He seemed to think that was better.
It wasn’t.
I went upstairs and pulled a suitcase from the closet.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing your things.”
“Danielle.”
“You’re not being thrown out permanently. The house is both of ours, legally. But tonight you’re staying somewhere else.”
He followed me into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed. He said he loved me.
I stopped for a second when he said it. Not because I believed it. Because twenty-four hours earlier those words would have landed completely differently, and it was strange to feel that distance already — to notice how much can shift in a single morning.
“You love the life I made easy for you,” I said. “That’s not the same thing.”
Marcus cried.
I didn’t. Not then.
He took the suitcase and left.
The next morning I walked outside again.
Most of the lingerie was gone. One red bra had caught in the hedge. I pulled it free and held it for a second.
