His shirts, shoes, razors, and books he pretended to read.
The spare headset he kept in the office drawer.
The watch I gave him for our 10th anniversary.
Every object felt like touching evidence.
On his desk, I found the divorce papers.
They were dated three days earlier, and he had already signed his section.
I sat on the floor and stared at them until Lena quietly took them from my hands and put them in a folder for Patricia.
That should have broken me all over again.
Instead, it clarified something.
He had not simply betrayed me impulsively. He had organized all this and was determined to do what he wanted.
By the end of that day, his things were boxed and stacked in the garage.
I texted him once: “Your belongings are packed, and you can find them in the garage. My lawyer will be in touch. Do not come inside this house.”
