Chapter 3

I sat there in the silence, not moving a muscle for a very long time.

After a while, I picked up the glass of cold tap water and the bag of bread crusts and threw them both in the trash.

Then, I pulled open the bottom drawer of the TV console. Inside was a blue hardcover notebook, old enough that the corners had worn down to bare white.

Presley and I had bought it together in our first year of marriage. He said that if a marriage was going to last, the finances had to be crystal clear.

From groceries to utilities, down to a single roll of trash bags or a pack of tissues, everything had to be meticulously logged so neither of us would take advantage of the other.

At the time, I thought he just valued healthy boundaries, and I didn't see anything wrong with a 50-50 split.

What I didn't realize then was that his version of equality was nothing more than a one-sided reign of micromanagement and deprivation directed entirely at me.

I flipped the notebook open. The very first page dated back five years.

"Water heater bill, five dollars."

"Gas for cooking pasta, one dollar."

"Your mom stayed for three days. Extra water usage, eight dollars."

"Electric bill balance owed, ten cents."

And the very last line was the one I'd transferred to him just last night.

Staring at that line of text, I felt the sudden urge to laugh.

Five years of marriage, and in the end, our entire relationship boiled down to a discrepancy of two pennies.

I snapped the notebook shut, got up, and went to pack.

When I got to the back of one of the drawers, I found the relocation paperwork I'd already printed out, along with a divorce agreement template I'd downloaded last month.

Back then, Mom was still on dialysis, and the baby was still there. I'd gone back and forth on it endlessly without being able to take a single step forward.

But things were different now. The baby was gone, and my heart had finally gone completely cold.

The asset division was simple. There wasn't much to split. Presley had always insisted on keeping everything separate, and most of what we shared had already been divided.

What I'd cared about over these five years was never his money anyway. All I'd ever wanted to know was why I, his wife, had mattered less to him than an intern he'd known for half a year.

But I didn't even want that answer anymore.

That afternoon, I tucked the signed divorce agreement into a folder and added the notebook alongside it.

That night, as I lay in bed, my phone screen lit up. It was a message from the HR department at the Norwell branch.

"Ms. Vaughn, welcome to the Norwell team. Please report for duty before 8:00 PM the day after tomorrow."

I read the message, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, my chest loosened.

I was done with this marriage. For the 48 hours I had left, I just wanted to tie up the last few loose ends and be done with it.