Kevin did not hesitate.
“Her name is Kayla Morrison,” he replied. “She is young. She takes care of herself. She does not drain the life out of everything.”
I felt something inside me fracture quietly, not with a dramatic break, but with the dull certainty that nothing could be repaired the way it once was.
“You are leaving your pregnant wife,” I said, forcing each word out slowly.
He shrugged, zipping the suitcase shut. “I never agreed to live a boring life.”
Something in me went very still then, as if the part of myself that had spent years trying to save our marriage finally understood that there was nothing left to protect.
“Okay,” I said.
He turned toward me, surprised. “Okay.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and met his eyes.
“Go,” I said. “Just do not come back when you realize what you lost.”
Kevin scoffed, slung the suitcase over his shoulder, and walked out without looking back, slamming the door behind him with a force that echoed through the house long after his car pulled away.
I stood there for a long time, one hand resting over my stomach, trying to process the way my life had split apart in a matter of minutes, when my phone vibrated in my pocket.