I walked toward the door. I didn’t take a suitcase; I had already moved my essentials to a new, secret rental three days ago.
As the door clicked shut behind me, the house was silent. There were no apologies following me down the driveway. No footsteps running to catch me. Just the muffled sound of Lorraine starting a new rant and the heavy, pathetic silence of a man who had finally gotten exactly what he wanted: a house with only one woman in it.
He hesitated just long enough for me to understand exactly how far he was willing to go for his mother — and how little for his wife.
“Fine,” he said finally. “I’ll book it.”
I thought I’d won.
I packed my things with a smile, imagining a week in a nice hotel with room service, or perhaps a cute B&B.
Instead, I ended up wishing I’d stayed in the garage.
