Chapter 4

I walked for a long time before I finally stopped.

My phone had buzzed several times, but I didn't look at it. The suitcase was heavy, and my arms ached. I looked up and noticed a small motel on the side of the road.

It wasn't much, but there was a "Vacancy" sign hanging in the window.

I dragged my suitcase inside.

"Need a room?" The woman behind the front desk looked about forty. She glanced up at me once.

"How much?"

"Twenty five dollars a night with a window. Twenty without."

"I'll take the twenty. Three nights." I pulled out a hundred dollars from my pocket.

She took the cash and handed me a key. "Second floor, first door on your left."

The room was small. There was a bed, a dresser, and a window that faced the hallway. The sheets were white but had started to yellow. I set my suitcase down and sat on the edge of the bed.

It was quiet here. There was no TV blaring through the walls, no kids crying, and no one calling out "Mom."

I sat there for a while, staring at nothing, and then I took out my phone.

I got six missed calls. Three from Emily, two from Michael, and one from a number I didn't recognize. There were over forty text messages.

Emily: [Mom, where are you? Can you please text me back? Dad says you probably didn't go far and told me not to bother looking. Mom, please. Just come home.]

Michael: [Mom, where'd you go? Dad's cooled off. You can come back now. Mom, don't make us worry like this.]

David: [You're really something, you know that? I'm telling you right now, if you're not back in three days, I'm changing the locks. Don't say I didn't warn you.]

I didn't reply to any of them.

I put the phone aside and lay down.

There was a water stain on the ceiling, shaped like a cloud.

I stared at that cloud, and the tears just came.

I wasn't sobbing. They just fell, quiet and steady, rolling down my cheeks one after another.

After a while, my phone rang again. It was Emily.

I hesitated for a moment, then picked up.

"Mom!" Her voice was sharp and frantic. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Where are you? I'll come get you."

"Don't."

"Mom! What do you even want right now? Do you have any idea how worried I am? Dad's throwing things around the house, and Michael's a wreck."

"You don't need to worry about me."

"How can we not worry? You're out there alone with barely any money on you..."

"Emily," I cut in. "I'm fifty years old, not five."

The line went quiet for a few seconds.

"But Mom, you've never lived on your own before."

"Then maybe it's time I learned."

She took a deep breath. "Mom, are you mad at Dad? You know how he is. He runs his mouth. Just let him come home and apologize, and we can put this whole thing behind us. Okay?"

"He won't apologize."

"I'll make him!"

"Don't bother."

"Then what do you want?" Her voice cracked. "Are you seriously gonna divorce him?"

"Yes."

"Mom!" She was panicking now. "What are you gonna do? Where are you gonna live? How are you gonna support yourself? You don't even have retirement savings!"

"I'll figure it out."

"Figure what out? You're fifty!"

"Emily," I said quietly. "You asked if I'm mad at your father. I'm not mad. I'm done."

She went silent.

I said, "Those are two very different things."

She didn't say anything, but I could hear her crying on the other end.

"Emily, when you were little, you spiked a fever one night. I carried you on my back and ran three blocks to the hospital. Your father was working late."

"Mom—"

"The first time you got your period, you didn't know what was happening and cried all night. I was the one who sat with you."

"Yeah."

"On your wedding day, I looked your husband in the eye and told him if he ever hurt my girl, he'd answer to me."

"Mom, please stop."

"I'm not telling you this so you'll feel grateful," I said, pausing for a moment. "What I'm trying to say is that my whole life, I've done everything for you, for your brother, for your father, and for this family. But I never once did anything for myself."

Emily remained silent.

I said, "Now I want to do something for me, just this once. Will you support me?"

On the other end of the line, Emily broke into tears. "Mom. I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared you won't be okay."

"Even if it's rough, it's still better than staying." I took a breath. "Do you trust me?"

She didn't answer.

"All right, enough of that. I found a place to stay and I'm safe. Tell your brother for me. Don't worry."

"Mom, wait—"

I hung up.

My phone buzzed again. It was a text from Michael: [Mom, can you please call back? Emily's crying.]

I typed back: [I'm fine. Take care of your wife and kid. And stop pushing random buttons on the washing machine. Read the manual.]

I sent it and put my phone on silent.

I lay there for a while until my stomach started growling. That was when I realized I hadn't eaten all day.

I went downstairs. There was a small diner next to the motel, so I walked in and ordered a plate of spaghetti.

It came out steaming hot.

I picked up my fork, took a bite, and it was too salty.

But I didn't want to say anything.

Back home, every time a dish came out too salty, David would go on about it forever. Now it was just me. If it was salty, it was salty. Nobody was going to complain.

And somehow, a little extra salt didn't seem so bad.