She dressed simply. A cream sweater she had owned since before she met Ethan, a pair of dark trousers, flat shoes. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and looked at her hands, turning them over once, and then she slid her wedding ring off her finger and set it on the edge of the sink. She had done this every morning for the past four days, standing here, looking at it, picking it up again and putting it back on. But this morning she left it where it was. She didn’t look at it again. She picked up her bag, the same modest leather bag she had carried since her waitressing days, when tips and careful budgeting had been the architecture of her entire financial life, and she walked out of the bedroom, through the vast and immaculate living room with its designer furniture and its abstract art and its panoramic view of the city that had always felt more like a showroom than a home, and she took the elevator down to the lobby without saying goodbye to anyone, because there was no one to say goodbye to.