Chapter 4

Darlene's POV

I ate breakfast alone and sat in the living room, waiting.

At noon, I sent Bernard a message.

"Are you still coming back for lunch?"

He left me on read.

At 2:00 pm, I called him.

It rang four times before he picked up, but something was off about the sound on his end. There was noise in the background.

"Hold on." His voice came through, followed by the muffled sound of a hand covering the receiver.

I heard him say to someone else, "Stop crying first. I'll help you look over the contract. A landlord can't unilaterally break the lease like this."

Then, he said into the phone, "Hello? What is it?"

I didn't say anything right away.

"Hello?" he asked again, impatience creeping in.

"It's nothing. I'm just checking up on you," I said.

"I'm a bit busy right now. We'll talk tonight when I get back."

With that, he hung up abruptly.

I placed my phone face down on the coffee table.

He was helping Tammy deal with her landlord breaking the lease.

It was our fifth wedding anniversary, and he spent it helping another woman negotiate a contract with her landlord.

I sat there for about three minutes.

Then, I stood up and unlocked my phone to cancel the 2:30 pm reservation.

After locking my screen, I walked into the study and pulled the two copies of the divorce agreement out from the bottommost folder.

I signed my name on the dotted line of both copies, with that day's date—our fifth wedding anniversary.

I placed one copy in the center of the dining table and weighed it down with the black fountain pen he always used. Taking the other copy, I folded and tucked it into my bag.

I had already packed my suitcase long ago and kept it hidden behind the couch.

I wheeled it out and slipped on my nude high heels at the entryway.

After that, I stood there for a moment.

The living room was quiet. Sunlight sliced through the gaps in the blinds, falling in strips across the floor and onto the empty mug on the coffee table.

That was the mug Bernard used every morning for his coffee.

For five years, I had washed that mug and set it back in its usual spot every morning. But starting tomorrow, I wouldn't have to do that anymore.

I pulled the door open.

The wheels of the suitcase rolled over the threshold with a low, heavy thud.

The elevator descended. I stared at the floor numbers ticking down.

My phone buzzed.

It was a scheduled message Bernard had set at midnight.

"Honey, happy anniversary! Marrying you was the best decision I ever made in this life."

I stared at those words for a long time.

He had scheduled this message, then fallen peacefully asleep at midnight.

Yet, on this day, he had spent our anniversary at a company meeting and helping another woman negotiate with her landlord, brushing me off with "I'm a bit busy right now."

This message was nothing more than a gesture to ease his own conscience.

The elevator reached the first floor, and the sensor lights in the lobby flickered on with a hum.

I wheeled my suitcase through the glass doors and stepped into the wind.

…

Third-Person POV

At 10:30 pm, Bernard swiped his access card and walked through the door. In his hand was the takeout bag from the private dining restaurant he and Darlene went to on their first date.

He had gone to pick up takeout, ready to make up for his absence today with a meal that was eight hours late.

"Darlene?" he called out from the entryway, but there was no response.

The bedroom light was off, and so was the study's.

The whole apartment was eerily quiet.

He walked into the living room and turned on the light.

The first things that caught his eye were the keys, the access card, and the rose gold ring on the shoe cabinet.

He stood there for two seconds. The takeout bag slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a dull thud.

He strode quickly to the dining table. The divorce agreement lay right in the center, weighed down beneath his black fountain pen.