“Alex.”
I started packing.
Shirts.
Jeans.
Sweaters.
Work clothes.
Not everything.
Only what I needed immediately.
I was not trying to empty the apartment.
I was leaving for the night with enough to make the night permanent if necessary.
Chloe laughed.
A nervous sound.
“Oh, come on.”
I folded another shirt.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Another.
“This is manipulative.”
Another.
“You’re trying to punish me for going out.”
I walked into the bathroom.
Toothbrush.
Razor.
Medication.
Deodorant.
Phone charger.
She followed.
“You cannot seriously be doing this.”
I looked at her.
“You told me to leave.”
“That was obviously not literal.”
“Sounded literal.”
“You know what I meant.”
“No.”
For the first time in months, that word felt clean.
“No, Chloe.”
“I actually don’t.”
Her mouth opened.
I walked past her.
Passport.
Laptop.
A photograph of my parents.
The watch my father gave me.
A folder containing tax documents.
My current work files.
I left everything that could be divided later.
Furniture.
Kitchen equipment.
Decorations.
Pictures.
I was not stripping the place.
I was separating myself from it.
Chloe’s anger turned into disbelief.
“You’ll be back tomorrow.”
I continued packing.
“This is such a childish tantrum.”
Nothing.
“You’re proving exactly why I need space.”
Nothing.
She followed me around the bedroom while I moved.
“You’re going to make me late.”
That sentence almost made me laugh.
I was leaving our relationship, and she was worried I would make her late.
I zipped the bag.
Then I noticed the notepad beside her bed.
I picked up her pen.
Chloe watched.
“What are you writing?”
I wrote:
You got what you asked for.
I folded the paper.
Placed it on her pillow.
Then picked up my bag.
Her face finally changed.
Not anger.
Fear.
“Alex.”
I walked toward the hallway.
“Where are you actually going?”
I did not answer.
“Alex.”
She followed faster.
“You don’t have anywhere to go.”
I took my keys from the bowl beside the door.
“You’ll be back.”
I opened the door.
“Alex, don’t you dare walk away from me.”
That almost stopped me.
The old version of me would have turned.
The version who believed love meant answering every emotional emergency.
The version who could not tolerate Chloe being angry.
Instead, I stepped outside.
The door closed behind me.
Not slammed.
Closed.
That sound became the real end.
The night was cool.
My hands shook slightly when I put the bag in my trunk.
Adrenaline had begun catching up.
I sat behind the wheel.
For almost a minute, I did nothing.
Upstairs, our bedroom light remained on.
Chloe’s silhouette appeared near the window.
Then disappeared.
My phone buzzed.
CHLOE CALLING.
I declined.
Then I drove.