She walked along the boxes.
CLOTHES.
SHOES.
BOOKS.
BATHROOM.
PERSONAL OFFICE.
Her expression changed as she read them.
This was no longer a fight happening in sentences.
Her belongings had shape.
Volume.
Weight.
She turned.
“Give me a key.”
“No.”
Her hand dropped.
Brooke stepped forward.
“Don’t you think you’ve punished her enough?”
“I’m not punishing her.”
“You changed the locks.”
“Which my lawyer has already explained was not the smartest decision I’ve ever made.”
Lauren looked surprised.
“You hired a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
That changed the garage.
Until then, I think she believed we were still inside the same argument.
A dramatic argument.
An ugly one.
But still temporary.
“Why?”
I looked at her.
“You really have to ask?”
Her face tightened.
“I lost my temper.”
“You did.”
“I shouldn’t have thrown your clothes outside.”
“No.”
“I shouldn’t have told you to leave.”
“No.”
“There. I’m sorry.”
For one second, it was exactly what I had wanted to hear.
Then she continued.
“But you humiliated me in front of my friends.”