Chapter 4

The next evening, I prepared a whole range of dishes for dinner.

Gunther paused as he came through the door. "Why did you suddenly cook?"

"I wanted to have dinner with you," I said.

He looked at me, then pulled out a chair and sat down, something he rarely did. I served him a bowl of tomato beef stew. He took a spoonful, and his brow relaxed a little.

I studied his face, then suddenly asked, "Gunther, if someone calls you tonight, can you not go?"

He paused with his spoon still in his hand, his expression hard to read. "I'm not going anywhere tonight."

Something in my chest loosened a little.

Then, his phone rang, and Chloe's name appeared on the screen. He glanced at it but did not answer. It rang a second time, then a third.

Finally, he picked up and asked, "What is it?"

A sobbing voice came through the phone. Within ten seconds, Gunther's expression went from calm to tense. "Stay where you are. I'll be right there."

His chair screeched across the floor. "She's having an allergic reaction. She can't get a cab."

I stared at him. "You just promised me."

His hand with the coat stopped, then impatience flashed in his eyes. "She's alone and in danger. You're safe at home. It's different."

"Gunther!" I almost cried out.

"Nicole, stop being unreasonable," Gunther said as the door closed.

The stew on the table was still steaming. I stayed in my chair without moving.

An hour later, he sent a message: [I'm at the emergency room. I'll be back soon.]

Another hour passed.

Another message came: [The doctor wants to keep her under observation. I'll stay with her a little longer.]

At one in the morning, another message arrived: [It's getting late. I'll just get a room nearby. I'll be back tomorrow.]

I stared at that last message, then put my phone facedown on the table. I stood up, walked into the bedroom, and opened the closet. My clothes occupied only the left third.

Two cardigans that were not mine hung on the right. The last time Chloe had said she was cold, Gunther had told her to take them from our home.

A strawberry lip balm sat beside my toothbrush on the bathroom counter.

On the second shelf of the bookcase, my books had been pushed into the far corner. In their place sat a pink planner and a stack of polaroid photos.

I looked through them one by one. Every photo had been taken by Chloe in this house.

The living room, the kitchen, the balcony, the bedroom's bay window. The earliest photo was dated the day after I left on my last business trip. I put them back where I had found them.

I felt no anger. There was only the peace of knowing a decision had been made. I went to the vanity and took off the wedding ring I had worn for three years.

I laid it on the polaroid photos with the divorce agreement I had signed some time ago. Then I took a piece of paper and wrote:

[Gunther, I've stepped outside your boundaries, just as you wanted. I've signed the agreement. I hope you find your freedom.]

I pulled out my suitcase and looked back one last time.

The warm yellow light, a spacious living room, the elegant furniture.

After three years, nothing here held any of the warmth I had brought to it. I closed the door and pushed the key back through the gap beneath it. It struck the floor with a clear echo.

We owed each other nothing.

A cab was waiting downstairs.

"Eastport International Airport, please," I said to the driver as I changed my booking to the earliest flight.

Four hours later, the plane was washed in the first light of dawn as it accelerated and lifted off, climbing into the clouds.

I looked at the faint mark my ring had left around my finger. I had never felt so calm. The boundary that had stood in my way for three years finally dissolved in the wind.

I was free.