Chapter 4

At 9:06 Monday night, Graham did not come home.

There was no call and no explanation.

On the family calendar, his schedule still read: Helping Leah with the school situation.

At 9:07, I called the landlord whose number June had given me.

I viewed the apartment the following afternoon.

It was two blocks from the control center, with one bedroom and old but clean furniture. The window overlooked a parking lot, and the kitchen barely had room for one person to turn around.

When the landlord placed the three-month lease in front of me, I checked the deposit and rent one more time.

After I signed, there wasn’t much left in my personal savings.

I didn’t feel relieved. That money could have replaced my car, repaired the roof, or paid for another trip the following year.

Instead, it bought me three months of nights when I wouldn’t have to wait for Graham to come home.

I returned to the house where I had lived for twelve years and took out two suitcases.

My work laptop, training materials, everyday clothes, and personal documents went into the first. I packed shoes and toiletries in the second, along with the blue-rimmed ceramic bowl my mother had left me.

The bowl wasn’t valuable. It was simply the only thing in the kitchen that had belonged to me before the marriage.

I didn’t touch the furniture. I didn’t smash our framed photographs or take anything that belonged to Graham.

After emptying half the closet, I pushed his shirts back into place and closed the door.

The road atlas wasn’t in the house.

He still had it.

Once the last box was in my car, I emailed my supervisor and officially accepted the twelve-week night training rotation.

A few minutes later, she replied.

Report Wednesday.

Then I opened the Holt family group chat.

I wrote:

Graham is attempting to restart a relationship with Celeste. The separation he described to the family was never discussed with or agreed to by me. I have moved out and am stepping back from this marriage.

As of today, I will no longer organize family dinners, transportation, or Walter’s retirement lunch. The information I prepared is in the shared folder. Please contact Graham directly.

I read the message twice before sending it.

Then I removed the words I’m sorry.

No one responded.

I deleted my name from the guest confirmation list and seating plan. Then I emailed the restaurant and changed the on-site contact to Graham.

The restaurant replied, asking me to confirm the change.

Yes, I wrote.

Ten minutes later, the typing indicator appeared in the family chat.

First it was Graham’s aunt. Then his cousin.

Neither of them sent anything.

Walter was the first person to respond.

He didn’t ask why Graham had taken his ex-wife on our anniversary trip.

He didn’t ask where I would be sleeping that night.

He asked one question.

Then who’s handling everything next Saturday?

I stared at the message until my screen went dark.

I didn’t answer.