Chapter 2
"Put Vanessa in the guest room," I said.
Ethan stayed between us, one hand resting on the box he had carried out of our bedroom.
Behind him, water dripped from the hem of my robe onto the hallway rug.
"The room is too small."
"It has a queen-size bed."
"She needs a private bathroom."
"She hasn't been sleeping since the divorce."
Vanessa lowered her eyes, but she did not loosen her grip on the robe.
"I told him I could sleep anywhere."
"But Ethan said you wouldn't mind."
I looked at my husband.
He had not asked what I would mind.
He had only made sure I would not be present when the decision was carried out.
"You believed he could speak for me?"
"I believed Ethan knew his wife."
Her answer was soft.
Reasonable.
She shifted closer to him as she spoke, leaving me to object from the other side of the hallway.
Ethan touched her arm.
"You don't have to explain yourself."
Then he turned to me, his expression already impatient.
"Vanessa is very fragile right now."
"You're stronger than she is."
He waited as if that should settle the matter.
The open box beside him held my winter clothes.
A sleeve had caught beneath the cardboard flap, crushed under the weight of everything placed on top of it.
"So the stronger person is the one you move out?"
"That isn't what I said."
"You moved my belongings without telling me."
"Because I knew you would react like this."
He raised his voice on the last word.
Vanessa flinched, and Ethan immediately looked back at her.
The concern on his face appeared so quickly that it seemed practiced.
Vanessa drew the robe tighter.
"I should let you two talk."
She went into the master bedroom and closed the door.
Ethan watched until she was gone.
When he faced me again, he lowered his voice.
"I'm not asking you to do this forever."
"Just get through tonight."
"You're asking me to accept a decision you already made."
"We've moved everything."
"Changing it now will only upset her."
He picked up the box and carried it into the guest room, ending the discussion by continuing the work.
I followed him.
Five more boxes stood beside the bed.
My shoes were piled underneath the desk, and my framed photographs had been wrapped in old towels.
Nothing appeared damaged.
That almost made it worse.
My removal had been careful.
Ethan left to put away the groceries.
I did not unpack.
Instead, I checked the boxes to make sure my work files were still there.
Beside the bed, underneath a roll of packing tape, I found a clipboard bearing the name of a local moving company.
A yellow form was clipped behind the invoice.
ROOM ASSIGNMENTS.
Master Bedroom -- Vanessa Hale.
Guest Bedroom -- Claire Morgan.
Garage -- Drafting table and remaining office items.
I stopped at the final line.
My walnut drafting table belonged in the sunroom.
My mother had bought it when I entered design school, and Ethan knew moisture could ruin the wood.
The approval box carried Ethan's signature, dated eight days earlier--the day before my trip.
Beneath it, the mover had recorded an emailed copy to Vanessa that same day.
Her initials appeared in a separate field acknowledging receipt when the crew arrived.
I checked the email address.
It was the one she had used to send us holiday photographs years ago.
For a week, I had called Ethan from hotel rooms and asked what was happening at home.
He had told me about a delayed shipment and the broken dishwasher.
I photographed the whole sheet, including the dates.
Approved by: Ethan Morgan.
Copy sent to: Vanessa Hale.
There was no copy addressed to me.