One landed on the porch railing.
Another dropped into the hydrangeas she had planted three years earlier.
Brooke stepped forward.
“Lauren.”
My wife disappeared from view.
A few seconds later, one of my shoes flew through the window.
It bounced once on the grass.
The second disappeared into a flower bed.
I looked at Melissa.
She looked more uncomfortable by the second.
Lauren reappeared.
“What?” she shouted.
“Are you twelve?”
“If you don’t want to act like part of this marriage, then get out.”
I stared up at her.
“That’s your answer?”
“You clearly don’t care what I need.”
“So you’re throwing my clothes into the yard.”
“You don’t want partnership.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Then leave.”
Another sweatshirt sailed down.
I stepped aside.
Lauren leaned farther out the window.
“Get out of my house.”
That sentence changed everything.
The entire yard seemed to become quiet.
A dog barked somewhere behind the neighboring fence.
A car drove past the end of the street.
Melissa stopped moving.
Brooke looked up at Lauren.
I looked at my clothes scattered over the lawn.
Then back at my wife.
“You’re sure?”
Lauren did not hesitate.
“Absolutely.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
The answer confused her.
I could see it immediately.
She expected escalation.
A demand.
Maybe shouting.