Chapter 2: The Day He Left

The day Walter left, he packed two worn leather suitcases and set them beside the front door as casually as if he were leaving for a weekend conference instead of ending half a century of marriage.

I sat at the kitchen table with my chipped blue teacup warming my hands.

I remember the sound of the spoon against porcelain.

Small.

Ridiculous.

Normal.

Then Walter placed the bank card beside my cup.

“There’s two thousand dollars in there, Sylvie,” he said.

I stared at it.

“For what?”

“Emergencies.”

I laughed, but there was no humor left in me.

“Fifty years together and I get emergency money?”

His jaw tightened.

“Don’t make this ugly.”

I looked past him to the driveway, where Marcy’s red car waited beneath the maple tree.

Marcy, the woman from book club Walter had suddenly found so fascinating.

“No, Walter,” I said quietly. “You already made it ugly.”

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