Part 1He Tiptoes In An Empty House

At two in the morning, the living room downstairs erupted again with my husband’s booming laughter as he played online games with his friends. I suffer from severe nervous exhaustion, and waking up abruptly like this always leaves me with a splitting headache. Clutching my temples, I threw a cardigan over my shoulders and walked downstairs to ask him to keep it down.

Gary just waved me off impatiently, calling me dramatic before turning right back to his microphone to shout at his teammates.

But the very next morning, Lindsay—his college junior who was temporarily crashing at our house—slept in late after pulling an all-nighter. Gary didn't just shut off every gaming console; he practically tiptoed around the house.

When Martha, our housekeeper, accidentally dropped a glass, his face immediately darkened. "Be quiet," he hissed. "She’s a light sleeper. If you wake her up, are you going to deal with it?"

He even turned to me as I was about to head out for work, warning me coldly: "Close the door gently. Don't startle her."

In that moment, standing in the entryway, watching his tiptoeing silhouette, I suddenly let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

We’d been married for three years, and not once had he ever remembered my sleepless nights. He wasn't naturally careless or oblivious. His tenderness was real; it just never belonged to me.

I set my keys down, deciding to leave this house—and this life—completely behind.

* * *

I turned around and went back upstairs to the bedroom.

I dragged my suitcase down from the top shelf of the closet, the harsh rasp of the zipper cutting through the quiet house. From the living room, Gary immediately hissed, "I told you to be quiet! Are you doing this on purpose?"

I didn't bother replying.

The closet was filled with clothes I’d bought around our wedding three years ago. Most were worn and dated, but still functional. I folded them one by one. Reaching the very bottom drawer, my fingers brushed against a soft, crushed cardboard box. Inside was a dusty-blue cashmere scarf—Gary's birthday gift to me last year.

Lindsay had been there that day. After opening her own presents, she had tossed this scarf onto the sofa, complaining that the color looked too old-fashioned. Gary had casually slid it over to me, saying, "You have pale skin, Faith. It'll look good on you."

And back then, I actually believed him. Looking back, I realized he hadn't even erred on the side of making his lies convincing.

I dropped the scarf onto the floor and kept digging through the drawers. My ID, bank cards, insurance documents, medical records, and the antique gold pocket watch my mother had left me. Its casing was worn smooth and bright from the decades she had carried it. Our wedding photo sat on the nightstand. I stared at it for two seconds, then left it where it was.

Once my suitcase was packed, I dragged it down the stairs. The wheels rattled loudly against the hardwood steps in the silent house.

Gary finally stood up from the sofa. He pulled off his headphones, his brow furrowed in deep irritation. "What are you doing clattering around this early?" he muttered, his voice hushed but sharp. "Lindsay is still asleep."

Last night, when my head throbbed so intensely I could barely stand without holding onto the wall, he had told me I was overreacting. Now, for Lindsay's sake, he was practically holding his breath.

"I'm leaving," I said quietly. "That way, I won't disturb her."

He blinked, startled, before his lips curled into a mocking smirk. "And where exactly do you think you're going? Stop threatening to walk out every time you don't get your way." He sank back into the sofa, sighing heavily. "How many times are we going to play this game, Faith? Aren't you tired of it?"

"Gary?"

The guest room door creaked open. Lindsay stepped out, rubbing her eyes. She was wearing the silk robe my late mother had bought for me. Her hair was slightly messy, her eyes red, the picture of an innocent, startled child.

"Faith, did I do something wrong by staying here?" Her voice trembled, sounding as though she was on the verge of tears. "I can leave. I'll pack my things and find a place today."

Yet, even as the words left her mouth, she swayed, clutching the banister before leaning heavily to the side. Gary bolted up the stairs to catch her. When he looked back down at me, his eyes were filled with the kind of disgust you'd reserve for an abusive partner.

I stared at the robe Lindsay was wearing. It was a delicate ivory silk, bought by my mother a month before she passed. She had dragged herself to the boutique, insisting that a woman should always have one beautiful piece that made her feel valued—that I shouldn't always settle. Pinned to the collar was a small silver butterfly brooch, the very one I had searched for in vain last night.

"That robe belongs to me," I said, my voice flat and empty.

Lindsay’s face went pale. She immediately reached for the buttons, but before her fingers could undo the first one, Gary caught her hand. Pulling her behind him, he glared down at me. "It’s just a robe, Faith. Do you really have to humiliate her over a piece of fabric?"

"Just a robe."

I met his gaze. "If someone else were wearing your late mother’s belongings, would you still say it's just a piece of fabric?"

Gary’s expression froze. He opened his mouth, but no apology came. Instead, he looked away, muttering, "Go back to your room, Lindsay. I'll handle this."

"Handle what?" I asked him. "Are you going to handle me, or the robe?"

"Faith!" he barked, his voice hushed but sharp. "That's enough."

I didn't argue. As I dragged my suitcase to the front door, Gary suddenly reached past me and pressed his hand against the brass handle, blocking my way.

"My mother’s birthday dinner is tonight," he said, staring at my luggage. His tone wasn't a plea; it was a directive. "Don't embarrass our family."

I laughed quietly. "Do you actually need a wife, Gary, or do you just want an accessory for your family photos?"

He went quiet for a beat before letting go of the door. "Stop being dramatic," he muttered coldly. "I'll pick you up tonight."

Behind him, Lindsay’s timid voice floated down: "Gary... maybe I should go with you instead. It really seems like Faith doesn't want to deal with this anymore."

I didn't turn around. I pulled the door shut behind me.