauren's card on our household account. Shortly after eleven, a banking notification appeared on my screen showing that a charge on the canceled card had been declined at Harbor View Inn. Seconds later, my phone began to ring with Ethan's name. I let the call go to voicemail. A minute later, a text from him appeared on my screen. [Something went wrong with the card at checkout. We're heading back now. Make sure the guest room is ready before five.] I read the message once. Then I held down the side button, turned off my phone, and set it in my bag.