Part 3Walking Away From Our Broken Life

I didn't get to the hotel until 11:00 PM.

I sat in the car for a while, the engine humming quietly. I turned my phone back on. The screen exploded with notifications.

Twenty-three missed calls. Over forty texts.

The first few were frantic.

Where are you?

Come back, we need to talk.

What the hell was that, Jason?

Then, the tone shifted to anger.

You’re insane. You humiliated me in front of everyone.

How am I supposed to show my face again?

It was a joke! You’re overreacting like a freak.

Then, the bargaining started.

Baby, please don't be mad.

I know I crossed a line. I’m sorry.

Where are you? I’m coming to get you.

The last one was from five minutes ago.

I’m home. Please just come home.

I put out my cigarette, grabbed my bag, and went upstairs.

When I finally walked into our apartment an hour later, the door was unlocked. She was sitting on the sofa, the living room lights blindingly bright, the TV off. Her feet were bare and dirty on the bottom—she really had run through the garage without shoes.

She stood up the moment I walked in. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but she wasn't crying yet.

"Where were you?"

"Driving," I said.

"Are you out of your mind? Doing that in front of our friends?"

I hung my coat on the rack by the door. I swapped my dress shoes for slippers. I walked into the bedroom.

She followed me, her voice rising. "Jason, talk to me!"

I opened the closet and pulled out a large suitcase.

She froze. "What are you doing?"

I started packing. Socks, boxers, jeans, a few T-shirts.

She lunged forward, slamming her hand down on the suitcase. "What are you packing for? Where do you think you’re going?"

"I’m staying at a hotel for a few days."

"Why the hell should you be the one to leave?"

"The lease is in your name, Elena. Your parents paid the deposit. It makes more sense."

She let go of the suitcase. We’d bought this place together after we got married, but technically her parents had provided the down payment as a wedding gift. I’d been paying the mortgage for three years.

She watched me fold a shirt, her voice suddenly trembling. "Jason, have you been waiting for an excuse to leave me?"

I paused. "Tonight wasn't about an excuse."

"Then what is this?"

"I need space to think."

"I’m perfectly calm," she snapped, though her hands were shaking. "You’re the one being dramatic. Those things you said at the table... do you have any idea how people are going to look at me now?"

I zipped the suitcase shut. I stood up and looked her in the eye.

"Did you think about how people would look at you when you were clinging to his arm and laughing in my face?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

I gripped the handle of the suitcase and walked toward the door. She chased after me, grabbing the handle.

"Please don't go."

"I need a few days, Elena."

"How many days?"

"I don't know."

She let go. I walked out.

As I stood at the elevator, I heard the door click shut behind me. It wasn't a slam. It was a soft, final sound. That was what bothered me most. Elena never closed doors softly.

I drove to a Marriott near my office. I checked in, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled out the burner phone.

There was an encrypted file Mark had sent me last week. Everything he’d found on Travis Miller.

I read it line by line.

Then I laid back on the bed and stared at the smoke detector on the ceiling. Its red light blinked steadily, a tiny heartbeat in the dark.

I thought about the way she had laughed in that bistro. It was so bright. Brighter than she’d laughed at me in years.