He flinched as if I’d struck him. Patricia began crying immediately, like she’d flipped a switch. “Natalie, sweetheart, please. We can work this out. I’ll pay you back. I’ll—”
“You can talk to my lawyer,” I said. “Not me.”
I walked to the closet and pulled my suitcase down from the top shelf. Not because I was leaving. Because I was reclaiming space—clearing their clutter from my life the same way I would clear their belongings from my house.
Within an hour, Patricia’s bags were by the door. She kept muttering about betrayal, about ungrateful women, about how the world treated mothers unfairly. Ethan moved around like a ghost, carrying suitcases without meeting my eyes.
At the doorway, Patricia stopped and turned.
“This isn’t over,” she said quietly.
I met her stare. “For me, it is.”
Ethan hesitated, then whispered, “Natalie… I loved you.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t soften. I simply told the truth.
“You loved what I provided.”
Deputy Ortega watched as they stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind them, and the silence that followed didn’t feel lonely.
It felt clean.