I pointed at the suitcase.
“Now it’s your turn.”
His face drained of color.
“You’re throwing me out?”
“You threw away six years of my life.”
He took a step toward me.
“We can fix this.”
I backed away.
“No.”
“You owe me that much.”
“I don’t owe you another minute.”
His voice softened.
“I love you.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“If you loved me, you would never have made me believe my son stopped loving me.”
He reached for my hand.
I pulled it away.
“Pack your things.”
“Liza.”
“Today.”
He looked around the room as though expecting someone to rescue him.
Nobody moved.
After a long moment, he picked up the suitcase, and without another word, he walked upstairs. The sound of drawers opening and closing echoed through the house.
About 20 minutes later, Marcus came downstairs with the suitcase full. He stopped near the front door.
