She didn't. A car arrived outside while she was closing the zipper on her carry-on, and its headlights briefly swept across our living room wall. I asked once more whether she had everything she needed. She said yes, tugged the bag off the bed, and walked toward the door. Then she turned back, gave me a tired smile, and said, "Don't spend the whole weekend pouting." It was the last thing she said to me in person before she left for Mexico.
I watched from the window while the car pulled away. I couldn't see the driver clearly because the cabin lights were off and the morning was still black, and I wasn't going to invent a certainty out of that small detail. Biscuit waited by the door for another minute, expecting Celeste to return because she often forgot something. When she didn't, he walked into the kitchen and lay down beside his water bowl. I sat beside him on the floor and listened to the refrigerator humming steadily against the silence.
At work that day, I was quieter than usual. Luis asked whether I was getting sick, and I told him I'd had a rough week at home. He didn't pry, which was one of the things I liked about him. We repaired an ice machine in a hotel kitchen, replaced a fan motor at a grocery store, and drove through afternoon traffic while he explained that his daughter had learned to ride a bicycle without training wheels. I smiled at the right places, but beneath every ordinary conversation was the knowledge that my lawyer was preparing documents that would end my marriage.
I called Diane after my last job. She confirmed which bank statements she had received, what information she still needed, and that a petition could be filed the next morning if I wished to proceed. She asked me again whether I was making the choice freely and not under pressure from anyone else's anger. I told her I was, though I admitted I hadn't stopped loving Celeste in every sense of the word. Diane said love and the decision to remain legally married were not always the same question.
That evening I made myself dinner, something simple with eggs and toast, and fed Biscuit at his usual time. I had no desire to go through Celeste's belongings or search for hidden correspondence. The bank records were enough to make the financial problem real, and her words had made the relationship problem clear. I checked the house fund one more time and saw no new withdrawals. Then I placed the copies of our marriage certificate, lease, and recent statements into the folder Diane had asked me to maintain.
Before bed, I looked at our wedding photograph on the hallway shelf. In it Celeste was laughing because my father had said something inappropriate just before the camera shutter clicked, and I was looking at her instead of at the lens. I could remember exactly how her hand felt inside mine that day. The memory wasn't false because the marriage was ending, and I didn't want to make it false in order to feel stronger. I left the photograph where it was, switched off the light, and went to bed knowing that the next morning I would make a choice that could not be taken back with an apology over breakfast.