Chapter 4

The next morning, Grant left for his mandatory twenty-four-hour shift.

"I'm sorry about last night," he said at the door. "Let me make it up to you when I get off tomorrow."

I looked at the badge on his chest.

"Have a safe shift, Grant."

The moment his truck disappeared down the street, I went upstairs.

I packed my passport, birth certificate, studio deed, tax files, prenatal records, and medication. I packed my running clothes, my mother's jewelry, and the photographs from the furnished waterfront apartment in Portland.

I packed without rushing.

The more of my life I removed from the room, the less it looked like a home I had lost.

It looked like a place I had finally stopped waiting in.

Everything Grant had bought me stayed where it was.

The diamond bracelet. The emerald earrings. The designer coat still hanging in its garment bag.

By noon, Camille Ross, the family-law attorney I had retained that morning, had filed the emergency motions and arranged for all future contact to go through her office.

I transferred my personal earnings into a separate account, called my studio manager, and told her I would be away for a while.

Then I opened the offer I had left unanswered for two months. A women's recovery center in Portland wanted me to lead its prenatal training program for a three-month trial. The position came with a furnished short-term apartment and a start date the following Monday.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I wrote back.

I accept.

At the back of the closet, beneath the cashmere sweaters, the small wooden keepsake box was still there.

I had hidden it there because I wanted to watch Grant open it.

Now the thought of putting it in his hands made my stomach turn.

I left it where it was and closed the closet door.

The driver arrived at four.

I carried my suitcases downstairs, took one last look through the quiet house, and walked out without leaving a note.

At 5:45, as the car turned onto the main road, I saw Grant's red pickup coming toward the house.

A navy travel envelope lay across the passenger seat. Through its clear sleeve, I could see two tickets for the coastal trip he had promised would make up for our anniversary.

I looked away before he reached the driveway.

Grant's POV

Grant came home carrying the travel envelope and calling my name.

Silence met him.

He searched the kitchen, then the bedroom. By the time he reached the walk-in closet, he had stopped calling.

My side was stripped bare. My everyday clothes, running shoes, coaching uniforms, and work laptop were gone.

At the back of the highest shelf, wedged behind a folded blanket, his hand closed around the small wooden box.

He stared at it for one long second, his thumb resting on the small brass clasp.