She seemed startled to find me there.
"I thought you'd be downstairs."
"My shuttle comes at seven."
"Oh."
She showered.
Then she changed into a dress.
Dark green.
I'd never seen it before.
Maybe she'd bought it at the resort.
Maybe she'd packed it and never worn it for me.
I hated myself for wondering.
She sprayed perfume.
A scent I didn't recognize.
She stood near the mirror adjusting her hair.
I sat at the desk pretending to read emails.
At the door, she paused.
"Have a safe flight."
I looked at her.
"You too, whenever you come back."
She nodded.
Then she left.
Those were the last words we spoke as a couple.
My shuttle arrived after sunset.
Before leaving, I placed the room key on the nightstand.
We had brought shared vacation cash in an envelope.
Half remained.
I counted out exactly half and left it beside her bag.
Not because I felt generous.
Not because I hoped she'd reconsider.
Because it was hers.
I didn't want one future conversation about money.
The driver loaded my suitcase.
As the resort disappeared behind us, I looked back once.
Then stopped myself.
The airport felt surreal.
Families.
Couples.
Business travelers.
Everyone moving normally while my life had split open.
At the airline desk, the employee smiled.
"Traveling alone today?"
"Apparently."
She didn't understand the answer.
That was fine.
The flight home lasted hours.
The man beside me wanted to talk.
He was friendly.
Probably harmless.
He asked where I'd stayed.
Whether the beaches were good.
Whether I was traveling for business.
I pretended to sleep.
At some point above the ocean, with the cabin dark and everyone around me quiet, I replayed the previous four years.
I searched for the exact moment we'd gone wrong.
The first unanswered text?
A missed anniversary dinner?
The month I worked sixty-hour weeks?
The time she said she felt lonely and I told her things would calm down after the project?
There were failures.
Mine too.
I wasn't perfect.
Maybe I had become predictable.
Maybe comfortable had become complacent.
Maybe Claire had needed something I didn't know how to provide.
But every explanation eventually reached the same fact.
She could have told me.
Before the vacation.
Before another man.
Before making me spend a year's savings on a trip she apparently planned to use as an exit.
Whatever problems we'd had, she had choices.
She chose secrecy.
By the time the plane landed, I was too exhausted to feel much of anything.
I took a rideshare home.
Opened the apartment door.
Everything looked exactly as we'd left it.
Claire's shoes near the entryway.
Her jacket on the chair.
A book open facedown beside the couch.
Her coffee mug sat in the sink.
There was still a faint lipstick mark near the rim.
That mug destroyed me.
More than the empty bed.
More than the suitcase I'd unpacked alone.
I stood in the kitchen staring at it.
Four days earlier, Claire had stood there drinking coffee while we double-checked passports.
She'd been excited.
Or pretending to be.
I washed the mug.
Then immediately regretted washing it.
I sat on the couch.
I don't remember falling asleep.
The next two days blurred together.
I emailed work and told them I'd returned early because of a personal situation.
My manager told me to take the rest of the scheduled vacation.
I barely left the apartment.
I ordered food.
Drank more than I should have.
Watched television without absorbing anything.
Claire didn't contact me.