Chapter 4

By the time I got home, I was no longer deciding whether to leave Harrison.

I was deciding what still belonged to me.

I pulled my suitcase from the closet and packed quickly.

Clothes.

My passport.

My laptop.

My personal documents.

The jewelry that had always been mine.

I left behind the anniversary watch, the cashmere coat, the bracelet, and every expensive gift I had once mistaken for proof that I mattered.

I only wanted what had belonged to me before Harrison and what I needed to build a life after him.

In the bathroom, I reached for my prenatal vitamins.

The ultrasound photograph lay beside them.

I stopped.

Seven weeks.

Yesterday morning, I had imagined placing that picture in Harrison’s hands and telling him before anyone else that we were finally having a baby.

Instead, he was going to find out after I was gone.

He still did not know.

For a moment, my fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.

Then I picked up the ultrasound and carried it downstairs.

I printed the clearest photograph from that morning.

Harrison holding his son.

Sabrina beside him.

His hand supported the baby’s head while she stood close beside him.

They looked like a family.

I placed the photograph on the kitchen counter.

After my message the night before, Claire had already begun preparing the divorce papers.

I called her.

“I’m ready.”

An hour later, Claire arrived with the initial filing papers.

I placed them beside the photograph.

Then I removed my wedding ring.

Eight years.

I had worn it through anniversaries, arguments, failed fertility treatments, apologies, and every ordinary morning when I believed Harrison was still choosing our marriage.

I set it on top of the divorce papers.

Finally, I placed the ultrasound beside them.

The photograph of his son.

The divorce papers.

My wedding ring.

Our baby.

For a few seconds, I stood in the kitchen and listened to the silence of the house.

Nothing looked different.

The coffee mug Harrison had used that morning was still beside the sink.

His jacket still hung by the door.

If I stayed another hour, I could almost pretend this was still my home.

But it wasn’t.

My phone vibrated.

Harrison.

Finished earlier than expected. I’m heading home.

Another message appeared.

Want me to pick up lunch?

I looked around the kitchen one last time.

He still thought he was coming home to his wife.

I picked up my suitcase.

My phone vibrated again.

Rosie?

I opened the front door.

Then I typed:

Check the kitchen counter.

I pressed send.

Then I picked up my suitcase and walked out.