After bu.rying my husband, I told no one about the ticket I had bought for a year-long cruise. A week later, my son told me, “Now that Dad is d.ead, you’ll take care of our new pets every time we travel.”

I also called a temporary dog boarding facility near the city and asked about availability, rates, and conditions. There was space. I reserved two places for a month under the name Michael Walker and asked them to send confirmation by email. Then I printed everything.

At noon Michael called again to say they would leave early Friday for the airport. He talked about a resort in Tenerife, about how exhausted they were, about how much they needed to “disconnect.” I listened silently until he added:

“We’ll leave you food for the dogs and a list with their schedule.”

That sentence turned my stomach. Not once did he ask if I wanted to, if I could, or if I had any plans.

I ended the call with a “we’ll see” that he didn’t even try to decipher.

In the afternoon I packed a medium suitcase—elegant and practical. I packed light dresses, medication, two novels, a notebook, and the blue scarf I wore the day I met Robert.

I wasn’t leaving out of hatred for him. I was leaving because even in the good years I had forgotten who I was before becoming a wife, a mother, a caregiver, and everyone’s universal solution.