Wrapped fragile things.
Labeled boxes.
Sarah’s books.
Bathroom.
Shoes.
Office.
Winter clothes.
Personal documents.
I packed the expensive luggage she had insisted we buy for our honeymoon.
That hurt enough that I had to stop for a minute.
By late afternoon, everything was arranged neatly near the front door.
Then I called my parents.
My mother answered.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
The moment I said her name, she knew.
“Alex?”
“I’m okay.”
“That means you aren’t.”
I sat at the kitchen table.
“The wedding is off.”
Silence.
“What happened?”
“Sarah and I are done.”
Another silence.
“Did she hurt you?”
Mothers have strange instincts.
“Yes.”
“How?”
I did not tell her everything.
Not then.
I said Sarah had been seeing someone else and had decided she wanted a different life.
My mother breathed slowly.
“I’m coming over.”
“No.”
“Alex.”
“Please.”
I closed my eyes.
“I need tonight alone.”
She did not like it.
But she respected it.
Then came the call I dreaded most.
Sarah’s mother.
She answered cheerfully.
“Alex, perfect timing. Did Sarah confirm the final caterer count?”
My throat tightened.
“No, Mrs. Miller.”
“Oh.”
“I’m actually calling because the wedding has been canceled.”
Silence.
I continued before she could misunderstand.
“Sarah and I are no longer together.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened?”
I stared at the blank corkboard.
“You should speak with Sarah.”
“Alex, did you two have an argument?”
“This wasn’t an argument.”
Her voice changed.
“Is she okay?”
“I assume so.”
“Alex, please tell me what happened.”
I almost did.
I wanted someone from Sarah’s family to understand that I had not abandoned her over cold feet.
Then I realized it was not my responsibility to explain Sarah to her mother.
“She knows.”
That was all I said.
Afterward, I sent Sarah one message.
Your things are packed. I have canceled the wedding arrangements I was responsible for. Please arrange a time to collect your belongings. Goodbye, Sarah.
She answered within two minutes.
You canceled everything?
I did not reply.
Alex, what the hell?
Nothing.
We need to TALK.
Nothing.
You cannot just make decisions for both of us.
That one almost made me laugh.
I put my phone on silent.
Sarah came for her things the next afternoon while I was at work.
I had arranged for Mark, a friend of mine, to be there because I did not want an argument.
When I returned, the boxes were gone.
So was the last photograph of us from the bedroom.
The key sat on the kitchen counter.
Underneath it was a note.
You’re overreacting. When you calm down, call me.
I read it once.
Then threw it away.