SEVER

of scotch three quarters empty come sunrise. There was no discussion about the night before. No kiss on the cheek. He simply left without a word as if he didn’t have the same restless night I did.
I spent the hours mapping out my next move.
I can’t stay here.
This house is more Shawn’s than it is mine, and it doesn’t feel right being a bitter wife who takes her man for everything, it’s not a hat I want to wear. While the house is in both our names, the money came mostly from his pocket while I studied. Now I’m fully operational and have a reputable name for myself, I can easily afford a nice place on my own without depending on Shawn or any divorce settlement.
“How has it come to this?” I ask no one in particular as I throw a folded blouse on the already-tall pile.
Everywhere I look, I see him. Both good and bad memories. From where he pushed me against the wall and had his wicked way with me the first time we christened this house, to when I first miscarried in the hall, clutching the bathroom door as blood streamed down my legs. The sorrow on Shawn’s face as he rocked me back and forth, waiting for the ambulance, completely ignorant to the mess he was sitting in.
This house holds a lot of memories, but that’s all they are.
Nothing good is being created here anymore. Only more bad to pile on top of the ever-growing list.
My pity party is interrupted when a knock sounds at the door. I jump to my feet hoping it’s the removal company dropping off boxes. I need to be out before Shawn gets home. I can’t handle any more confrontation.
Bounding down the stairs, I wipe my tear-stained face and hope for the best. When I open the door, my smile falls when I see it isn’t the mover.
“I’m sorry, does my face offend you?” my sister asks, half joking. She squints, taking a closer a closer look at me. “Jesus. You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I say, slipping my hand off the door and turning back into the house. Samantha follows me inside, her high heels clipping along in time with the drag of my slippers. “Coffee?”
“Please,” she replies, putting her Birkin on the counter.
Birkin?
“Um… which bank did you rob?” I tease, pointing to her very expensive, very out-of-character, handbag.
Samantha scoffs, but I’m not mistaken when I see a glimmer of fear in her pretty eyes. “This old thing?” She grabs the handles and puts the bag at her feet and out of the firing line.
A raise a curious brow. “Yeah, that old thing. I seem to recall you were handing out resumes only a few months ago and were three months behind on rent.”
She shrugs. “I make good money.”
“Exceptional money if you’re able to pay off debts, cover costs, and splurge on designer wear. I didn’t think sales paid that well.”
This time she smiles cheekily. “Some people are good at what they do, others aren’t.”
Hmmm. My sister’s behavior is off, and she definitely isn’t telling me the whole story.
I start to load coffee pods in the machine when a thought strikes me. “Who’s the sugar daddy?”
She chokes on her own saliva. “A sugar daddy? A girl can fend for herself, sis.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I say lightly laughing while passing her a mug.
She circles the counter to accept her coffee and spots the abandoned bouquet in the sink. “Um… do you not have a vase?”
“I have plenty.”
Samantha throws me a questioning side glance. “Dare I ask why you’ve trashed such a beautiful bunch of flowers? Does it have anything to do with why you’re not at work and looking like shit?”
“Always subtle.” I roll my eyes and take a sip of coffee.
“Well? Does it?”
“Indirectly.”
She shakes her head, not understanding. “Elaborate.”
Sighing, I take a seat at the counter. “Shawn and I are over. I took the day off to pack some things and be gone by the time he gets home.”
“What the fuck… why? Isn’t your anniversary this weekend?”
“Yes. And the ‘why’ is a long story.”
“But he bought you flowers.”
I bite my lip before answering. I know these flowers are why Shawn slept on the couch. No matter how much we fought in the past, he always came to bed. Even if he did hover on the edge with his back to me.
But how was I to know the flowers were from another man when I walked through the front door? And more importantly, why would he care? He hasn’t cared for over a year.
“They weren’t from Shawn.”
Samantha’s eyes widen. “Blythe… are you having an affair? Is that why you’re leaving?”
“Of course I’m not having an affair,” I snap. “How could you think that?”
“I’m just trying to piece A and B together.”
“Well, you’re piecing wrong.”
My sister folds her arms and waits for me to continue.
“They’re from a new client. An acquaintance of Shawn’s. He came into my office yesterday wanting my design services for one of his businesses. I guess he’s trying to sweeten the deal.”
“Or you.”
A shake my head. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Time will tell.”
I push away from the counter, my chair scraping against the floor. “I have bigger issues to worry about, and that includes finding a new place.”
“Can’t you two try and work it out? You have the perfect marriage.”
“No, Samantha… we can’t just work it out. And our perfect marriage has been anything but for the last year.”
I see a flicker of hurt in her hazel eyes. “A year? Why have you never said anything?”
“Because I don’t like airing my dirty laundry, and because admitting it would’ve only made it true.” I swipe the stray tear, surprised I even have