Chapter 7
I remembered being so sure I had married someone who saw me clearly.
Now I slipped the ring from my finger.
There was a pale indentation beneath it.
Ten years of marriage had left a mark.
I placed the ring in a small velvet box beside the bed.
Then I got dressed.
At seven, I carried my suitcases downstairs.
Vincent was in the foyer.
He wore dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
His hair was slightly disheveled.
He looked as though he hadn’t slept.
A housekeeper stood near the hallway, carefully pretending not to notice us.
“The car is ready,” Vincent said.
“I called a taxi.”
His expression tightened.
“There’s no reason to take a taxi.”
“It’s already coming.”
“Mara, the driver can take you wherever you want.”
“I know.”
He looked at my suitcases.
“That’s all you’re taking?”
“For now.”
“There are things upstairs that belong to you.”
“I’ll arrange to collect anything else later.”
He nodded.
Then he looked at my medical bag.
“Are you going somewhere with that?”
I glanced at the worn leather handle.
“I don’t know yet.”
For the first time in years, that answer didn’t frighten me.
Vincent took a step closer.
“You don’t have to rush into anything.”
I felt an old irritation rise.
He used to say that whenever I mentioned returning to work.
Whenever I talked about taking a course.
Whenever I suggested volunteering at a clinic or contacting former colleagues.
You don’t have to rush.
You don’t need to prove anything.
You should enjoy the life we’ve built.
His words always sounded supportive.
But somehow they always ended in the same place.
Me doing nothing.
“I’ve been standing still for a long time,” I said.
“I think I’ve had enough rest.”
His eyes dropped.
A car pulled up outside.
I reached for my suitcase.
Vincent moved automatically to take it.
I stepped aside.
He stopped.
“I can carry it,” I said.
His hand remained suspended for a moment.
Then he lowered it.
There was no dramatic final embrace.
No desperate kiss.
No promise that he would regret losing me.
I simply walked through the front door.
Outside, the air smelled of wet leaves and autumn earth.
I placed my suitcases in the taxi.
When I turned, Vincent was standing beneath the entrance.
For ten years, I had watched him leave.
This was the first time he had to watch me.