November thirtieth arrived quietly.
I woke before the alarm.
For a few minutes, I lay still and listened to the house.
The heating system clicked on.
Somewhere upstairs, a door closed.
Then everything settled again.
I had spent nearly four years waking up in that bedroom, usually thinking about what needed to be done before breakfast.
That morning, I thought about the yellow cottage.
The porch.
The rose bushes.
The kitchen window where the morning sun reached the floor.
I got out of bed.
My suitcase stood beside the dresser, zipped and ready.
I had packed slowly over the previous week, taking only what mattered to me.
Clothes.
Photographs.
Arthur's old watch.
A small box of letters tied together with ribbon.
I left behind the things that belonged to the house.
I had no desire to take anything that might give Colin or Jessica a reason to argue.
Besides, I was tired of carrying things that weren't mine to carry.
I made coffee in the kitchen.
The familiar blue mug sat beside the sink.
I had bought it years ago because Arthur liked the color.
The handle had a small chip, but I still used it every morning.
I held it between both hands and watched the steam rise.
Tomorrow, I would drink my coffee in my own kitchen.
Nobody would need me to prepare breakfast afterward.
Nobody would ask me to collect laundry or drive the children somewhere.
I would decide what my day looked like.
It was a small thought.
It felt enormous.
At eight o'clock, I heard Colin moving around upstairs.
He came down wearing his work shirt, his hair still damp from the shower.
“Morning, Mom.”
“Good morning.”
He opened the refrigerator.
“Did you make coffee?”
“There's some left.”
He poured himself a cup and glanced toward the counter.
“Jessica said we're nearly out of bread.”
“I'll add it to the grocery list.”
He nodded.
Neither of us mentioned Oakridge Estates.
He seemed to assume the matter had been settled.
That afternoon, Jessica asked whether I had looked at the brochure again.
“I did.”
“What did you think?”
“It seems like a nice place.”
She smiled.
“I thought you'd like it once you got used to the idea.”
I looked at her for a moment.
She sounded relieved.
I wondered whether she had ever considered that I might not need to get used to anything because I had already made other plans.
But I said nothing.
There was no reason to explain myself before I was ready.
That evening, I prepared dinner.
I roasted chicken, made potatoes, and put green beans in a bowl.
The children argued over who had taken the last roll.
Jessica reminded Lucas about an assignment.
Colin talked about work.
I listened to their voices and tried to remember the last family dinner when somebody had asked me about my day.
I couldn't.
Afterward, I washed the dishes.
I dried my hands on the kitchen towel and went downstairs.
The letter I had prepared for Richard was in my handbag.
I checked it once more.
Then I called him.
“Everything is ready for tomorrow,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“The formal notice will be delivered in the morning. The letter you wrote will be included.”
“I understand.”
He paused.
“Are you comfortable with the arrangements?”
I looked at the suitcase beside my bed.
“Yes. I've thought about this carefully.”
“Then we'll proceed as planned.”
After the call, I sat on the edge of my bed.
I wasn't happy about the possibility of Colin being upset.
I wasn't looking forward to Jessica's reaction, either.
But I had spent years making decisions according to how everyone else might feel.
I could no longer afford to ignore how I felt.
I turned off the lamp.
Tomorrow morning, I would leave.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: At 8:27, My Son Opened the Envelope That Would Change His Understanding of Our Family
My Family Laughed at My Birthday Gift, but I Saw Something Under the Silver Coating That Changed Everything
Part 5 of 20
