“I can’t explain something I don’t fully understand.”
“Try.”
“I feel nothing.”
That sentence hurt more than the first.
I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
“Nothing?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You just said it.”
“I mean the marriage.”
“Eleven years.”
“I know.”
“You feel nothing.”
“I feel trapped.”
That stopped me.
“By me?”
“By all of it.”
She gestured vaguely around the room.
“The house. The routine. Knowing what every week looks like before it happens.”
I stared at the life I thought we had built together.
The dependable life.
The life I had been proud of precisely because I knew what it looked like.
Rebecca continued.
“I don’t recognize myself.”
“And that’s my fault?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then why are we talking about ending a marriage instead of changing something?”
“I have tried changing things.”
“When?”
“In my head.”
I stood.
“That doesn’t count.”
“I knew you’d do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make me justify it until my reasons are good enough for you.”
I stared at her.
“You are ending our marriage.”
“I know.”
“Yes, I need reasons.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled for the first time.
But no tears fell.
“I don’t have the kind you want.”
I wanted to yell.
I wanted to demand.
I wanted to say she owed me better after eleven years.
Instead, something inside me shut down.
Maybe self-preservation.
Maybe pride.
Maybe exhaustion.
“Okay.”
Rebecca frowned.
“What?”
“Okay.”
“Owen.”
“What do you want from me?”
She looked genuinely confused.
“I don’t know.”
“That seems to be the theme.”
“That’s unfair.”
“So is this.”
I went upstairs.
The green duffel was in the hall closet.
I threw clothes into it.
Three shirts.
Jeans.
Underwear.
Socks.
Toothbrush.
Laptop charger.
I added a notebook from my desk.
Then I went into the garage and grabbed my small toolbox.
I saw my guitar leaning behind a stack of paint cans.
I hadn’t played it in almost four years.
For some reason, I took that too.
Rebecca stood near the bottom of the stairs when I came down.
“You’re leaving tonight?”
“What did you expect?”
“I thought we’d talk.”
“We did.”
“You can sleep in the guest room.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer bothered her.
I saw it immediately.
“You should tell me where.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll worry.”
Something about that sentence nearly made me angry enough to stay and fight.
Instead, I opened the door.
Rebecca whispered, “Owen.”
I turned.
For one stupid second, I thought she might say wait.
She didn’t.
“Take your coat.”
It was cold outside.
That was her final contribution to our marriage that night.
Remembering my coat.
I took it.
Then left.