Chapter 7: Packing Up, Moving On

The assistant called while I was at home, packing my things. I taped up the last box, the sound echoing in the empty room. Sunlight slanted across the carpet, catching on the dust I’d missed.

She said cautiously, “Mrs. Hayes, company policy is a 30% penalty if you cancel.”

I laughed. “Who said I’m canceling? Marcus doesn’t want to cancel, so let him handle the follow-up. If he wants to keep up the act, let him.”

This house was bought by Marcus before our marriage. Over the past year, I helped pay part of the mortgage. I looked at the boxes, thinking of every check I’d written, every weekend painting or fixing faucets, trying to make it feel like home.

I’m not worried about where to live. I kept my old apartment on the east side all this time—just in case. I never gave up the lease, kept the utilities running, even changed the curtains every season. Maybe I always knew I’d need a place to land.

So, between me and him, there’s nothing to fight over. I stacked the last box by the door, feeling a strange relief. No messy legal battles, no fighting over keys.

I don’t want this house, and the renovation debt is all his. I thought about the mountain of debt he’d just taken on and felt a grim satisfaction. Some lessons come with a price.

When Marcus came back, my things were already packed into two big suitcases. He stood in the doorway, eyes wide, like he’d walked in on a stranger.

“Rachel, what are you doing?” His voice cracked, bravado gone. “I tried so hard to make you happy. Even if you don’t appreciate it, you don’t have to go this far, do you?”

He stared at the boxes, then at me, searching for any sign I’d change my mind. But I just zipped up my suitcase, my decision made. I wheeled my suitcase to the door, heart pounding, and didn’t look back. Not this time.