“My clients are here.”
“I have eleven weddings booked through June.”
“Poppy’s school is here.”
“Her friends.”
“Her piano teacher.”
“My sister.”
“Your mother.”
“Our whole life is here.”
“And you picked a street for us.”
“You picked a school for our daughter.”
“You picked a kitchen I’ll cook in.”
“Without me.”
“I was trying to save us.”
“No.”
“You were trying to save yourself from saying it out loud.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
“I’m not moving,” I said.
His face went white.
“Laur—”
“I’m not saying never.”
“I’m saying you don’t get to carry me somewhere like a suitcase.”
“I get to walk.”
“Or I don’t go.”
I picked up the offer letter.
I folded it back up.
I held it out to him.
He didn’t take it.
“Guest room,” I said.
“Tonight.”
“I’m not punishing you.”
“I just can’t lie next to someone I don’t know.”
He took the letter.
At the doorway, he stopped.
“There’s more,” he said.
My hand tightened on the chair.
“How much more?”
“I don’t know how to tell you the rest.”
“Try.”
He looked at me.
For a second, I thought he would.
Then he looked up at the ceiling.
At Poppy’s room.
“Not tonight,” he said.
“Please.”
“Just not tonight.”
He went down the hall.
I heard the guest room door close.
I sat at the table with seven months of clean scrubs.
And I realized I’d forgotten to ask the one question that mattered most.
Where was he on Poppy’s birthday?
He was gone when I woke up.
The badge was gone from the hook.
The scrubs were still on the table.
So he’d left in street clothes.
To the hospital.
Or somewhere else.
I didn’t know anymore.
I got Poppy to school.
I canceled a cake tasting.
I sat at my laptop with a cup of coffee going cold.
I don’t know what made me check.
Maybe the word more.
There’s more.
I logged into our bank.
Checking looked normal.
Savings looked normal.
His paychecks had been hitting like clockwork.
Severance, I realized.
Six months of it.
