Chapter 9
Anna slowly got to her feet.
She walked over to the closet, struggling a bit as she pulled the door open with her left hand.
From the very back, she pulled out her usual carry-on suitcase.
She opened the suitcase and laid it flat on the floor.
Then, she started packing.
Using her left hand, she pulled clothes out of the closet one by one, folded them, and placed them in the suitcase.
She moved slowly. Her right hand was too injured to help.
But she felt strangely calm.
So calm that even she found it unfamiliar, almost like she was watching someone else.
It was as if she were just going through the motions of some everyday routine.
She packed her pajamas, her everyday coat, a few changes of underwear and bras, some skincare things, and toiletries.
She only packed half the suitcase.
It was enough to last her for a while at the company dorm.
She closed the lid and zipped it up.
She stood and took in the bedroom she had called home for the past two years.
Their wedding photo still hung on the wall, both of them grinning, eyes full of happiness.
On the nightstand was a photo of her and Michael, taken at the beach at sunset, the two of them pressed close together.
On the desk sat a few succulents she had cared for, along with a small handmade wooden keepsake Michael had given her.
Everything looked just as it always had.
But somehow, nothing felt the same.
She walked over to the desk, opened the drawer, and took out a small notebook and a pen.
She flipped through the notebook. It was full of random work ideas and to-do lists she had jotted down over the years.
She stopped at a blank page and paused.
Then, using her left hand, she wrote a few lines, the handwriting slanted and messy.
"Michael, I am going to stay at the company dorm for a while. Let us both take some time to think. I will come back when your mom leaves."
No greeting, no date, just a few blunt lines.
She tore out the page, folded it in half, placed it on the nightstand, and pinned one corner down with the wooden keepsake.
Then, she pulled up the suitcase handle.
The wheels rattled across the floor, a low clatter.
She pulled open the bedroom door and stepped out.
The living room was so quiet it felt wrong.
The only sounds were Margaret's stifled sobs and the restless thump of Michael's footsteps as he paced.
When Anna wheeled her suitcase out, both of them stopped.
Margaret's sobs cut off. Tears still streaked her cheeks. Her eyes went wide, fixed on the suitcase in Anna's hand and then flicked to her right hand, wrapped in a wet towel. She opened her mouth and said nothing.
Michael froze. The color drained from his face.
"Anna... what are you doing?" His voice came out hoarse. He hurried toward her, reaching for her hand, but she turned aside, stepping out of reach.
"I am going to stay at the company dorm for a few days," Anna said. Her tone was flat. She did not look at him.
"The company dorm? Why would you go there?" Michael moved in front of her, blocking her way. "Your hand. You need a doctor. Let me take you."
"No," Anna said. She shook her head and stepped around him, heading for the door with her suitcase. "I will take care of it myself."
Her calmness hit Michael like a bucket of ice water.
He had never seen her like this.
She was not angry. She was not crying. She did not even look upset.
All that was left was a dead stillness, like stagnant water.
That stillness unnerved him more than any outburst ever could.
"Anna, wait!" Michael hurried after her and caught the handle of her suitcase.
"Please. Do not do this. My mom... She did not mean for any of this to happen. What matters right now is your hand. Let me take you to the hospital first. We can figure out everything else later."
"Michael, just let her go!" Margaret called out from behind, her voice hoarse and thick with tears, but she was still trying to sound tough.
"I see how it is now. I am just the outsider in this family! I am leaving! I will pack up and head back home right now! I will not be a burden to you anymore!"
As she spoke, she made a show of turning toward the guest room.
"Mom, stop making things worse!" Michael snapped, spinning around and raising his voice, the veins on his forehead bulging.
Caught between his wife and his mother, he felt his frustration boiling over.
Margaret was stunned by his outburst. Her eyes reddened further, and she pressed a hand to her chest, her voice shaking as she wailed.
"Making things worse? I worked my fingers to the bone to raise you, put you through school, and now you are shouting at me because of her? What did I ever do to deserve this..."
Michael's head was buzzing. He wished the floor would open and swallow him whole.
He turned back to Anna, desperation written across his face.
"Anna, please. Do not make this any harder, okay? My mom is just old. Her thinking is old-fashioned, but she does not mean any harm. She is my mom. Can you just let it go, for my sake? Please?
"Let us get your hand looked at first. We can figure everything else out later. Alright?"
Anna finally turned around and looked at him.
Her eyes were cold and distant, as if he were someone she barely knew.
"I am not making anything harder," Anna said, her voice still flat.
"I am just tired. I just want to find somewhere quiet and sleep. As for my hand, I burned it because I was not paying attention. It has nothing to do with anyone else. I will take care of it myself. You do not need to worry."
With that, Anna pulled the suitcase handle firmly out of Michael's grasp.
The wheels rumbled across the floor, the sound low and steady.
She walked to the doorway and bent to change her shoes.
Her right hand throbbed so badly she had to fumble with her left, easing her shoes on little by little.
Michael watched her back, anxiety twisting tighter with every step she took.
He could not shake the feeling that if Anna walked out that door, something between them would be lost for good.
"Anna!" he called out again, his voice cracking before he could stop it.
Anna did not look back.
She finished putting on her shoes, straightened up, and reached for the lock with her left hand.
"Anna!" Michael rushed forward, trying to stop her.
The door clicked shut in front of him.