2. What was left behind

Lena's POV

The door closes behind me and the sound is louder than it should be. It was just a door. Wood and hinges. But it feels final in a way that makes my knees give out.

I don’t even make it to the bed.

I drop right there on the floor hands sliding down the door, my forehead pressing into the wood like maybe if I stay still long enough this will all b a nightmare. I pray that the last ten minutes didn’t happen and I pray I didn’t just watch my husband look at me like he hated me.

I sob so hard I can’t breathe.

It’s ugly crying very loud the kind that comes from deep in your chest and burns your throat. My body folds in on itself and I don’t try to stop it. I can’t. My hands claw at the carpet and my face presses into my knees and I keep shaking my head like that might fix something.

Why? Why would he do that? What did I do?

My mind keeps replaying his words, over and over, like a broken record.

Cheater.

Gold digger.

Poor orphan.

That one hurts the most.

I choke on a sound that might be a laugh or might be a scream I don’t even know anymore. Poor orphan. As if that’s all I have ever been to him, as if all those years meant nothing and as if his parents didn’t pull me out of that place and give me a home. As if he didn’t hold my hand when I was scared. As if he didn’t promise me forever.

My heart ached so bad I think I might pass out.

I press my hand to my stomach without thinking and that makes it worse. So much worse. I curl tighter, protectively, like my body knows something my heart doesn’t want to face yet.

I was going to tell him tonight. I was going to tell him what he wanted to hear for the past year. What he prayed for.

The thought makes a fresh wave of pain crash through me and I cry even harder, if that’s even possible. I keep whispering his name under my breath like it might summon the man I knew instead of the one who stood in the hallway and destroyed me.

“Ethan… Ethan… please…”

No one  answers.

I don’t know how long I stay there. Time feels weird. Too fast and too slow all at once. My throat burns. My eyes sting and my head pounds.

Eventually, my body just stops.

Not because it feels better because it can’t keep going like that.

I sit there on the floor, arms wrapped around myself, breathing in short, shaky breaths. My face feels swollen and my hands are trembling.

I wipe my nose on my sleeve because I don’t care anymore. What just happened. How does a life end in one evening.

I push myself up slowly, using the door to stand. My legs feel weak, like they might give out again. I look around the room and it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. The bed. The dresser. The photos on the wall of us smiling, happy, stupidly in love.

I walk to the mirror and barely recognize myself.

My makeup is ruined my eyes red, mascara smudged and my lips are pale. I look small and broken. Like someone I don’t want to be.

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No.”

I straighten my shoulders, even though they ache. I don’t know where the strength comes from, but it’s there, thin and shaky but real.

If he’s done with me, then I’m done begging.

I turn to the closet and pull it open.

Packing feels unreal, as if I’m acting in someone else’s nightmare. My hands move without thinking. I don’t grab the dresses Ethan bought me. I don’t touch the jewelry. I skip past everything that feels like his.

I only take what his parents gave me.

The clothes Caroline bought when I was still awkward and learning how to exist in a real home. The sweater John handed me that first winter, telling me I’d catch a cold if I didn’t wear it. Jeans, shirts. Simple things.

Things that feel like mine.

I shove them into a suitcase, not folding anything and not caring. Shoes go in next. A jacket. My toiletries. My toothbrush. My hairbrush with the cracked handle.

I pause when I see the photo on the nightstand.

Our wedding day.

I stare at it for a long time.

We look so young. So sure. His arm wrapped around my waist like I belonged there. Like I always would.

My chest tightens and I turn the photo face down.

I slip the ring off my finger slowly. It feels heavier than it should. I hold it in my palm for a second, my thumb brushing over the smooth metal. “I didn’t break us,” I whisper to it. I set it down on the nightstand, right where he’ll see it.

Then I zip the suitcase shut.

The sound is loud in the quiet room.

Final.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and take one last look around. This room was supposed to be forever. It feels like a lie now.

When I step back into the hallway, the house is silent. Too silent.

I expect to hear his voice or Ryan’s laugh. Something. Anything.

Nothing.

I walk downstairs slowly, my heart pounding with every step. The dining room is exactly how I left it. Candles burned down. Food untouched. Wine still sitting there.

It looks pathetic. I look pathetic.

I don’t stop, I keep walking, past the table and past the memories. Out the front door.

The night air hits me and I suck in a breath like I’ve been underwater too long. The mansion looms behind me, huge and cold and suddenly not mine at all.

I don’t look back insted I pull my phone out with shaking hands and open my messages.

Maya. My best friend. Or at least I thought she was.

My fingers hover over the screen for a second before I type. He asked me for a divorce. Tonight. I don’t know what happened. I’m leaving.

The message sends. Three little dots appear almost immediately.

My chest tightens with a tiny spark of hope.

Her reply comes fast.

You deserve it you are a whore.

I stare at the screen. My heart stops.

Then another message.Don’t ever contact me again.

Blocked.

I laugh.

It comes out wrong. Broken. Almost hysterical. I stand there in the dark, holding my suitcase, staring at my phone like it might change.

It doesn’t.

Everyone is gone. I am completely alone.

I slide my phone into my pocket, lift my chin, and start walking.

I don’t know where I’m going yet. I just know I can’t stay.