But because she finally seemed embarrassed by what she had participated in.
“I shouldn’t have used your stuff,” she said.
“No.”
“I shouldn’t have let Mom move your things.”
“No.”
“I thought Ethan had asked you.”
I looked at him.
“So did Diane.”
Ethan’s shoulders folded inward.
Megan took a breath.
“I’ll leave today.”
Diane spun around.
“You will not.”
“I will.”
“Where are you going?”
“Nicole’s.”
“I forbid it.”
Megan stared at her mother.
Then laughed once.
A strange, shaky sound.
“You forbid it?”
Diane seemed to hear herself.
Megan shook her head.
“That’s exactly the problem.”
She walked toward the stairs.
Diane called after her.
“Megan!”
Her daughter didn’t stop.
A bedroom door closed upstairs.
Diane turned back to us.
Her authority had begun collapsing.
And she knew it.
People like Diane rarely fear anger.
They fear losing the audience that makes their control possible.
First Megan had stepped away.
Then Ethan would have to choose.
And for the first time since I walked through my own front door, I understood something clearly.
I did not need Ethan to choose me.
I only needed him to finally choose for himself.
By 6:30, the locksmith had changed the code on the detached garage door and documented every key currently issued.
Marcus insisted we handle everything by the book.
“No locking anyone out unlawfully,” he reminded me.
“I know.”
“No touching their property.”
“I know.”
“No dramatic bonfire of the rooster.”
I looked at the wooden rooster in the foyer.
“That one hurts.”
For the first time all morning, I smiled.
Marcus smiled back.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Better answer.”
We stood on the porch while the sky turned gray over the neighborhood.
September morning.
Cool air.
A few sprinklers ticking across lawns.
A newspaper delivery truck rolled past.
Everything outside looked completely normal.
Inside, my marriage was collapsing.
Marcus looked toward the house.
“You want me to stay?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
The civil officer had already left.
The locksmith packed his tools.
Marcus handed me a thick envelope.
“Copies of everything.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to make any permanent decisions today.”
“I know.”
He studied me.
“You’ve been making decisions for other people your entire career.”
I looked at him.
“Make this one for yourself.”
Then he left.
I stood on the porch long after his car disappeared.
At 6:47, I walked back inside.
The house smelled like coffee.
Ethan sat at the kitchen table.
Diane had gone upstairs.
Megan was packing.
I poured myself a cup.
Ethan watched me.
“Are you divorcing me?”
No greeting.
No preamble.
I set the mug down.
“I don’t know.”
His face tightened.
“You called a lawyer.”
“For the house.”
“Marcus handles family law too.”
I looked at him.
“You remember him.”
“I remember he never liked me.”
“Marcus barely knew you.”
“He knew enough.”
I took a drink.
The coffee was too strong.
Exactly the way I liked it.
“You want the truth?”
Ethan asked.
“That would be new.”
He winced.
I regretted the cruelty immediately.
Not enough to take it back.
But enough to notice.
He stared at his hands.
“When your deployment orders came, I was angry.”
I said nothing.
“I knew I wasn’t supposed to be.”
“Why weren’t you supposed to be?”
“Because this is your job.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t hate deployment.”
