Three days later, she packed.
I watched clothes disappear into a medium-sized suitcase.
Hiking shoes.
Jeans.
Sweaters.
Toiletries.
A swimsuit.
That one almost broke me.
"Why do you need a swimsuit?"
"There's a hot tub at the lodge."
I stared.
She sighed.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to."
The morning she left, Claire put her suitcase beside the front door.
Milo circled it because he associated luggage with boarding kennels or road trips.
Claire crouched and scratched behind his ears.
"Be good for Dad."
Then she hugged me.
My arms remained loose around her.
She kissed my cheek.
Like a business trip.
Like normalcy could be performed convincingly enough to become real.
"I'll text."
I nodded.
"Please don't spend the whole time imagining the worst."
I looked at her.
"I won't need imagination."
Her expression hardened.
Then softened.
"I'm doing this for us."
I still remember my answer.
"I hope you understand someday how cruel that sentence sounds."
She left.
Her car disappeared down the street at 9:12 on a Friday morning.
I stood at the front window until long after there was nothing left to see.
The first week was hell.
I went to work because staying home made time slower.
I sat in meetings and wrote numbers in spreadsheets and occasionally realized I had not absorbed a single sentence anyone said.
My coworker Ben asked:
"You sick?"
"Didn't sleep."
That was true.
I did not tell anyone where Claire was.
My parents believed she was traveling with a friend.
My sister thought it was a work retreat.
When friends asked, I said:
"She needed some time away."
Technically true.
Shame does strange things.
I had done nothing wrong, yet I was embarrassed.
Saying it aloud sounded pathetic.
My wife is spending two weeks at a mountain retreat with the man she dated before me because she needs to decide what she wants.
There is no dignified way to deliver that sentence at lunch.
Claire texted the first evening.
Made it safely. Cabin is beautiful. Weather's supposed to be perfect.
I stared at the message.
No I love you.
No I miss you.
I typed:
Glad you arrived safely.
Deleted it.
Typed:
Okay.
Deleted that too.
Finally:
Thanks for letting me know.
She reacted with a heart.
That tiny red icon made me furious.
Day two:
We hiked this morning. Forgot how beautiful it is here.
Day three:
Good conversations. Hard but good.
Day four:
Might be offline most of today.
That message became important later.
Day five:
Hope Milo's behaving.
I sent a photograph of him asleep upside down on the couch.
Claire replied:
My boys ❤️
I nearly threw my phone.
My boys.
As though she had not deliberately left one of those boys to spend two weeks determining whether she wanted another man.
I stopped replying unless necessary.
Milo became my routine.
Wake.
Coffee.
Walk him.
Work.
Come home.
Walk him again.
Microwave dinner.
Television I did not watch.
Check phone too often.