Chaos erupted. The officer slammed his hand
on the table. “Quiet! This isn’t a fish market!”
Everyone stared at John with disgust. A
cheating husband who gave his mistress special
treatment – he’d be crucified in the court of
public opinion. But I knew Sarah wasn’t lying.
John had said the same thing to me, when the
<
project was first proposed. He wasn’t a
researcher. He didn’t understand our
dedication, our ideals. He just wanted the
funding, a shiny new line on his resume. We’d
had a huge fight about it. He’d apologized,
promised he wouldn’t cut corners. But his
underlying intentions hadn’t changed. We were never on the same page.
John, red–faced and sputtering, lunged at
Sarah. The police pulled him back.
I’d seen enough. I finished my statement and
left, leaving the rest to my lawyer.
Back at the apartment, I packed for
Switzerland. This time, I wasn’t sure when
–
or
if – I’d be back. With John gone, I had nothing left to hold me here.
I stood at the door, looking back at the home we’d built together. I’d put so much love into decorating it, so much hope. Now, all I felt was a dull ache. Even the deepest love could expire. I closed the door, walked away, and headed to
the airport.
When John finally made it home, he sensed
<
something was wrong the moment he stepped
inside. Panic welled in his chest. He walked to
the closet. My clothes were gone. He stumbled
back, grabbing his phone and calling me. The
endless ringing confirmed his worst fears. I’d
blocked him.
“No! This can’t be happening! I didn’t agree to the divorce! You can’t just leave!” He called my
lawyer. “Where is Amelia? Tell her to call me!”
